My Roman Empire is all the characters who are never in any of the adaptations of The Phantom Of The Opera (I love you The Persian, Comte Philipe de chagny, Sorelli and little Jammes)

No, you don't know the book well enough. It's the complete opposite, you know NOTHING about the novel. You didn't fucking read it, and if you did, you misunderstood absolutely EVERYTHING and you're more interested in "YAY SLAY, QUEEN!" than in actually talking about the story. And it's hilarious how confident you feel about your bullshit.

❥ First of all, what happened between Erik and Christine in the MAZM game (as yourself said "haven't play for a while") is exactly the opposite of what happened in the novel. Your whole tantrum is the prove you didn't read the novel, but this specific point is my favorite. MazM Erik is cruel, shouting, insane and tries to manipulate Christine everytime, even comes to physically hurt her (pushing and holding her fist). He doesn't care about her healthy and clearly doesn't love her. He kidnaps her many times, he never listen for what she has to say. Leroux Erik is the complete ✨ OPPOSITE ✨ — he literally STOPS HIS LIFE to protect her, to keep her safe, comfortable, and he regreted DEEPLY by lying for her about the angel. He never lied to her again, and actually, she was such a fool to believe in Angel of Music bullshit - what doesn't excuse his actions, but still. FUN FACT! Erik DIDN'T LIE about her FATHER, he pretended to be an ANGEL. And no, this is not ❤️ABUSE❤️, because you have no I D E A of what abuse is. You don't know even how Erik came to Christine the first time and you think you have any right to shit about the story? Leroux Erik never pushes her, never hitted her, never RAISED HIS HAND AGAINST HER. Christine cries, he suffers and listen to her. Christine begs for something, he does. Christine dislikes something, he fixes it. Christine HERSELF narrates little by little of how kind Erik was to her, and how much fragile he was. She HERSELF confesses to Raoul that she used Erik's feelings to manipulate him. To keep him cool. To keep him calm and sweet. She says it out loud and with all letters. MazM exagerated and forced "abusive relantionship" is shit and has NOTHING to do on the original novel. GO. READ. THE NOVEL!!!!!

❥ Second, lmao no, now that's ridiculous, the person doesn't know what happened in the goddamn ending. "AaAh ChRiStInE cAn'T hElP hIm" – your ass. Leroux Christine's main arc is, literally, LITERALLY, facing her nonsense fear and learning how to help Erik. And mainly, WHY help Erik. Do you even know what happens in the end of the novel? No, you don't, because you didn't read. Erik fucked up everything, he let his emotions and feelings take control, and for the FIRST and ONLY time, he acts violently and dangerously. He was jeaously and kidnapped Christine, trying to convince her to marry him — again, HE DOESN'T hurt her, he tries at his best to keep her calm but it's useless because. bruh. you kidnapped her lol —. And this moment, this exact moment, is when Christine realizes she did wrong things too. She took off his mask without permission. She feared him for no reason, she spreaded bad things about him by the back. As much as it doesn't excuse his overreaction, Christine still fucked up a little TOOOOO – STOP. IGNORING. HER. MISTAKES. Christine, unlike the despicable anti-Eriks, she is strong. She is kind, independent, she has agency and she knew exactly what to do.

What Christine did to FIX and HELP Erik?

A) She murdered him the most brutal way possible when she got the chance

B) She used his past as a weapon to make him miserable, weak and mocked him until he begged to die

C) Kissed him, took care of him, embraced him, felt for his pain, whispered kind words into his ear and was willing to "be his wife" and show him the correct way?

If you went the C option, you are RIIIIIGHT! Claps to you! Christine did exactly the right thing, the compassion YOU anti-Eriks are uncapable of feeling. She, my undear OP, she HELPED him. She FIXED him. Harmful mindset your ass. Do you know what is a harmful mindset? It is despising REAL victims of abuse, treating them as freaks, treating the word as black and white, and mainly, denying kindness. THIS is a harmful mindset. And you know what? Christine has the point for facing her fear and helping Erik, but do you know who is the protagonist of this whole story? Erik. HE chose to change. After feeling human touch and compassion for the first time, he chose to change. He chose redemption. He chose to become a better person. Daae could lick him, kiss him, hug him, fuck him, make him rich, give him fame, she could do anything, if Erik didn't want to change... he wouldn't have change.

But guess what? He did. Redemption isn't a gift, it is a choice. "Oh but i disagree with his redemption, he didn't deserve forgiveness" – fuck you and your opinion. You don't have think or aprove anything. It is what it is, you can't change it. Who suffered were Christine and Erik. They chose to forgive each other. Shut the fuck up. The Phantom of the Opera is about love, compassion and forgiveness. Christine is strong to help and Erik is strong to change. MazM bullshit doesn't change anything, it's problematic and stupid and i'm dissecting each problem about it.

❥ Third. Erik is a victim. He is an abuse survivor, and not an abuser. Your uncontrollable will to "SLAY, QUEEN!" is shit and won't change anything. He doesn't abuse Christine. He became possessive during time? Absolutely. But this is not ABUSIVE, this is toxic. There is a HUGE difference. Abusers do things because they want to, they have pleasure doing it. Erik was abused, shamed, abandoned, treated as trash, had his value lessed to nothing. Tell me, glorious purity-police warrior, how do you expect a victimized person like Erik to react calmly to any shit that happens to you? He did not have a normal life, he won't react normally to the situations of life. He was abused by his parents. He was used an object in a freakshow. He was enslasved in Persia and other countries of Asia, around evil people that despised him and tortured him (physically and emotionally). He lived a lonely life, without knowing how to lead with traumas. Erik doesn't know how to lead with pain, he is unhinged and emotionally unstable. And guess what? He's not an abuser.

"oh but it's just a rejection" – it was quite a humiliating rejection. And i don't know if you had ever been heartbroken before (probably not because anti-Eriks are mainly children who can't clean their own asses yet), but it hurts. It hurts, my friend. Seeing the person you love and cares for, saying horrible things about you by the back, planning to run away and treating you as an enemy, this is not something easy to lead with. If Erik was a normal guy with a good life and normal problems, he would be pissed, but he would forget it and live his life peacefully. She doesn't like him, after all. What he's gonna do? Kidnap her? Oh wait, Erik did kidnap her. Because he isn't a normal guy with a good life and normal problems. He is a tortured man that lives in a hellish life. He overreacts, because he is madcap. But he DOESN'T ABUSE.

❥ Fourth: "uuuh nous you wouldn't love erik in real life because he's bad, bwabwa" – Hey OP, can you please come to my house and wash my dishes? Pay my bills? My internet? Because, if you're so worried about my life and who i love or not, i guess you have enough free time to take care of my house while i'm buzy, right? Oh sorry, i forgot, you just want to chatter and opine about else's lifes. lol sorry forgot that detail. Sweetheart, go cry and shout somewhere else. I WOULD love Erik, YES. And no, he wouldn't kidnap me or "isolate" me, first because i would go to him willingly, second that Erik's asshole reaction was ocasional, he's not a serial kidnapper (neither a killer. situations are sitations, kidnapping and murdering because reasons is different). You don't know me, you don't know Erik's stans, you have literally NO control over someone else's life, your tantrum won't change our feelings and loving Erik has NOTHING to do on "idolisation" or "abusive relantionship", the same way your tantrum has nothing to do on anything: of course we would love him. Oh, you wouldn't? Fuck it? You do you, i do i 😂😂😂

Glad to know you got this off your chest! Now I GOT THIS off MY chest, plus, sent your chest a new sweet little answer ❤️ This answer is actually directed to a reblog of another anti-Erik post (i keeped everything "anonymous" because reasons). The original OP (not the person this blog is directed to) is a literal 17 years old slobberer girl that calls herself a "feminist" while thinks girls who love or/and defend Erik deserve to be abused by a man. Such a feminist person!

Hidden Away

Erik x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2184 words

Warnings: none

Summary: The reader is getting picked on and Erik helps make her feel better.

——————————————————————————————————

Everyone had heard the rumors of the angel of music, the guardian of this place but you had never believed them before.

You had never had any kind of encounter and aside from frightened whispers from the dancers and stories from Madame Giry, you didn’t think you ever would.

In fact, if you had never gotten that letter, you may not have ever learned the truth about this place.

The Opera Populaire had gotten similar letters before, from someone signing as ‘Opera Ghost’ but you had no idea who that was. All you knew was that there was a letter just like it, resting upon your nightstand.

It may have been easier to pass off as a prank, but you didn’t think so. The performers in this place often thought you a joke, and wouldn’t waste their time doing something so elaborate.

Rather, they would just torment you during your rehearsal. You could never have hoped to be a ballerina, though you often wished you could have been.

You just weren’t built for that sort of thing, but what you did have was a voice that not even the most cruel among them could refute.

Madame Giry often said that if you had been built like the other girls were, you would have been the most popular performer the opera would’ve ever had.

You should have known better than to think that living in a place like this would be gentle toward your insecurities. The dancers alone were all in such a physical condition that they were almost always in pain.

...Not to mention, rail thin.

That being said though, you knew that it wasn’t their fault that you weren’t but that didn’t make their cruel comments any less harmful.

Not every one of the ballerinas was nasty to you, or made snide remarks about how pretty you’d be if you weren’t ‘built like that’. It was just that the ones that did sort of took up all your attention.

For example, today, you had been doing your best to perform your rendition of Hannibal that Carlotta was going to be doing tonight at the show.

It was just something you’d been trying to perfect since she began doing it. It was easy to get that song stuck in your head, and as a singer, it was only a matter of time before you attempted it for yourself.

