Seal My Fate•Phantom of the Opera Fanfiction

Chapter 11: All I Ask of You

Well, this week went by incredibly fast, but it's Saturday already, so here's your chapter.

Also, I still don't own The Phantom of the Opera.

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I let out a small whimper at the sight, unintentionally alerting Erik of my presence. He whipped around and grabbed me by the throat, a murderous look still in his eyes. My hands flew to his in a desperate attempt to pry his fingers away, but his one hand was much stronger than my two hands combined. His strength and the fire in his eyes were truly terrifying, but the moment he recognized me it all softened and he released me.

"Christine..." he muttered.

"A-angel?" I stuttered.

"Christine, don't look at me like that."

My blood began to boil as I stared at the horror scene in front of me. It was all too familiar—death, destruction, indifference, the smirk on his face—and it made me so, so angry. Fear was secondary—certainly, it was there, but it wasn't at the forefront. Panic was busy manifesting itself in the depths of my soul, from which it would emerge when it felt it convenient. For now, I was consumed by overwhelming anger at the atrocity—and the thought that my angel, of all people, had caused it.

I shook, trying hard—so hard, so very hard—not to scream at him, but I couldn't hold it in anymore.

"Qu'est-ce que tu as fait ?!" I screeched.

"Christine..." he whispered, as though it would garner sympathy.

"Non ! "

"Christine, écoute !" He sounded as if he had tears in his voice—like I'd care.

"Non !"  I cried, the anger quickly being washed away by a roaring wave of panic, "Non, je ne peux pas !"

"Christine," he begged, his voice low and calm, "écoute-moi."

"Laisse-moi," I growled.

"Christine..."

"Pourquoi ?" The anger was back. "Pourquoi as-tu fait ça?!"

"Christine," he insisted, "si je l'ai fait, c'est pour toi."

I backed away, shaking my head in a jumble of fear and disgust. I flinched when I hit the wall, which caused me to turn instantly away and run down the stairs.

Erik didn't try to follow me, and I was glad he didn't. Everyone downstairs was still running around and panicking, the residents flocking into their respective groups—M. Reyer stood with the orchestra, Carlotta, Piangi, and her mother stood together, some of the actors were in another huddle, and the young women and girls—the dancers, mostly—had all flooded to Mme Giry, who was holding them for dear life.

She looked just as upset as the rest of them, but she didn't look scared or angry—more... confused, possibly betrayed—which, although I didn't admit it to myself, was a more accurate description of how I felt, too.

The girls held on tightly to each other for safety and comfort, and Mme Giry managed it very well. Everyone was still scared, granted, but they looked safe. Meg was there in the center, hugging her mother and looking around, equally confused, but more concerned than panicked.

Giving each of them no more than a quick glance, I swam through the crowd to find Raoul. He noticed me the moment I was within eyesight and began to push through the crowd with a force equal to mine until we reached each other.