Seal My Fate•Phantom of the Opera Fanfiction

Chapter 8: Stick to the Plot

*falls through ceiling*

*blushes*

Ahem. I meant to do that.

HelllllloooooOOOOOOO my friends! Ready for another chapter??

Wow. I need to calm down.

Especially since I don't even own PoTO.

This chapter is dedicated to creamy_cupcakess for really boosting my confidence in my writing ability (do check out Anywhere You Go it truly is an amazing story).

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It had to be afternoon by now. I couldn't tell, of course, since we were sailing far, far below the ground and the air always felt evening-like here, but it had been long enough that afternoon was the most reasonable guess.

They exist to suffer.

I had to repeat the mantra to myself over and over again, partially to stop myself from forgetting it and partially in hopes of dulling my consciousness so that it wouldn't sound so cruel.

They exist to suffer.

The boat was cold. It was metal, after all, and we were underground. I had to sit carefully in it to avoid soaking myself... again. Erik had put his cape back on and gone back to his more mysterious persona, but the man I'd spoken to a few minutes before was still there as well. He avoided making eye contact with me. I guessed that he was focusing on bringing me back before I could fully hate him.

"Your music is beautiful," I finally said, trying to reassure him that I didn't. He glanced at me, quickly returning his gaze to the lake. "So beautiful."

He still didn't reply.

"Look," I sighed, "the only thing that's changed is that you've told me how you feel. Some of it," I added quickly, "some of it. I'm sure there's a lot I still don't know."

It was true. Sure, I knew a lot more than he thought I did, and I'd certainly had a much better view of his face than he probably hoped, but he was a human being, and there's a lot to a human being. Certainly much more than a movie or a musical can cover.

"Christine," he muttered, briefly taking his eyes off of the water as he sighed, "Christine-"

"I'm sorry," I interrupted him, trying to convince myself that I was lying, "about the mask. I should have asked, at the very least."

"You didn't know."

A fresh wave of guilt washed over me. It was okay... because I didn't know. What would he think of me if he knew the truth?

"I suppose," I mumbled. He had returned his focus to the lake, rowing rhythmically through the water with incredible strength. "I didn't mean to hurt you," I lied. I knew I meant to. I didn't want to, but I meant to. He didn't look away from the lake. "Erik, I-"

He stopped rowing and held the oar in the water, bringing the boat to a sudden stop.

"Where did you hear that?"

"Hmm?"

"My name," he said, interrogating me with his burning eyes, "how do you know my name?"

"I-I-" I stuttered. "I- Mme Giry told me."

"Mme Giry," he responded, kneeling down so that our eyes were at the same level, "wouldn't break a promise."

"S-she promised she wouldn't tell anyone your name," I stated. I'd intended for it to be a question, but it came out as a statement. I knew that no one could really hurt him with his name, of course—legally, he didn't exist—but perhaps being secretive about what he called himself was just another part of his staying hidden; another layer of protection against the cold wind of hatred and betrayal that the outside world held for him.