You thought you sounded alright, though not as good as the headliner always did, but right on schedule, Bernadette came round the corner.

She wasn’t the most skilled among the dancers, as she couldn’t hold a candle to Christine or Meg but she was talented for sure. More importantly than all that though, was the fact that she hated you.

Treating you poorly was arguably her favorite thing to do.

“Come now Y/N, there is no use in practicing. They are never going to let you up on stage. I doubt they could even fit you into any of Carlotta’s costumes” she hummed, her thick french accent attacking your senses.

It was a tone you were comfortable with, and if she had been any more kind, it would have even been beautiful but with the way she chose to use it, that all faded away.

Perhaps you could have argued with her or defended yourself some but you knew from experience that it wouldn’t lessen her attack. So, instead, you removed yourself from the situation completely.

Of course, doing so only made her more wicked, a cackle leaving her lips when you left the stage. You didn’t even want to know what she was saying to her friends, but it didn’t matter.

Having heard it or not, it hurt all the same.

You were just so tired of your appearance having anything to do with your talent, as if a couple extra pounds affected your ability to sing.

...And you began to cry.

Luckily, you were far enough away from anyone to know about it, but you couldn’t help yourself even if they were around. It just hurt to never feel good enough, no matter how strong you tried to act.

Sometimes you just had to let it out.

Now, you didn’t know from where you were sitting, curled up in the corner of the room with your head in your hands but there was a witness to the entire thing.

A witness that had been paying attention to you for quite some time.

The opera ghost was the focus of so many people’s attention in the opera currently but the focus of the entity himself...was you.

He couldn’t help himself.

Erik could hear your voice through the walls, even when you were singing alone in your room and by this point, he found himself completely enamored by everything you were.

In some ways, maybe he even found himself developing feelings for you, in his own special way.

In any case, watching those girls speak so cruelly to you filled the man with rage. The only thing that softened that anger was seeing you there, kneeling down with tears in your eyes.

That was enough to stop him in his tracks completely.

That was when he sat down and wrote that letter, requesting that you allow him to meet you in person, provided that you wanted to do so. That way, if he needed to whisk you away in the future, he could do so without alarming you.

Perhaps it was awkward, or strange, but in his defense, Erik had lived most of his life within the walls and dungeon of this place. He wasn’t really the most up to date on social graces.

If nothing else, it was his attempt at not startling you with his presence.

...And thankfully for him, it worked.

You read his letter that next morning, having found it laid gently on your nightstand, stamped perfectly with blood red wax.

It didn’t make any sense, and it seemed rather foolish to answer the calls of some invisible man that you’d never seen before but you couldn't help yourself.

They said that curiosity killed that cat, but in your case, it may have skinned it well first. You didn’t bother to let anyone know you were going, and you didn't care too.

All you knew was when Erik appeared, having pushed through the floor length mirror in your bedroom, you followed him into what could have been another world.

It was both grotesque and beautiful, the dark hallways smelling of musk and soot. You had lived in the dormitories all your life, but you never knew this was hidden just below.

It was clear that this was the most well guarded secret of all that the opera had to offer, and you had to consider yourself lucky to be standing where you were.

Even if maybe you weren’t quite sure why you were doing it.

“What is your name Monsieur? What do you want from me?” you asked, following behind him a quiet tone, having just stepped from the boat.

Where you were now was no more than a built up rock quarry under the opera, but it was decorated as a house would have been. Clearly, he had been living here.

For how long, you had no idea.

Erik didn’t speak at first, doing his best to think this whole thing out before he could ruin it. He had been watching you for so long, dreaming of how you would speak to him, and now that it was here, he was at a loss.

“I hate the way those other little creatures speak of you” he commented finally, not even bothering to introduce himself. It was probably best that you didn’t know who he was right away.

You knew what he was referring to almost immediately, taking it upon yourself to set down on the satin sheet of the bed now. You had no idea how he knew, but he must have been talking about Bernadette.

No one else spoke viley of you more than she did, and if that was why he’d chosen to speak to you, there had to be a reason.

Why would he care?

“She isn’t wrong in what she says, though it hurts” you shrugged, deciding that having someone to talk to was worth all the danger you’d put yourself in to get here.

There were so many unanswered questions but you couldn’t bother with them right now. All you could think about was this strange man, sitting in front of you now.

Half of his face was hidden from your view, those you focused mainly on his crystal blue eyes. They shone even in the darkness of the pit you were sitting in, and you wondered briefly what they would look like in the midmorning sun.

You assumed it would be like staring deep into a sparkling bay at the peak of summer, and that idea delighted you slightly.

“Don’t ever speak like that” he spat, a bit more upset than he meant to. It was just that it was bad enough to have to listen to them make up rude things about you.

The last thing Erik wasn’t was for you to start feeling them yourself.

“Why do you hide away? Why do you hide your face from me now?” you wondered, not letting the slip of his tongue frighten you, though maybe it should have.

For whatever reason, you felt safe here. Frankly, you were more comfortable sitting here, under the watchful gaze of a stranger, than you had ever been anywhere else.

It just didn’t make any sense that he would stay down here when all of Paris was right outside these walls.

“The world would not be kind to me, as it is unkind to you, and I hide from you so that you will not be afraid” he allowed, knowing that you were starting to feel more comfortable in this odd situation.

Had circumstances allowed it, he would have loved to meet you up there, in attendance of one of your shows. He would have loved to hear your voice in all its glory, but what he said was true.

The world had reared its ugly head to Erik before, and he wasn’t willing to go through that again.

“I will not be afraid” you promised, though when the male mentioned it no more, moving instead to talk about what he’d seen last night, you took that as your hint to do the same.

You didn't know this stranger, after all, and you didn't want to go too far.

“Why do you let them treat you so poorly. Surely you must know that you possess more talent than the lot of them combined” He wondered, almost reaching out to take your hand in his own before he stopped himself.

Erik yearned to feel your skin against this own, it was true, but he didn’t want to risk scaring you away before he even really got to know you.

He had to remember that while he felt like he knew you fully, you had only just met him.

It was a strange question, but all things considered, it was probably the most tame thing you had done all day so you answered him. “I can’t dance nearly as well as they can, besides, there is truth to what Bernadette said. I will never be a real opera singer, not the way I am”

There was a sadness in your voice, like you had already accepted it to be the only truth there was, and that was because you had. In your eyes, there was no room for a woman like you, a big woman.

You had heard everything there was.

That if you were to lose weight, you would be on stage every night. That you were wasting time on a dream with no future when you should be looking for a husband. That you would never find a husband unless you stopped eating.

It was never ending, but you had never admitted that to anyone before.

Maybe it was the odd comfort that you found in the presence of this stranger, or maybe it was because you were hidden away from the world, but you had said it out loud.

...And now Erik understood.

You had never understood what a beauty you were because no one would let you be true to it. No one would let you embrace the obvious beauty you had and instead forced it down within you.

They made you think that the problem with the world was you, when in reality, they were making up lies to keep you beneath them.

“You will never say those things again. You will be on stage, a night all to yourself, I’ll make sure of it” Erik decided, and while you had no idea what he was talking about or how that was going to happen, you nodded.

Anything seemed possible, sitting with a handsome stranger in the darkness and even if it was all a lie, you could bask in it for a little while.

Killing Me Softly

He could have spent an eternity envisioning his own death and it still would not have prepared him for this.

Written for  @timebird84 ‘s Spooky Phantober, day 2. I know it says SPOOKY phantober, but I don’t really do spooky, so this turned into something else, I hope that’s okay. 

AO3 FFN

In the course of his existence, Erik had come close to death many times. He’d been attacked, beaten, poisoned more times than he cared to remember. He had imagined and anticipated his own demise in more than a hundred different ways. On a few occasions, he had even longed for it, relished the idea of someone putting an end to his miserable life, but the human instinct for survival is a strange thing, the body always doing everything in its power to stay alive no matter how hard the brain yearns for it to stop.

Nevertheless, he could have spent an eternity envisioning his own death and it still would not have prepared him for this. He had always thought it would be painful. Whether it was sharp and quick or slow and drawn out, in his mind there was always physical suffering involved. This was something else entirely.

This type of dying was… soft. Every smile she gave him, every touch and every kind word she bestowed upon him made him feel warm. Hearing her sing for him and only him during their lessons lit up his entire being from the inside, made his spirit soar to heights he had never known existed. Her mere presence was like a drug, a powerful painkiller taking away the hurt caused by the knowledge that she would never be his.

Even if Christine could feel even a fraction of the love he felt for her, he could never bring himself to kill her light by dragging her down to his world of darkness, and her realm of colour and brightness would always be out of reach for the monster that he was. So he would bask in her glow as long as possible, and when she finally left, she would take his heart with her, if he ever had a heart to begin with.

He had been slowly dying like this for about a month now, while he watched her live as she never had before. After her successful debut as Elissa in Hannibal, Christine had been given more prominent roles and had managed to shine in every single one of them (not that Erik had expected anything else). Her angel’s voice along with his tutelage made her into the rising star of the Opera Populaire. Soon the whole world would be at her feet. It would not be long now before she would spread her wings and fly, leaving him behind to rot in hell like he deserved. It wouldn’t be painful, he expected. Once she had gone and he had no more reason to live, he would simply cease to be.

But he had some time left before all of that was to happen. Tonight, his angel had given what could arguably be called the best performance of her career thus far as Marguerite in the new production of Faust, and he was waiting behind the mirror of her dressing room to congratulate her in person. Soon she came bustling into the room, a most becoming blush colouring her cheeks, no doubt as a result of the praise bestowed upon her by her adoring audience. As soon as the door had closed behind her, her gaze went straight to the mirror.

