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charleygirlTitle: Beyond the Green Baize Door 18/?
Author: charleygirl
Word Count: 1452
Rating: G
Genre: General, Drama
Characters Involved: Erik the Phantom, Madame Giry
Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera is the creation of Gaston Leroux but probably these days copyright to Andrew Lloyd Webber.
Summary: After the chandelier falls...
WALKING ON BROKEN GLASS
“Well, Monsieur? Are you happy now? Is this the result you intended?”
Madame Giry stared, appalled, at the wreck which lay upon the stage. The iron struts of the chandelier were twisted and warped beyond repair, the crystal drops shattered and the pieces scattered every which way. It took up most of the space; while it hung gracefully and elegantly above their heads she had not realised that it was so big. Where a few short hours before it had been a thing of beauty, now it was a corpse, broken and battered, a shadow of its former self.
It would cost a fortune to replace.
Not that the man who had caused its destruction, and nearly brought the whole theatre down around their ears, cared about that. Though he tried to hide himself from her, she could make out his shape in the moonlight that streamed through the glass dome in the roof, see the flowing lines of his cloak and the faint gleam of his mask. He stood turned away, attempting to ignore her presence, but Antoinette was not one to ever keep her peace when the situation warranted words.
“Do you ignore me, sir?” she demanded. “Do you not even defend your actions? I am surprised to still find you here after your performance tonight.”
At last he spoke, and his voice was as dry as dust. “Go away, Madame. I do not wish to hear your scolding.”
She strode towards him, glass crunching beneath her shoes, her cane beating time on the boards. In the silvery light, the stage almost appeared to have been sprinkled with fairy dust. It glittered, mocking them both. “I will not be silenced this time, Erik,” she snapped. “My daughter was standing here when you brought down that chandelier, she was no more than two feet away from where I am now. My little Meg... she could have been killed! You gave me your solemn word that she would never come to harm and tonight you could have been the cause of her death! Am I to push such an action aside, forget it never happened? How can I possibly forgive you for this?”
His back was still turned to her; angrily she reached out and grasped his shoulder, spinning him around. To her surprise, he did not fight, merely turned to face her, raising his head so that she could see beneath the shadow cast by the brim of his hat. He looked at her without speaking for a long time; the moonlight caught the visible side of his face and Antoinette stifled a gasp for there were the tracks of tears on his cheek. The porcelain surface of his mask was similarly wet, and his mouth was contorted in despair.
“Look all you wish, Madame,” he said thickly, his bloated lower lip trembling even now. “See how the mighty Phantom can be reduced to a snivelling child at the hands of a woman.”
Madame Giry’s fingers tightened on his arm, feeling the tense muscles beneath the heavy fabric of his sleeve. He was shaking, she realised. Her fury left her as though it had been drained away. “Oh, Erik.”
“She hates me, Annie. You should have heard the names she called me, up there on the roof. Distorted, deformed... apparently this ruin of a face hardly even merits the description.” Erik pulled himself away and walked to the edge of the stage, wiping at his eyes. “What did I do to deserve that? All I ever wanted was to please her, to nurture her talent, to give her voice its wings. I offered her everything I had, and between them, she and her boy, they crushed it beneath their feet. I have harboured a traitoress all this time.”
Cautiously, she followed, skirting around the remains of the chandelier and the smashed boards beneath it. She risked a glance upwards; thankfully Buquet’s body had been removed by the police. It was doubtful that she could ever find the words to describe how it had felt to see the thing hurtling towards the dancers – the sight would be with her for some time to come when she closed her eyes. Firmly, she put the memory aside. “Christine was scared, Erik. After what happened tonight can you really blame her?”
“I would never have touched a hair on her head! She had nothing to fear from me.” A choked sob escaped his throat and he sank down between the cold, dark footlights, his cloak falling like the night around him. “I would never have...”
“And Joseph Buquet? What of him?”
A harsh laugh made her jump. “You should be grateful that he is out of the world after what he tried to do to you. I may be rotting in hell, but there is a lower pit than mine and he will not escape it.”
“Erik,” said Antoinette, not sure she wanted to hear the answer but knowing she had to ask, “Did you kill him?”
“Would you believe me if I said I didn’t?” When she hesitated, he continued, “What does it matter? Everyone will believe the Phantom is responsible.” He glared at her through the tears which still clouded his strange eyes. “Terror is useful to me. Why should I not create more of it?”
“And when the police come for you? I will not say that I truly regret his death, but there will be an inquest, and everyone heard you tonight. They will not necessarily rule that it was an accident.” Carefully, avoiding the shards of glass which littered the floor, she sat down beside him. He hunched over, drawing up his long legs and wrapping his arms around them, curling into himself.
