Seal My Fate•Phantom of the Opera Fanfiction

Chapter 14: Why So Silent?

Hello!

I don't own the guy in the picture above.

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The man looked scarier than he'd ever looked before. It wasn't his costume or his dramatic entrance that did it, though. Nor was it the look of firey anger⁠—though I wasn't sure if "anger" was the right word⁠—in his eyes. No, no, the fear came solely from within me; from what I knew—and what I didn't know.

I wasn't the only one who was afraid. Every single person in the room looked at him in sheer terror. I was only different in an extremely minor way, a difference which one could say had little to no significance, though it meant the world to me: I wasn't afraid of the man, I was afraid of the circumstances which we—yes, we, both of us—were in.

No one stirred. No one dared. Erik's 20-foot-long red cape trailed behind him as he stepped down the stairs, smirking at the crowd.

Why so silent, good messieurs?

Something brushed against my shoulder. I turned to find Eve Laurent pushing past me, attempting to find a clearer view of the Phantom of the Opera.

Did you think that I had left you for good?

I stood to the side, leaning back against Mme Giry in hopes that she could tell me what to do. She merely brushed the hair from my face and wrapped her arms over my shoulders, which, surprisingly, made me feel better.

Have you missed me, good messieurs?

I have written you an opera!

The people nearest to him backed away from the creature as he reached the end of the staircase, hoping that the distance would save them should he decide to kill someone again.

Here I bring the finished score, he smirked

DON JUAN TRIUMPHANT!

He tossed the music and a few more people backed away, startled by the sudden violence with which the thing met the ground. Erik nonchalantly stroked the blade of the sword he'd drawn, all the while still smirking at the crowd. I couldn't tell if he actually enjoyed the power he had over them or if he was just having fun with his costume. Either way, that smirk made even me want to run and hide.

Fondest greetings to you all

A few instructions, just before rehearsal starts.

I glanced across the room and saw Raoul pat Meg's shoulder before darting away⁠—likely, I figured, to fetch a sword, just as he had in the movie. Erik assaulted Carlotta's hair with his sword, as though she was a small child. This didn't harm her, of course, but she was gravely offended by both the action and the words he simultaneously threw at her.

Carlotta must be taught to ACT

Not her normal trick of strutting 'round the stage

Piangi stepped forward immediately in an attempt to defend her, which made my stomach turn. If only he knew, I thought, if only.

Our Don Juan must lose some weight, Erik sang, twisting the sword into his abdomen—again, not harming him, but certainly making him nervous—and, more importantly, implying that something much worse was to come, it's not healthy in a man of Piangi's age.

I shuddered at the word. "Healthy," he'd said, "healthy." He said it as though he cared about the poor man's health—and poor Piangi was given the impression that doing what he was told would help him survive. It was disgusting.