‘Erik? Are you there?’ she called out.

‘Of course, my dear,’ he replied, ‘where else would I be?’

Indeed, where else would he be? Every minute he spent in her presence brought him closer to his inevitable demise, but that would not stop him from basking in her light for however long she would allow him to.

The lock on the door clicked shut. ‘Won’t you come in, please? You know I prefer to talk to you face to face,’ Christine said.

‘Yes, I do know that, although for the life of me, I cannot fathom why,’ he murmured to himself as he swung open the mirror and stepped into her dressing room.

‘Brava, my angel, you were magnificent tonight, as I knew you would be.’

She thanked him quietly, looking away from him, her cheeks turning an even brighter shade of red. Would she ever stop being so shy and modest in the face of his compliments, even though he must have given her thousands already? And would he ever stop feeling this fluttering in his chest when he saw that breathtakingly beautiful smile on her face? He hoped the answer was no.

‘We should start preparing you for your next role. I’m sure the new production will be announced soon.’

‘Yes, I suppose.’

Although Christine usually threw herself into preparing for a new role with enthusiasm, she seemed rather reluctant to address the topic tonight.

‘Is something the matter, my dear?’

Finally, for the first time that evening, she looked him in the eye, although her reply was still rather hesitant.

‘As a matter of fact, there is something I wish to discuss with you concerning the next production.’

‘Oh? And what would that be?’

‘I… I don’t think… Oh please, don’t be upset with me, Erik!’ she cried out, hiding her face in her hands.

‘Christine, whatever is going on?’ he asked, hastening over to her and gently wrapping an arm around her slender frame. ‘Why do you think I would be upset with you? My dear, your reaction has me quite concerned. Speak, child. Tell me what is wrong.’

She sniffled, slowly moving her hands away, allowing him to see her face, but her eyes remained fixed on the floor as she spoke.

‘I don’t want the leading role in the next production. In fact, I would prefer not to have any part in it at all, but I know that would not be conducive to my career, and you have been working so hard to get me where I am today, for which I am ever so grateful, so I thought I could maybe request a smaller role as a compromise.’

Whatever he had thought she would say, this was certainly not it. For a moment, he was stunned into silence.

‘Erik? Please say you’re not upset with me.’

If she had been anyone else, he would have yelled at her that of course, he was upset, how could she willingly throw away all that they had been tirelessly working towards these past few months? But this was Christine, his angel. He had to be more careful and considerate with her. The last thing he wanted was to scare her away. So he took a deep breath and tried his best to remain calm.

‘You are the star of this Opera, Christine. This is everything you’ve wanted, everything you deserve. I simply do not understand why you would want a smaller role now. Please explain it to me.’

‘It’s not that I don’t enjoy it or want it anymore, Erik, because I do, I promise, but I have been spending so much time in rehearsals and on stage lately that I barely got to see you anymore. I was only hoping that if I took on a less significant role in the next opera, you and I could spend more time together again, like we used to.’

For a moment, Erik thought he had misheard her. Did she mean she actually enjoyed his company? That she even preferred it over being on stage? Maybe he was dreaming. No, hallucinating, that was more likely. The idea of an angel like her willingly spending more time with a demon like him was preposterous. Only he could have dreamt that up.

‘Let me see if I understood you correctly. You want to give up a leading role because you want to spend more time with me? Don’t be ridiculous, my dear. I thought you would have figured out by now that my dreary little place five stories beneath the earth is no place for an angel like you. Your rightful place is up here, on that stage, playing the lead. You will not settle for anything less, Christine, I won’t have it and that is final.’

Clearly, that was not the reaction Christine was hoping for. She drew away from him, taking several paces back, her small, delicate hands balling into fists.

‘And why should you get to decide that? It’s my life, my career, surely I should have a say in this as well.’

‘If you were capable of making choices that would be beneficial to your career, then yes,’ he retorted. ‘In this case, however, I think you should leave the decision making up to me, since you don’t seem to know what is good for you.’

‘How dare you!’ Christine gasped, her face now red with indignation, the look in her eyes suddenly more fierce and passionate than he had ever seen from her. ‘Is that what you want? To make all my decisions for me? Well, I suppose I should not be surprised. After all, that is exactly what you have been doing since we’ve met, is it not?’

Is that what she truly thought of him? That all he wanted was to control her?

‘Christine, listen –‘

‘No, you listen!’ she yelled. ‘These past few months, you have been telling me what to do. Not only how to improve my singing, but what to eat, when to come and when to go, how to behave towards Carlotta and the managers. And I have listened to you, let you guide me in whatever direction you liked like a puppet on a string, because I believed you knew what was best for me where my singing career was concerned. But you do not know what is best for me when it comes to my heart, Erik.’

When Erik didn’t reply – how could he, he didn’t even know where to start, didn’t understand what was happening at all – she slowly walked up to him, taking his right hand in both of hers and bringing it up to her chest, right over her heart.

‘I care for you, Erik. So much.’

He wanted to stop her right there, because that could not possibly be the truth, but she held up a hand to halt his protests. She continued, her voice softer now, looking up at him with pleading eyes, pleading for what he did not know.

‘When I am up on that stage, I’m not singing for the audience. I am singing for you. You are the one who gave me my voice, and so every time I sing, I am laying my soul at your feet. I could not care less who else is listening to me, as long as you are there. And I know you are there every single time, I can always feel your presence even when I cannot see you, but sometimes it feels like it is not enough. I want to be near you. I love to sing for you, but I want to sing with you as well. Please let me.’

If it had been physically possible, Erik’s jaw would have dropped to the floor. She could not possibly mean any of this, could she? She was right, he had controlled and manipulated her, even if he did not think of it as such at the time, and still she was here, standing right in front of him, telling him she cared for him?

When the ability to from words finally returned to him, her name was the first sound that crossed his lips.

‘Christine,’ he whispered, his usually confident and commanding voice now trembling with bewilderment, ‘I do not understand. How? Why?’

‘You silly man,’ Christine said, a soft smile playing on her lips. ‘Such a genius, and yet understanding human emotions has always been beyond your grasp, has it not?’

Suddenly he felt her soft little hand caressing the unmasked side of his face. He gasped, trembling under her touch, and before he could say anything her lips were on his.

If she had been softly killing him before, it now felt like she was breathing life back into him with a single kiss. If he had been slowly descending into the darkness of hell, she was now pulling him back up towards her own blinding light. He let out a soft whimper when she pulled back a little, but then she kissed him again, a little more firmly this time, and he finally managed to wrap his left arm around her waist, his right hand still resting over her heart where she had placed it. His whole body was buzzing with an energy he had not felt in a long time, every nerve screaming at him that he was most definitely alive.

Death would have to wait a little longer after all, it seemed.

So, I read The Phantom Of Manthattan

In its entirety. @baepsyche had tried to dissuade me, she did her best, but I wanted to wade through the sewage that book is by myself and form my own opinion on it. I mean, I had a very clear image of how bad it would be when I heard @lindsayetumbls give the rundown in the Musicalsplaining episode of Love Never Dies, but I had no idea how bad it could actually be!

TL:DR The book is a mess that makes no sense as a sequel to whatever, nor it makes sense on its own because of how it’s structured and written. It sucks, it’s poorly written and isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on. Love Never Dies is a fucking masterpiece worth of all the awards for musical theater out there in comparison.

I mean... I’ve read bad books in my life. Once upon another time I handled a blog dedicated to poor literature - both printed and online - I’ve read my big fat share of bad literature, I binged on the Fifty Shades trilogy but Sweet Jesus Christ POM makes 50 Shades look like high art! 

Let’s start from the beginning, shall we?

1. Too many POV characters. There’s like... the Phantom, three different journalists two of which are there for one chapter alone and never return, there’s the priest, and a couple more I forgot. But... WHY? Why so many different POV characters in a book so short I literally finished it in a couple half hour long sessions? WHY? It makes no sense from a narration standpoint, it’s crowded and confusing and voyeuristic! Also, never including Christine’s POV you diminish her character to a paper thin token. Also, where’s Raoul?

2. Speaking of which, Raoul. Poor guy, the book shits on him from chapter 1 (the only barely readable chapter of the book), and by doing so right in the beginning the “big reveal” of Pierre/Gustave true parentage feels more of a “captain obvious” joke rather than a “I would have never guessed!”. Not that it is such a grand plot twist in Love Never Dies I mean, but Jesus, not like this! 

3. Yeah, speaking of that. People shit on Love Never Dies for “Beneath A Moonless Sky” and the sex scene that never was, but this is way worse! At least the song gives you a context, a moment you can at least imagine what the hell happened and maybe even why, but here? Nothing! They don’t even TALK about that, let alone explain to the reader that those two had sex! What the fuck! Pierre just happened to be born and Raoul never even questioned his parentage! Or maybe he does, he just doesn’t care since he fullfills the nobility’s expectations of a male heir, who knows. HE DOESN’T SAY ANYTHING RELEVANT IN THE WHOLE BOOK! No wonder in LND they turned him in the abusive alcoholic, they had no material to build on in this... thing. 

4. The Phantom and the backstory. I appreciate the fact that they tried to give him a past, and I really liked the fact that Forsythe took his time to even give at least a fraction of time/place context to the original book that hasn’t one by figuring out Leroux had a post-electricity Palais Garnier in mind, but the backstory for the Phantom... I’ve read more interesting fanfics. I haven’t read Kay’s Phantom, I have it but I haven’t started it yet so I can’t make comparisons, but seriously, I’ve really read fanfics retellings of Erik’s past more imaginative and fleshed out that this book.

Which leads me to...