“They will not find me. No one shall find me. Not even her, should she want to. And she will not want to. That much is obvious.”
Antoinette moved a little closer, resting her hand on his arm once more. Incredibly, he did not shy away. “It would seem that she loves him, Erik, and he loves her. I know it is not what you hoped for but you cannot change that.”
“I love her!” he said fiercely. “What can that child give her? A handsome face and a fortune, yes, but what of her soul? Can he make her soar as she does with me? She is my music, Annie, my angel. What will I do without her?” His voice cracked and he gulped for breath, desperately trying to control himself. He buried his head in his hands, the elusive, untouchable Phantom reduced to a quivering mass of black serge and jet beads.
Feeling tears spring to her own eyes, Madame Giry drew him close, taking off his hat and resting his head on her shoulder as though he were a little boy. It was possibly the strangest situation in which she had ever found herself, sitting here in the dark amidst the remains of the grand chandelier, comforting a distraught Opera Ghost. “Oh, my dear,” she murmured, stroking his hair as he sobbed into her coat and wondering if he had ever just been held like this before. “I wish there was something I could say to make it better.”
“She betrayed me,” he whispered. “I can never forget that. Why would she do such a thing?”
“I wish I knew,” Antoinette said sincerely. Christine had appeared to be more relaxed, more comfortable with her maestro over the past few weeks. She had thought that the young soprano was beginning to understand, had been secretly proud of her for summoning her courage and putting the nervousness and apprehension she naturally felt towards him to once side. It was clear that Erik would give Christine the world, if she did but ask, and Madame Giry had not thought her pupil ungrateful. Christine was not callous, nor cruel; in fact she was one of the most compassionate girls Antoinette had ever met. If she truly felt nothing for the man who had been her companion, her confidant, for so long, then why should she have allowed the relationship to continue after Erik’s deception was revealed? It would have been easy to put an end to the association, especially given the presence of the vicomte, but she had not done so. Antoinette knew more than anyone how terrifying Erik could be, and he had certainly surpassed himself tonight, but was it truly fear that led Christine to say what she had?
It was impossible to tell. Only Christine knew for sure, and she was gone. Madame Giry tightened her arms about the broken man she held and wondered what would become of him now.
Author: charleygirl
Word Count: 1452
Rating: G
Genre: General, Drama
Characters Involved: Erik the Phantom, Madame Giry
Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera is the creation of Gaston Leroux but probably these days copyright to Andrew Lloyd Webber.
Summary: After the chandelier falls...
WALKING ON BROKEN GLASS
“Well, Monsieur? Are you happy now? Is this the result you intended?”
Madame Giry stared, appalled, at the wreck which lay upon the stage. The iron struts of the chandelier were twisted and warped beyond repair, the crystal drops shattered and the pieces scattered every which way. It took up most of the space; while it hung gracefully and elegantly above their heads she had not realised that it was so big. Where a few short hours before it had been a thing of beauty, now it was a corpse, broken and battered, a shadow of its former self.
It would cost a fortune to replace.
Not that the man who had caused its destruction, and nearly brought the whole theatre down around their ears, cared about that. Though he tried to hide himself from her, she could make out his shape in the moonlight that streamed through the glass dome in the roof, see the flowing lines of his cloak and the faint gleam of his mask. He stood turned away, attempting to ignore her presence, but Antoinette was not one to ever keep her peace when the situation warranted words.
“Do you ignore me, sir?” she demanded. “Do you not even defend your actions? I am surprised to still find you here after your performance tonight.”
At last he spoke, and his voice was as dry as dust. “Go away, Madame. I do not wish to hear your scolding.”
She strode towards him, glass crunching beneath her shoes, her cane beating time on the boards. In the silvery light, the stage almost appeared to have been sprinkled with fairy dust. It glittered, mocking them both. “I will not be silenced this time, Erik,” she snapped. “My daughter was standing here when you brought down that chandelier, she was no more than two feet away from where I am now. My little Meg... she could have been killed! You gave me your solemn word that she would never come to harm and tonight you could have been the cause of her death! Am I to push such an action aside, forget it never happened? How can I possibly forgive you for this?”
His back was still turned to her; angrily she reached out and grasped his shoulder, spinning him around. To her surprise, he did not fight, merely turned to face her, raising his head so that she could see beneath the shadow cast by the brim of his hat. He looked at her without speaking for a long time; the moonlight caught the visible side of his face and Antoinette stifled a gasp for there were the tracks of tears on his cheek. The porcelain surface of his mask was similarly wet, and his mouth was contorted in despair.