5. Satanism? Really? Satanism? Of all the shock cards Forsythe could have dropped on the table, Satanism? Listen guys, I’m a metalhead, I listen to stuff that people have called “the music of the devil” (classic rock, blues and jazz included) for the past fifty years on daily basis, one of my favourite songs of all time is Emperor’s “Inno A Satana” which literally means “Hymn to Satan” in Italian. My parents were scared to death when I started dabbling in heavy metal because of the whole “satanism” thing, I know my shit about satanism (I actually have done my research), and let me tell you that shit is old. Like, dusty and moldy old, not just not fashionable, it’s such an old story no one finds it so shocking anymore. So... WHY? It makes no sense, drives no point in the story, it’s a damn McGuffin that isn’t even relevant anymore! It wasn’t at the time the book was published (the whole trial to Judas Priest, Black Sabbath and Ozzy Osbourne had happened like... 10 years prior the book was written so... meh) and I really hope it will never be again because... seriously... nope, it’s stupid and pointless, why on Earth it was used as a plot device I have no fuckin’ idea. 

6. Darius. Dude has no backstory, no descriptor except his greed and “devotion” to money and wealth. Oh and he smokes hashish. That’s it. We’ve got no other data on him. Jesus Christ, for the antagonist of the story he surely is kind of... bland? I mean, he’s non existent! Such a cop out, like really... WHY! At least Meg falling for the Phantom and getting all jealous crazy makes a teeny tiny bit of sense, but this guy? Bland, children’s book cutout satanism aside, which is a terrible choice of moving force for reasons above, the dude himself is so terribly fleshed out (ID, he isn’t) that his motivations are unclear at best and laughable at worst. You are the Phantom’s face in the world, he has so much money that if you start putting a side a grand here and a grand there he wouldn’t notice, you have power to make deals in his behalf, why don’t you just get the money and go? Have you learned nothing by working with the Phantom? Can’t you make your own money and become filthy rich yourself so you can honor your damn god  on your fucking own? Don’t you think your god would appreciate more you making your own wealth instead of pigging on the Phantom’s back and take only morsels of his own wealth? Fuck this book is a mess. 

7. Christine. I mean, she’s rarely there, for the time she is she’s either a hysterical mess or a an angel on stage, and she is supposed to be the reason everything happens. In reality, it looks like everything happens in spite of her. She has no power on her own, she’s like a piece of wood floating in the sea during a storm. 

8... No, I’m not going further with this. I could shit on this book for the whole day, but I have other things to do, better things to do. 

I’m going to wash my eyes with bleach now. 

A prompt for POTO: something about Christine learning to love music again after the main events (let's assume it's hard for her to love it now because she basically associates it and her own musical talent with Erik). Can be gen, R/C or C/C.

It is 2 AM where I am but yes that is definitely a good idea. Thanks for the prompt!

Here, I cross-posted to AO3.

Raoul was never a good singer. Not that he was badeither; he simply lacked the training. He liked singing, though, would oftensing without really thinking about it, one reason he and Christine had gottenalong as children.

It broke Christine’s heart to tell him to be quiet.

The first couple times she simply asked him, and heobeyed with an embarrassed if slightly confused smile. The cabin they weresharing on the ship was small. He must have thought it was just her nervesacting up. Well it was, just not the way he probably assumed. She didn’t hatethe sound of his voice, but he’d picked up scattered tunes from the opera houseafter hanging around there with her too often. And she’d just run away from theOpera Populaire; why would she want to think of it?

When she finally snapped at him, it was because theexercise he was absently humming wasn’t just one that all the singers used butone that Erik had taught her personally. “Will you be quiet for once, Raoul?Dear God!”

Raoul was taken aback. And as was typical of him,rather than submitting to the appearance of anger, he instantly becamedefensive. “I don’t see that there’s any harm in my humming once in a while,Christine. I’m not that loud.”

“You’re not that melodious either,” Christine said. “You’renot a trained singer, so why play with scales? Don’t put on airs like you’reUbaldo Piangi.”

“There’s no harm in it,” Raoul repeated, crossing hisarms. “For that matter, why haven’t you been singing scales?Shouldn’t you keep up with your practice?”

“I’m not going to be an opera singer anymore,”Christine said, “I’m going to live in Sweden and be your wife, so what does anyof that matter?” When she saw he was taken aback, she said, “Fine! Keep onsinging. I’m going to get some air.” And she went out onto the deck.

They’d talked many times before about how she wasleaving Paris and her life as an opera singer behind. She’d always focused onthe life she would live instead: A peaceful life, in the land of her birth—certainlya more respectable one, having a husband instead of singing on stage for herbread, and the fact that the husband would be Raoul was something straight outof a fairy tale. And even more than that, she’d thought about the fact that shewouldn’t be afraid anymore.

But even out at sea, having left Erik far behind(even had he wanted to, he couldn’t swim the ocean and climb onto the boat,could he?), the fear had not left her. She found herself watching dark cornerscarefully, and starting at sudden noises. Other times in broad daylight herheart would race endlessly for no reason at all.

She didn’t mind talking about Erik, or the events ofthe past few months, with Raoul. They had talked about it often. It felt safe,somehow, to talk about Paris and Erik as if they were far past, now onlydistant memories to pick apart into little innocuous bits. But then he’d dosomething like a hum a line from one of the operas and she’d feel as if shewere still in her room at Mamma Valerius’s house, and Erik was somewhere justout of sight, listening to her recite and watching, always watching…

She shuddered.

Later she’d apologize to Raoul. And she’d explain,maybe. If she could. He always tried to adjust for her needs, so he’d adjustfor this odd one too. If only it didn’t make her seem so weak! That was theworst of it. Raoul could sing as cheerfully as he wished—she’d seen him singingalong with the sailors’ chanties, some of which he already knew—and yet she, aprima donna of the best opera house in France, could barely stand to sing anote without cringeing.

In Sweden, Erik should have seemed distant. Instead,he seemed closer than before. In Paris, she had known when to expect him—at homeand at the opera house mostly—and had had some sort of idea how to avoid hissight as well, even though it hadn’t always worked. On the ship, with landnowhere in sight, she’d felt somewhat separate from any mortal world. But onland and in a strange place, everything seemed dangerous. Erik might well beanywhere. Of course she knew he wasn’t. He’d said he was letting her go, andshe believed him. Her dear teacher.

Only, she could know he was nowhere near and stillbelieve he might appear at any moment at the same time.

Raoul had stopped singing when she was around to hear,which was most of the time. They currently were living in a house of the Daaes,small but decent, in separate rooms since they still weren’t married. Causing abit of gossip in town, but gossip hardly bothered Christine. She liked to thinkpeople might talk about her being involved in a scandal that had nothing to dowith murder or ghosts.

At home there was no music. When she went out,though, there was no way to always avoid it. Beggars singing in themarketplace, or sounds emanating out of bars and public houses. And then in herhead, she’d hear Erik’s critique.

“That man! Frogs sing better—no, that is almost acompliment—howling cats sing better. Can you believe he has the audacity to askfor money for that? He’d do better to stand with his hat in his hand and hismouth firmly shut. Now, dear, this is why I always tell you not to mistakevolume for quality—aren’t you glad for the tip? You’ll never sound like thatrogue, but only ever have a voice of the sweetest honey, singing the loveliestnotes. My voice from your lips.”

That’s why I don’t sing anymore, she thought to herselfonce, because he’s not here and he’s taken his voice back with him…

This frightened her in a whole new way. She went homeand tried singing scales, testing if her voice still worked. She found that ittrembled, but it grew stronger little by little. No, she still had her voice.But she could feel him, Erik, standing behind her, listening carefully.

Clapping broke out behind her when she finished herscales and she jumped, turning around quickly. It was Raoul, standing in thedoorway of her room with a smile on his face.

“I haven’t heard you sing in a long time,” he said.

She smiled nervously. “Well… I just thought I’d seeif I still had the knack.”

“Still have the knack! Darling, as if you could everlose it. You’re the best singer in the world. I love hearing you sing.”

Impulsively he hugged her. She hugged him back. Raoul…He’d been out in the garden, and smelled of dirt and labor, which was a littlefunny for a vicomte. His enthusiasm for her voice was reassuring in a way, oldand familiar. He’d always liked her music, after all, even before Erik.

Then he said, “You can’t imagine how happy I was whenI saw you singing at the Opera Populaire. I recognized you immediately with theballerinas, but when you sang I knew I had to get up the courage to go see you—youhad the voice of an angel.”

She stiffened.

He realized his mistake immediately. “Christine, I’msorry, I know—I didn’t mean it like that, Christine, I’m sorry…”

She pushed him away and smiled off his apologies. “Don’t.It’s me, I’m being ridiculous.”

The voice of an angel. Raoul had always loved hersinging, but now, she thought, it was ruined. Refined, of course, as Erik sawit, and as she couldn’t help but see it too. Everyone in Paris wanted to knowwho her tutor was. Everyone in Paris thought she was brilliant. But it was avoice somehow dirtied, too, perverted, no longer the voice Raoul loved, nolonger her voice at all, even if she could still sing with it. It was not hers.

She didn’t sing again for days. Yet, having sungonce, she couldn’t quite stop herself again as thoroughly as she had on fleeingParis. She sang quietly when no one was around, scales and opera pieces sotto voce. Dirty music withwhich she perverted her home, yet she loved it. She loved singing.

She’d loved Erik, for a while. But loving him hadhurt. She liked to think she didn’t love him anymore, and he had no hold onher. Yet there he was, in her beautiful, ugly voice. There he would be untilthe day that she died.

The one thing Christine regretted about leavingFrance was that she had left behind her father’s burial ground.

(There might have been other things she regrettedabout leaving France, but this was the only one she would admit to herself.)

She couldn’t head down to Perros-Guirec to visit hisgrave, so when the mood took her to pay her respects, she instead went down tothe seashore and sat on one of the rocks. Perros-Guirec, with its cold watersand pink granite, was not so different from here. It was a good place to mournand pray and feel her father’s presence.

“I will sing to you,” she said, when she had run outof prayers. She took a deep breath. “Gentle flowersin the dew, be a message from me, and to flow’r that is rarer, and moreprecious than you… though fair you be.”

Lines from Gounod’s Faust, from Siebel’s song. Howoften had she practiced this song, guided by one she thought was the angel ofmusic. And she had kept faithfully to her practice out of filial piety; herfather had sent him. Or so she had thought.

“How my life I surrender, with your beauty sotender…” She paused for breath. How out of practice she was, to need breath!And her voice was hitching. “How my life I sur…”

How she had surrendered her own life! And not to herfather’s wishes, nor how her father would have chosen.

She curled into a ball on top of the rock, knees pressedagainst her chest, and broke into sobs. Even here, trying to speak to herfather, she was faced with her own foolishness, with the tarnishing of herlife. Yet she would have liked to sing to him. He had taught her music first,had been her first teacher.

“I will do it!” she said suddenly. She got to herfeet. “He cannot stop me. I will sing for you, papa, like you taught me to do.”

The song that she sang then was nothing so refined asGounod. It was a folk song she had learned long ago, a song of a sailor lost tothe sea and his mourning wife who would miss him forever. She hadn’t learned itfrom her father, but somewhere else—in town maybe—but they had sung it togetherbefore. She sang it as well as she could, though the waves drowned out hervoice to some extent.

When she was done she stared out over the waters. Achill took her. It was bad luck to sing about drowned sailors when her ownRaoul was a sailor of sorts. Not that he was off at sea. He was safe at home.Suddenly she had the urge to go make sure, to be with him…

She blew a hurried kiss to the ocean and raced offdown the road back to her cottage.

Sometimes when Raoul started humming, she would stopand listen. He was not always humming songs from Paris. Some of the songs hehummed she didn’t even know, and she would ask him about them. He wouldapologize, and she would tell him not to.

Sometimes she practiced her scales and sometimes shedidn’t. Erik never showed up to scold her or praise her either way.

Sometimes she sang.

And one day in town she saw a violin in a store,selling for less than she would have expected. Though she and Raoul did nothave all that much money saved up, she asked if the store owner would take hermoney and give her a little credit. The Daae name was good in town.

She brought it home and presented it to Raoul withmuch ceremony.

“But Christine, I’m not in practice. I’m not really aviolinist anymore.”

“There are plenty of fiddlers around. I expect we canget someone to help you. Besides, you’re probably not as bad as you think.”

He placed the violin in the crook of his neck andraised the bow. Carefully he scraped it against the strings. She winced at thesound. “…I think it needs rosin.”

“I think I need rosin.”

“No, you need practice. But soon you’ll be playing aswell as ever. It will be nice to have music in the house again.”

He smiled a little sheepishly. “Well, maybe. We’llsee.”

Someday she would be ready to sing around him, too,maybe even around other people. It would come in time.

the airport AU, part 130 by rjdaae and hopsjollyhigh

Previous parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 70 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88, 89, 90 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98, 99, 100 101, 02, 03, 04, 05, 06, 07, 08, 09, 10 111, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29

—

ERIK

Her voice wraps around him, gleaming silk ribbons that catch light like prisms and send stars scattering across his vision; he shuts his eyes for the sake of focusing on the piano below his fingers. Still, it sits like a reassuring arm across his shoulder. This is why he believed in this voice; it isn’t technical perfection, but there is some unteachable passion in it, something that he doesn’t even understand himself. Her voice stirs something deep inside of him, the frail pieces that he has locked up for their own protection, things that he has forgotten himself capable of over the course of a too-long life. It is a wall so industriously built that he had thought it permanent, but when she sings, it is as if she is chipping out a window. A window that may someday become a door, that may someday bring down that wall- it’s too soon for all of that, but his heart throbs with things that he can’t name, and he is too caught up in the wonder and beauty of it all to be afraid of the freedom, the sudden ease of breathing. As if he’d been holding his breath, not just for a few minutes, but for decades of his life.

He is quite convinced that he could listen to her sing forever, especially this joyous passage. It almost feels like an intrusion, but at the very least, the words of Vaudémont’s interjection feel right-

“Yes! It’s true! You speak the truth!”

The conviction in his voice- she has brought him the truth, bathed his dim world in light; perhaps, like Vaudémont, he had begun this journey as a teacher, as though he knew more than her- and every day, she has pushed him, challenged him, changed his way of looking at the world. His way of looking at her. Vaudémont had been arrogant, to assume that this young woman knew any less of the world than he did; he had been unchanging in his ability to perceive the world until Iolanta described the way she saw it.

These things come to him rapid-fire, moments of clarity that hit him and spark at him before fading back into the background, before thought sinks away and the music rises up again.

Oh, you’re right! In your heart shines the great torch of truth, and before it, our earthly light is fleeting and pitiful!

Any light he’s ever seen has paled in comparison to the radiance that seems to bounce between them now, the vibrating energy that draws the song forward and through towards its conclusion; at some point, he finds, he must have half-stood up from the bench, too restless to sit, hunched over the keys. He lets his eyes close again, focuses only on each tandem breath, living inside these final moments, if only to avoid dreading the end of the song. 

---

CHRISTINE

The song could only ever have been a duet. There’s no real gap between the end of Christine’s verse and the beginning of Erik’s. No room for a breath, had a single person attempted to sing both parts; no span of time that could have been measured in blinks of an eye, or the quickest beat of a frantic heart.

Standing just behind her friend, Christine freezes in that nonexistent space between her voice and his, gaze caught like a snared rabbit by the glinting wire of the mask—conscious thought scrabbling uselessly in the dust as emotion leaps and wrestles with instinct, twisting her heart into a tangled, choking knot.

Only to snap just as suddenly, sawn apart by the razor edge of the moment itself.

Vaudémont’s words describe a light within Iolanta; Christine’s own heart feels more like the moon as Erik’s voice floods over her again, the warm blaze of a star that she can only hope to reflect. Yet, there can be no disputing the faith, the absolute certainty of the sound that fills her ears; she shivers as bright wings lift her from the ledge on which she had been so precariously perched, raising her beyond the reach of the tempting whispers of the abyss below.

As if pulled by the same force, Erik rises partway from the piano bench, blocking her view of the sheet music; though, the markings on the tablet screen have long since ceased to matter. The song soars onward, hauling her feet off the ground even as she races joyously after it. It’s like gripping a kite string in a hurricane—a strong line that stretches through her, taut as it runs from head to heel, dredging her voice from the deepest part of her soul.

“But, to be like you, I would like to see the light of the sun!”

Music flows through them, around them, between them—living in the solid vibration of the piano, in the breath of their each shared note, like some kind of symbiotic creature; making *them* somehow more alive by its presence. Maybe this, she thinks, is the reason most operas are sung-through: who could bear to write silences into a score, knowing that they would be signing the death warrant of something so precious?

Yet, even as their own song flies inescapably towards its conclusion, Christine finds no pain, no tragedy in the beautiful, soaring phrases. To its last breath, the heart of the music beats without regret, unrestrained and fearless. What she’d taken for death is instead a triumphant ascension—Faust’s Marguerite taken up to heaven, borne in angels’ arms.

Her heart aches to recognize how lost she had been: to have seen a sunset, and believed that it meant endless night; to have resigned herself to a lifetime of stumbling with only a candle to guide her, when she had merely to wait for the return of morning. It’s disconcerting, unsettling, her view shifting like a sudden landslide—like Iolanta’s first terrifying, dazzling glimpse of the blue sky after agreeing to have her vision restored.

The light in the basement is dim, soft, as Christine opens eyes that she doesn’t remember having closed. The late afternoon sun trickles in through the single high window, like the glow that must have streamed into the mouth of Lazarus’ cave. Painting warmth and shadow with the same brush, it shines dully on the weathered body of the piano, on Erik’s shoulders, which shake slightly as he stands over the keyboard, driving the final chords from the instrument in a dynamic clash of sound. Her eyes well up to see him so transported—the thought occurring to her that she might not have been the only one to learn something in this ‘lesson’.

Silence comes too quickly.

Despite herself, despite knowing better, Christine can’t help the residual flare of panic that hits her. For a moment, it’s as if she’s forgotten how to breathe, desperately and irrationally uncertain of how to survive in a world from which music has disappeared again—like a life ring slipping from the hands of a drowning person.

Then, her friend takes an unsteady breath of his own; in it, she hears the first note of all the other songs they will sing together.

Tears spill over, running down Christine’s cheeks as she leans forward, fighting herself for every inch—tears that fall in tiny, dark spatters on the back of Erik’s sweatshirt when she finally lets her forehead come to rest in the gap between his shoulder blades.

---

ERIK

Dust specks hang still in the warm beam of light filtering in through the tiny basement window, as if the whole world has frozen with them. The silence is choking after the brilliance of sound, and Erik feels frozen in place. His mind is foggy, and the thought of speaking or moving is so distant- as it stretches on, the familiar weight of anxiety begins to settle around him again. What to do, what to say, how to react to something so utterly unique and fantastically beautiful- how will they ever interact the same way again? How can they go back to a casual lesson after something like this? He knows that Christine must have felt it as well; it wouldn’t have worked if Christine hadn’t felt it. They had ceased to be separate individuals- just for a moment, he had lived outside of himself. He can hardly remember how to breathe; how is he supposed to guide a student?