“Look all you wish, Madame,” he said thickly, his bloated lower lip trembling even now. “See how the mighty Phantom can be reduced to a snivelling child at the hands of a woman.”
Madame Giry’s fingers tightened on his arm, feeling the tense muscles beneath the heavy fabric of his sleeve. He was shaking, she realised. Her fury left her as though it had been drained away. “Oh, Erik.”
“She hates me, Annie. You should have heard the names she called me, up there on the roof. Distorted, deformed... apparently this ruin of a face hardly even merits the description.” Erik pulled himself away and walked to the edge of the stage, wiping at his eyes. “What did I do to deserve that? All I ever wanted was to please her, to nurture her talent, to give her voice its wings. I offered her everything I had, and between them, she and her boy, they crushed it beneath their feet. I have harboured a traitoress all this time.”
Cautiously, she followed, skirting around the remains of the chandelier and the smashed boards beneath it. She risked a glance upwards; thankfully Buquet’s body had been removed by the police. It was doubtful that she could ever find the words to describe how it had felt to see the thing hurtling towards the dancers – the sight would be with her for some time to come when she closed her eyes. Firmly, she put the memory aside. “Christine was scared, Erik. After what happened tonight can you really blame her?”
“I would never have touched a hair on her head! She had nothing to fear from me.” A choked sob escaped his throat and he sank down between the cold, dark footlights, his cloak falling like the night around him. “I would never have...”
“And Joseph Buquet? What of him?”
A harsh laugh made her jump. “You should be grateful that he is out of the world after what he tried to do to you. I may be rotting in hell, but there is a lower pit than mine and he will not escape it.”
“Erik,” said Antoinette, not sure she wanted to hear the answer but knowing she had to ask, “Did you kill him?”
“Would you believe me if I said I didn’t?” When she hesitated, he continued, “What does it matter? Everyone will believe the Phantom is responsible.” He glared at her through the tears which still clouded his strange eyes. “Terror is useful to me. Why should I not create more of it?”
“And when the police come for you? I will not say that I truly regret his death, but there will be an inquest, and everyone heard you tonight. They will not necessarily rule that it was an accident.” Carefully, avoiding the shards of glass which littered the floor, she sat down beside him. He hunched over, drawing up his long legs and wrapping his arms around them, curling into himself.
“They will not find me. No one shall find me. Not even her, should she want to. And she will not want to. That much is obvious.”
Antoinette moved a little closer, resting her hand on his arm once more. Incredibly, he did not shy away. “It would seem that she loves him, Erik, and he loves her. I know it is not what you hoped for but you cannot change that.”
“I love her!” he said fiercely. “What can that child give her? A handsome face and a fortune, yes, but what of her soul? Can he make her soar as she does with me? She is my music, Annie, my angel. What will I do without her?” His voice cracked and he gulped for breath, desperately trying to control himself. He buried his head in his hands, the elusive, untouchable Phantom reduced to a quivering mass of black serge and jet beads.
Feeling tears spring to her own eyes, Madame Giry drew him close, taking off his hat and resting his head on her shoulder as though he were a little boy. It was possibly the strangest situation in which she had ever found herself, sitting here in the dark amidst the remains of the grand chandelier, comforting a distraught Opera Ghost. “Oh, my dear,” she murmured, stroking his hair as he sobbed into her coat and wondering if he had ever just been held like this before. “I wish there was something I could say to make it better.”
“She betrayed me,” he whispered. “I can never forget that. Why would she do such a thing?”
“I wish I knew,” Antoinette said sincerely. Christine had appeared to be more relaxed, more comfortable with her maestro over the past few weeks. She had thought that the young soprano was beginning to understand, had been secretly proud of her for summoning her courage and putting the nervousness and apprehension she naturally felt towards him to once side. It was clear that Erik would give Christine the world, if she did but ask, and Madame Giry had not thought her pupil ungrateful. Christine was not callous, nor cruel; in fact she was one of the most compassionate girls Antoinette had ever met. If she truly felt nothing for the man who had been her companion, her confidant, for so long, then why should she have allowed the relationship to continue after Erik’s deception was revealed? It would have been easy to put an end to the association, especially given the presence of the vicomte, but she had not done so. Antoinette knew more than anyone how terrifying Erik could be, and he had certainly surpassed himself tonight, but was it truly fear that led Christine to say what she had?
It was impossible to tell. Only Christine knew for sure, and she was gone. Madame Giry tightened her arms about the broken man she held and wondered what would become of him now.
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Date: 2011-12-16 09:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-17 07:28 am (UTC)