His worrying doesn’t have to last long. His muscles tense instinctively at the unexpected touch of someone at his back- he goes frozen with the effort of suppressing old reflexes. The largest piece of him would whip around to confront a person coming from behind, touching him unexpectedly, but Christine’s presence, especially in that moment, seems to have quieted those impulses.

What is she? He can’t place her, never has been able to- she has landed in his world with the brilliance of a falling star, and all the blinding confusion. Some hidden part of him, something that he has scarcely acknowledged since childhood, makes its presence known around her. It demands attention- it overwhelms him with a need for affection that contradicts everything else he’s ever learned about human touch. 

When the initial fear fades away, when his muscles relax and he lets out a long breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, all that’s left is a warmth at his back, and somehow, it feels like seeing a pinprick of light after years of fumbling in some dark and twisting cave. He straightens slowly, moving away from her just for a moment, just so that he can turn around, and at the sight of her, he is helpless to contain it. All the years of learned caution and fear succumb to the person inside of him who has been, for an entire lifetime, struggling to reach out. 

So he reaches out. Without calculation or hesitation, he reaches out, and his arms find their way around her shoulders, and he steps closer to her until her forehead just barely touches his chest. He’s tall enough that, even with his head bowed, he doesn’t touch the top of her head; his arms are long enough that they nearly encircle her completely. His heart beats its quick and frantic rhythm, and he doesn’t bother attempting to push back the tears that spring to his eyes.

It is only when it is done that he realizes exactly what he’s doing- he trembles at the sudden proximity, the proximity that he has caused,and his muscles start to tense again, though he stays frozen in space. This is wrong! A voice beats and screams in the back of his head-wrong! and he his breath escapes him in almost a hiss- but he wants it! Something in him wants this proximity, demands to know why he can’t have this. There’s a tremor in his shoulders, and the air feels thin- and he recognizes his expectation; with a sucking black hole of dark and yawning certainty, he tenses and waits for her to push him away as he battles with himself- why can’t I be close to a friend?

Have you forgotten what you are? Is she only your friend?

His eyes clench shut, and gasps as he chokes on the sob at the back of his throat. He is fixed, paralyzed in the wake of his hasty decision. He can only wait for what he knows is the same inevitable rejection that has pushed him into himself in the first place. She doesn’t owe him this- and if he were stronger, less selfish, he would back away and send her home to Sweden this moment. 

“Jag är ledsen,” he chokes, his voice utterly transformed from a few moments ago. Despite his words, his arms remain around her. 

---

CHRISTINE

From the first night they met, she has thought of Erik as a kind of angel. To Christine, there’s no other comparison that could be drawn in such heartfelt lines; no deeper possible expression of her wonder and gratitude. How else could she ever describe it? To have this remarkable person come into her life at a time she least expected it, offering help just when she needed it most. If one of the angels from her childhood stories had manifested itself in front of her, wings and all, its appearance could hardly have seemed any more unlikely of a miracle than the simple chance of her and Erik’s paths having crossed.

After years of leaning on daydreams, Christine lets her head rest upon a shoulder that is utterly human—tense, uncertain, but solid and real where her brow presses gently against it—and knows that she would never trade it for one with feathers.

There are so many reasons for caution. Things that she is already aware of; things she may never learn; things that she could guess if she only allowed herself to try. They crowd at the back of Christine’s mind now, pooling like shadows in the depths of a cave—shrinking away from the radiance of her joy.

Her strained neck relaxes into Erik’s back as she senses the tension leave him, smearing tears between her face and his sweatshirt; the ridges of his scarred skin disappear beneath the heavy fabric, but the faintest hint of warmth seeps through, soothing the overwhelmed aching of her head. There’ll be time later to remember how complicated things actually are: time to worry—about him, and herself, and the past, and the future. For now, Christine finds all the reassurance she needs in the rise and fall of his back as he breathes: a reminder that she isn’t alone; that the wonder of this music has been real; that she has someone to *share* it with.

Then, just when things seem steadiest, they tip: Christine flinches at the sudden emptiness of the cold air against her cheek, her eyes opening in surprise as Erik steps away.

There’s just enough time to doubt herself; just enough time for her to gaze at the damp marks her tears have left on the back of his sweatshirt, as if she were a lost traveler trying to retrace her footprints—wondering what wrong turn had been taken; which path might yet lead back to safe ground. But as her friend turns around, facing her for the first time since they sang together, there’s no time to seek an answer—no need to even look for one, as one finds her on its own; enveloping her the way Erik’s wiry arms closing around her shoulders.

There’s a moment, a fraction of a second, as she stares wide-eyed into the front of the sweatshirt, in which Christine feels certain that she is about to speak. A reassurance; a question; a phrase of gratitude—she’s not sure which. When her mouth opens, though, all that comes out is a soft, stifled breath; a gentle sound caught somewhere between a gasp and a sigh. Somehow, it’s fitting: a word not devised or spoken by her mind (which runs in wild circles, still struggling to make sense of the black wall that has appeared hardly an inch from her face, and the gentle weight around her shoulders), but by her throat, her lungs, her heart itself. Like the silent syllables formed by her hands as they twitch upward, her arms lifting towards Erik in a way that could have been instinctive if it weren’t so *deliberate*.

Words don’t seem to belong in this moment any more than they had when they were singing—not even ‘hug’ itself, entirely wrong for the stiff, tremulous arms that encircle her.

Christine’s own arms fall limply back to her sides as her thoughts finally catch up with her, her hands curling, nails biting into her palms.

How many times has she wanted to hug him? How many times has Erik become overwhelmed by far less? Now, she can tell that he’s crying. Can hear it—can *feel* it, wrapped as she is in his dark shadow. This is the closest she’s ever been to him, closer than his boundaries had once seemed capable of bending; yet, even with the gap between them narrower than ever, there’s room for doubt. Christine tilts her head up, the tip of her nose brushing against the soft fabric of the sweatshirt, but gains only a useless glimpse of the underside of her friend’s jaw.

He shudders again, and she feels it as if it had reverberated through her own bones. His arms seem so terribly brittle; though he’s chosen to wrap them around her, can she be sure that it won’t frighten him—won’t *hurt* him—if she tries to do the same? Tears hit the back of Christine’s neck as she leans her forehead lightly against his chest again—taking no more than has already been given to her; risking no more than Erik himself has put at stake.

Waiting for him to push her away, she realises with a sudden, sickened jolt.

She’s been so careful, has tried so hard to be the friend that she thinks he wants—has done her best to avoid making him feel uncomfortable, or pressured, or any of the things that have seemingly caused him to distance himself from everyone else who has tried to be there for him.

But where has it gotten the two of them?

And who has she really been trying to protect?

She feels Erik draw a breath, the syllables rattling in his chest as he offers her a ragged apology. The only apology that she sees necessary is her own. But though her heart aches, Christine finds that she can’t force the words from her throat. Maybe they’ve been said too many times already; maybe they simply have no place here.

She has learned so much from Erik in their short time together. About singing, and music; language, and cats, and people. But maybe she should have paid more attention to the very first lesson of their friendship, that night in the airport when she accepted his offer to stay in Paris: that, even when the odds seem impossibly high, there are some risks worth taking.

In the shaking of Erik’s shoulders, she can feel the weight of the gamble he clearly believes himself to have made—a bet that she doesn’t intend to let him lose; as her arms once more begin to lift, Christine can only hope that her own fears are just as unfounded.

But, after all, sometimes there are angels.

Her hands slowly venture upward, hovering blindly in the air behind Erik’s back—tentative; gathering courage. But then, finally, her fingertips settle on his back. If she’d thought that Erik couldn’t possibly become any more tense, she’d been wrong. But despite the startled frisson that cuts through him, drawing another strangled noise from his throat, he makes no move to separate himself from her. And that’s enough: with a sudden unrestrained desperation, Christine’s arms tighten around corrugated ribs, her face turning to press itself against a chest that seems cushioned more by fabric than flesh.

It’s one thing to know that he is dangerously thin by looking at him; it’s another thing entirely to measure the terrifying extent of it within the span of her own arms: her embrace loosens almost instantly, as if in fear of breaking him, and she shifts her head away from the bruise that she has remembered too late—but she doesn’t pull away; doesn’t let him think that that was ever her intention. As her palms smooth gently across the ridges of his back, she only wants to hold him tighter—to soothe away all of the hurt that he has suffered, in the way that she knows only a hug can; to finally *be* held by this person who has become so important to her.

“Det är okej,” Christine says, finally making a concession to speech as Erik’s heart continues to beat frantically against her ear. “Det är okej, vännen.”

(illustration by rjdaae) ---

ERIK

As a child, Erik can remember slapping his mother’s hand away from his shoulder- rare as her affection was, it was better to not have it at all. He had distanced himself from touch, written it off as something childish that only weak people depended on. He knows somewhere that it has always been a survival instinct, but his reaction has not changed since childhood- contempt for any sentimentality in relationships.

It had been easier to cope with anger than to fear rejection. His mother’s drawn, pitying face- he hated looking at it nearly as much as she hated looking at his. Eventually, she had stopped attempting to touch him completely- a relief on both of their parts. He had given her the excuse she needed, and he had believed himself free of that need for physical affection.

In most ways, he has not grown from that belief in the decades he has spent away from his childhood home. And the sense of completion he feels with his arms around Christine threatens to bring that carefully constructed idea, the idea that he has cultivated for his own self-preservation for almost forty years, tumbling down around him.

It has been difficult, in the past, to regard himself as a member of the same species as others. It has been difficult to regard them as alive at all. There has always been a degree of selfishness attached to his survival. Depending on himself only has meant keeping others at arm’s length wherever possible. Khan’s presence in his life was the first chip in his armor.

He can feel the rhythm of Christine breathing down to his core. She is to him as the moon is to the tide; every small movement she makes pulls him along with her.

He is transfixed by every detail of her, down to the wisps of her hair that brush the backs of his hands. She is so steady, steadier than anything he’s ever held onto in his life.

His breathing shifts automatically in time with hers; for a moment, nothing exists other than the movement of her hand over his spine. Things are still, and quiet, and his mind is empty, won’t allow him to ruminate on what lines may be crossed here. The quiet murmur of her voice sets him at ease.

“Merci,” he says in response, his voice barely a whisper. There is nothing else to say- it’s like some sort of intoxication, being held like this. He doesn’t know what else to express to her, or how to even begin to say any of it, and his mind feels stuffed with cotton, too blurry for any reasonable thought process. Just for this moment, there is only quiet, and against every instinct, he finds himself wishing it could last forever. 

---

(Part 131)

Love Never Dies Rant

Well... I just came across an old blog post from when the Love Never Dies album first released. Apart from a few minor exaggerations, I still stand by most of what I said here. 

But I am still going to see it in three weeks, and that is that. 

Be entertained.

TUESDAY, MARCH 23, 2010 Beautiful, Beautiful Notes...Beautiful, Beautiful Sounds...But a Hideous Plot WARNING: This is a musical rant, do not feel obligated to read. For those who do read, SPOILER ALERT. I basically say everything that happens.

So I have decided to post my own thoughts on the much-waited-for, much-expected, much-horrifying, much-flamed...etc, sequel to Lord Andrew Lloyd Webber's The Phantom of the Opera. 

So, Love Never Dies... Where does one begin? Well, to start, I wish to acknowledge a few things; I do not wish to appear to be merely flaming the show because I always hated the idea of a sequel, or criticizing without cause or without having even listened to it or knowing the story. Rest assured, I have listened to Love Never Dies - several times. I have also read the synopsis and listened to the album again to reconcile the two and understand what is going on. The only thing I have not done is actually go and see the show, but that is not possible at this point in time. So, I will not be able to say anything about the staging, expressions, special effects, etc. I will merely be giving my thoughts on the music, songs, the story, and what I can gather of the character portrayals.

Anyway, as I was saying, these things I wish to acknowledge: Lord Webber has said, "This is a stand-alone piece." All right, I understand that; I will not expect it to be all-consistent with POTO. And...Drats. I thought I had more to acknowledge. Now I forget. ...Maybe I already said it somehow. All right, then...onward.

I will begin with the positive: namely, the music. This show contains some miraculous orchestrations and a very interesting, wide variety of songs. There couldn't be two more different songs than "Love Never Dies" - a sweet, pretty aria - and "The Beauty Underneath" - a...Roaring, for lack of a better word, piece with a noisy-yet-strangely-beautiful electric guitar accompaniment. And then, it has songs that are so bouncy, they sound like they belong at the beginning of Beauty and the Beast. Diversity is good. Well done. We have here a very nice collection of songs, although the lyrics are often repetitive and not very creative or profound.

The vocalists are also good. They all have beautiful voices and seem quite able (aside from the ending of "Love Never Dies", in which Sierra Bogess sounds to be straining). The boy who plays Gustave has the voice of an angel.

However, all the adults, especially Erik and Christine, are cast far too young. ALW has said that this is a stand-alone piece, but he has also said that it is meant to take place ten years following the events of POTO (I guess it's still established that the events in POTO took place, even though POTO and LND are not supposed to be together...?). For Christine, this may be overlooked somewhat...she was quite young to begin with; in fact, she would probably only be in her late twenties now. Erik, on the other hand, was at least thirty in POTO. He wouldn't necessarily need to sound OLDER, now; it's conceivable that his voice wouldn't change dramatically in that amount of time, unless he did something to damage it, which, being the musical man that he is, he probably would know better. However, he shouldn't sound YOUNGER, which Ramin (although his voice is GORGEOUS) does. Raoul, on the other hand, actually sounds somewhat believable.

Perhaps the most painful aspects of LND are the plot and the character portrayals. Erik has teamed up with the Girys (I mean, I know they were acquainted and all, but if anything, he would have gone off on his own to brood and compose; whose idea was this show starring Meg? After losing Christine, I don't think he would exactly be in the mood to listen to two women telling him, "Let's go to America and start a show!!!!"); Raoul, Christine, and "their" son Gustave go to Coney Island, where Raoul drinks too much and becomes an angry, brooding fellow himself (really? I mean, really? I guess this could happen to anyone, but honestly...), and Christine is randomly invited to sing in a show. They become reacquainted with their old friends, the Girys, and Meg becomes ragingly jealous of Christine, because, guess what? Meg has been passionately in love with Erik this whole time! I'm not certain when Christine and Raoul find out that it's Erik who has hired Christine to sing, but they both have very interesting reactions. Christine shares memories with him like an old friend (and guess what? They're more than friends. Christine was unfaithful, RIGHT BEFORE her and Raoul's wedding! What? WHAT?). Somehow Gustave gets mixed up in it all, and she cheerfully introduces him to "my friend, Mr. Y." Gustave jumps at the wonderful aspect of becoming friends with a man in a mask and instantly asks to be shown around all the mysterious places, to which Erik laughs good-naturedly and assures him that "you shall see it all tomorrow." (Erik has become quite the happy, jovial man.) Next day, Gustave allows these strange people to lead him to the place where, fortunately, Erik works. Gustave plays the piano and sings, and Erik logically concludes "He sings like me. He's ten years old. He's my son!!!!!!!!!!!!" .... The scene ends with him taking off his mask (or Gustave taking it off, not sure which), Gustave screaming, and running off to mother. .... All this going on unbeknownst to Raoul. However, he does find out this much; the Girys are working for Erik, and Christine is going to sing in Erik's show. Very drunk after spending all night at the pub, he yells at Meg that "I've bested him before! I'm not afraid of him!" So, of course Erik appears and they have this whole confrontation which essentially ends in Raoul agreeing to, if he cannot get Christine to drop out of the show and leave with him, then he will leave alone and LEAVE CHRISTINE WITH ERIK. (Raoul? Really??) Well, she won't listen, so Raoul does leave. Just like that. Never mind his wife, never mind the boy he thinks is his son, just leave them with a madman who's tried to kill him in the past. He doesn't even tell Christine he's leaving, doesn't even ask, "Will you come with me or are you really in love with him?" (which, I don't know where Raoul ever got that idea...other than the fact that Erik tauntingly asks him if he's sure his son is really his...)... Just leaves. Christine has no idea and sings her song, much to Erik's delight. Happiness is in his grasp! (What makes him think that Christine will stay with him when she's already married and still professes to love Raoul? Then again, if she was unfaithful the night before the marriage, I guess there's no reason to think that she'll be faithful IN marriage...) Anyway, after her song, she wonders where Raoul has gone, and - OH! Gustave has disappeared too! She finds out Raoul has left her, and becomes distraught; Raoul left her, AND took "their" son?!!!!! She and Erik (who is very uncharacteristically a very concerned daddy... I mean, I can understand his seeing himself in the boy and being drawn to him somewhat, but really...) run around looking for him, and - guess what? He's been kidnapped by MEG!! She's holding him hostage and waving a gun around - all to get Erik's attention (in case you forgot, she's in love with him). Rather than shoving her into the water or some other sort of drastic action, Erik sweetly asks, "Give me the gun, Meg...oh, poor Meg...I'm sorry...." blah, blah... And then, and THEN! Meg accidentally shoots Christine! Oh nooooez!! Erik gets out the Punjab Lasso and.... Oops! But that isn't what happens! He kneels by Christine and says, "Giry, get help!" (I think he's talking to Mme Giry now, since Meg has run off, wailing, "I DIDN'T MEAN TO!!!!"). Oh, dear, oh, dear...it's too late. Christine manages to gasp out a few lines of a song... tell Gustave Erik is his real father, never mind the face, stay with him, he's nice, he'll take care of you... comfort Erik, who is quite calmly sad.... then, goodbye, Christine. And of course, it ends very sadly with her death, but also happily, because, OH! Father and son are reunited! Their musical tour can begin! They will be the best of friends, and live happily ever after...

Honestly, if Lord Webber wanted this to be a stand-alone piece, he should never have associated it with POTO at all. He should have re-named all the characters; they have no right to have the names of the characters in POTO when they have had complete personality transplants. But hooray for Gustave!

I know just what will happen in the next sequel... Erik will marry some lady who reminds him of Christine, but she turns out to be a horrible witch, which we don't find out until Erik dies and poor Gustave is left in the witch's clutches, but don't worry! With his magical powers of music, Gustave will defeat the evil witch and fall in love with a Broadway actress and they will live happily ever after.

Hello yes I literally cannot sleep right now because I’m upset as hell, why am I upset? Because Erik fucking deserved better.

“Ah but he’s a serial killer that lied to and manipulated a young girl” yes, this is technically true, but sit the fuck down, buckle up, and let me rant.

Now, of course all of this varies from movie to play to book but for the sake of my argument we’re gonna go with my unpopular opinion fave i.e. the 2004 adaptation of the movie (which will likely be where a lot of people will have seen it so SHUSH).

Now, the movie boops around in time a lot but for arguments sake we’re gonna follow Erik’s life chronologically.

Let’s start off with we little bb Erik, shall we? Now, a lot of his history is only hinted at, and I’m going to try to keep my own headcanons out of this as much as I can manage, but how about how his own mother couldn’t bear to look at him. 

“A face which earned a mother’s fear and loathing, a Mask, my first unfeeling scrap of clothing”

Would it be wrong to assume that that means that even before momma Destler changes her infant son’s diaper she has to cover his face because she’s too disgusted to look at him. Or how about the fact it’s likely he came from an impoverished family (let’s be real those weren’t the best of times okay it’s a safe assumption he wasn’t a one percenter), and he likely didn’t have any real clothes (ahem, his burlap sack pants in the Gypsy scene?) but his mother hated his face so much she was willing to buy him a mask just to cover it? And how did he wind up with the gypsies in the first place, hmmmmm???

The movie really doesn’t say that so we’re gonna leave you to figure that out, NO HEADCANONS FROM ME TODAY FRIEND (I have so many. About this whole movie. Please come talk to me I’m very lonely.)

Now, onto the gypsy’s themselves. Can we just. Erik was what, seven? Eight? In that scene? Maybe younger? And they were brutally beating him while hundreds (Thousands, it’s not like this is the only show he’s been used as an attraction at) of people laughed at his pain. I mean. Is it hard to see why he has such a fucked up sense of morality when he spent his childhood seeing all those people laugh at his agony. And the MONKEY TOY I WANNA DIE. Okay okay. Anyway. They appear to be using a long tail bull whip which HURT okay? Those are not for people (or anything but this isn’t the post for that). Those will rip you to shreds. Now, I’m not a whip expert so I DON’T WANT ANYONE COMIN’ UP IN HERE LIKE NO ITS ___ WHIP AND ITS ____ BITCH THEY’RE W H I P P I N G A YOUNG C H I L D I DON’T CARE IF IT’S MADE OF COTTON CANDY AND RAINBOWS. Like honestly are we gonna blame him for murdering that piece of shit? For real I would have killed him for the creepy tongue thing alone and Erik suffered years of abuse at his hand, keep in mind, we only saw ONE part of ONE show, WHERE HE WASN’T EVEN STRUGGLING REALLY, we have no idea what they did to that poor boy at other shows, behind the scenes, etc. And again. That monkey toy. I wanna die.

Now, on to his living situation (here’s where we’re gonna boop around a little, we’re gonna ignore Christine’s existence a little longer). He lived, by himself, in the sewers (call them catacombs if you want they’re fucking sad gross places either way I don’t care). He was a kid, locked away from anyone else. So let’s think about this. He learned that he’s so terrible even his mother can’t love him just because of his face, he was beaten to shit and laughed at to make money because he’s so terrible, just because of his face, he watched a shit load of people laugh at his pain without trying to help (until Giry and even she only helped after he did the hard part), and then he’s locked away, alone, in a creepyass, wet, dongeon. I mean. Would you be holding it together? I sure as fuck wouldn’t. And yeah I’m sure Giry visited him and whatever but how often do you really think she went down there? She was studying to be a ballerina at a world famous opera house, she didn’t have free time, and still that’s only one person making face to face contact with him for what? 15 years? A long ass time regardless.

And now we boop to Christine. Again this part isn’t really shown, but with “whenever I’d come down here alone, to light a candle for my father”, are you willing to agree that when young Erik saw her, by herself, having little to no experience of kindness out of other people, really reached out to be malicious? He was probably scared out of his fucking mind, but he saw this little girl grieving as he’d grieved his own life, and he decided to try to comfort her. She was probably the one that came up with the Angel Of Music thing (I say probably because it’s never explicitly said, but come on, there’s no way he would have randomly come up with that, you can also listen to Emmy talk about her “latching on” because she wanted so desperately for it to be a Thing and that they really were good friends etc but I’m just gonna stick to stuff you can get directly from the movie) and he went with it. Now, there are a ton of reasons he could have gone with it (“Learn to see to find the man behind the monster this repulsive carcass who seems a beast but secretly yearns for heaven secretly, secretly dreams of beauty”..........) but none are directly stated so I’ll fuck off and let you decide.

Now, he taught her to sing. Ask any artist ever and they’ll tell you if they’re sharing their work with you they’re sharing a very intimate part of themselves with you. It doesn’t matter the style, art is personal, and he cared enough about this girl to not only show her his art but to teach it to her.* I cannot fathom that love okay and all of this from a creature who was born into a world of hate and darkness and here he is creating beauty and sharing his work I love him okay. And yes, he falls in love with her. I’m not gonna share my thoughts on that love (She was the first person to treat him like a human, to be his friend and never once did she judge him for his looks, just keep that in mind.) but he falls in love with her, more on that in a little bit.

* No One Would Listen isn’t technically in the movie so I’m not saying anything about it, but a lot of my opinions are solidified in it, so if you Haven’t heard it you need to it’s a beautiful song sung to the tune of Learn to be Lonely which Minnie SLAYS jesus shit *aggressively heart eyes* but it directly says that he wanted to share his art and teach the wold but she was the only one who listened

As for torturing Carlotta……………. I mean, me too, I can’t fault him for that……

THEIR MEETING. TIME OUT. THE MIRROR SCENE. THE CHOREOGRAPHY. THE SMOKE. THE CHANGE FROM ANGEL TO PHANTOM. THIS SCENE IS ENTIRELY MY AESTHETIC. Okay I’m good sorry. So. They go down to his home. He takes this girl. Into his HOME. He’s been mistreated his whole life and he willingly leads this girl down into his sanctuary. Think about that for a minute. 

Okay. Anyway, yes the wedding dress is hella creepy but LISTEN. He wasn’t raised with people. He’s stuck in the opera house, he doesn’t see real relationships and even if he does he only sees bits and pieces of them out of the people WHILE THEY’RE THERE he’s never seen or heard about or learned about a real proposal, he’s only seen countless operas, and you know what the fuck happens in romantic plays/operas/movies/musicals/books/stories/literally anything? They move fast, they skip time, they’re over the top. People don’t watch shit that’s real life, no one would want to see that, but that’S ALL HE KNOWS. I’ll let you think of it what you will, but I think he was genuinely trying to woo her as best he knew how.

Mask off scene. Okay. Now. Aside from the fact Gerard grabs the wrong side of his face at one point, (seriously, go rewatch it) Erik does shove Christine, which is not okay buuuuut he’s fucking terrified, and I’m not convinced he meant to shove her, more get her away from him before she saw his face. (we also get some insight on his view of himself and I. Want. To. Die.) but I’ll leave you to take what you will from that scene.

*sigh* killing Joseph is the next thing I want to touch on and this is the one where I want to boop his deformed little nose a little but… I mean… I have a couple points still. 

One: the dude was a creep

two: he went looking for him

three: ERIK WARNED THEM IN NO UNCERTAIN TERMS “A disaster beyond your imagination will occur” (can we talk about the dolls. Erik. Fucking nerd.)

Four: Joseph openly mocked and taunted Erik (you think he didn’t hear that no nose comment *sassy finger snap*)

Five: He grew up only knowing violence. People laughed at his pain. Again his only real knowledge is opera and again people kill in those to get what they want? He’s just a wee potato trying his best.

Now let me bash my son for a moment, he was getting what he wanted, Christine was gonna play the countess, but instead we got All I Ask of You and I died inside (There may be another rant on my utter hatred of Raoul to come but this is already 1.5k words and I’m only like halfway through the movie so MOVING ON)

Alright, so All I Ask of You Reprise is technically the next place where Erik says/does anything but let’s talk about what’s happening right in front of him right now. He’s in love with this woman. He has tried his fucking hardest, he’s made her famous, he’s tried to woo her, he’s been there for YEARS, then this rich boy with a pretty face comes in and she’s falling into his arms in no time? Like yes it’s a bit fuckboi of him but also take into account what she said about him before the actual song. (“His eyes will find us there those eyes that burn” “I can’t escape from him I never will” “his world of unending night to the world where the daylight dissolves into darkness” “Can I ever escape from that face so distorted deformed it was hardly a face”) I mean… I’d be fucking hurt and pissed… So yeah the “you will curse the day you did not do all that the phantom asked of you” is a bit much but… HE’S PISSED and hurt and heartbroken.

Why So Silent and the ring I’m going to leave at he’s fucking hurt but yes I want to boop his nose for that one too… like Erik stop being a creep no one’s chains are yours.

As well as Journey to the Cemetery and Wandering Child like here he’s wrong and I have no argument against him being wrong, my only comment is that he could have killed the taxi driver but he just knocked him out so like… Yay?

Don Juan… Okay come on he knew it was a trap so he had to have just trusted she wouldn’t go through with it but… *Sigh* SON STOP KILLING PEOPLE. AND NO KIDNAPPING TEENAGE GIRLS.

Okay but Down Once More we get to see a lot of the stuff I’ve already mentioned (his mom, how he feels about himself, etc) and he’s furious and scared and hurt and embarrassed and he’s a cornered animal at this point. His home is gone, he knows that, he has to leave and this is his last chance to get the only person who’s ever heard him, who’s ever been a friend to him and shared his love of music, to come with him. Point of No Return Reprise is another thing I want to boop him for, but he does let them go, and he does give up and let her choose what she wants to be happy with one last ditch effort of just being honest (“Christine I love you”) and then he watches them go. The only person he has in the world, leaving him back in his world of darkness.

So, in conclusion, ERIK IS A SMOL PRECIOUS BEAN WHO DESERVED SO MUCH BETTER AND YES HE MADE MISTAKES BUT HE’S DOING HIS BEST AND PEOPLE ARE FAR TOO MEAN TO HIM I HOPE HE KNOWS HOW MUCH I LOVE HIM