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jellyluchi · 2 months

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Mother Language

A/N: My first selfship fic for POTO... Naveed is my hc name for the Persian, and he (or the Sultana from Persia) is not related by blood to Rose. I can answer how Rose came to be at the Opera house but I could not tell you why or how she came to live with Erik… There's not enough mommy kink fics with Erik so I wanted to change that.

Pairing: Erik x Rose Sultana Genre: NSFW Content warnings: cunnilingus, mommy kink, use of the term little boy Summary: In which Erik struggles with his personal projects and throws a tantrum only to be put into his place by his lover...

AO3 Link

If graves were homes of the dead, every tombstone would shelter beneath it a cold and empty living room, followed by bed chambers and wash closets. But the dead do not need such facilities. Yet, Rose must ask herself how different could it be living five cellars below ground to the unmoving corpses.

For one who detests the shadows, Rose became accustomed to its presence with terrifying quickness. Perhaps it was his influence. Or maybe she dug deep enough into her heart to reveal a desire for complete isolation. With him by her side, it is difficult to tell.

It is no wonder a man such as himself should live like the dead, pin drop silence and darkness ever present in his abode, and the morbid stench that follows him like a shadow permeating from every surface.

But as he likes to speculate, everyone must grow used to eternity. And every step out of India cemented her feet firmer into her personal timeless existence. That, Rose accepted long ago.

Perhaps it is the reason for which she finds herself encased between the dank walls, still warm and protected from whatever creatures lurk the opera’s belly. Fingers curling around her book, Rose enunciates the foreign words with difficulty. Soft light accompanies her solitary presence in the living room, the fire by the hearth her only companion. She used to wonder about the final destination of the rising smoke but now knows better than to question his engineering process.

Speaking of which…

Sudden loud thuds, shrieks, and shattered glass echoes through the wet walls, muffled but still alarming. Quickly setting aside her reading, Rose races to the study. Fear and worry grip her heart in equal measures. But not for her own life as it is for Erik’s, a sentiment that mirrors uncle Naveed’s in the way the Opera Ghost does not enjoy.

But his display of such foolish recklessness was just starting to lessen with every season. Apprehensive of how he could harm himself, Rose throws open the door in a flurry.

“What the devil is wrong?!” Rose has always limited her inappropriate language to a handful of special occasions. And this seems very fitting. From the papers littering the floor to a broken lamp which thankfully did not ignite a fire, the state of disarray could only reflect Erik’s psyche at the moment as he crouches across from her position.

“Erik?” She starts, cautious but collected so as to not alarm him. How such a tall statured man could lower himself nearly flat on the ground and look so small she can never understand.

“Leave me!” Erik blares, hands wrapped around his temple and the yellow glow of his eyes so blazing in the stark darkness, Rose should be shaking under her skirts.

“You do not speak to me that way,” she says, her tone even and her steps getting closer. “Erik, please tell me what's wrong. Please.”

Oh how she wishes she knew his tongue now. If only to break open into his heart that he could not conceal in his mother language.

His mother language…

Sniveling in the corner, Erik makes no indication of having heard her plea, deciding not to answer the question. He can be so secretive whenever he pleases, pushing her out of his sphere with such violent resistance, it gives her whiplash. But that is why she must be this way…

“If you will not tell me,” she counters, moving to the desk for a look, “I will simply have to-”

The black of Erik’s mask conceals his expression, but the low agitation of his voice makes him sound like a predator ready to pounce. “Do not!”

Rose manages to find red inked papers partially torn and annotated, unfamiliar music notes dancing across the pages before a flurry of movement stops her completely. Her lover’s imposing figure stands before her, a strong grip on her arm that forces the papers out of her hands, gliding to the floor in a dramatic flourish.

Gasping, Rose faces the eyes that burn with yellow fire at her miscalculated action. “Ah! You’re hurting me,” she exclaims with pain, her wrist unable to move due to its restraint.

Suddenly, as if released from a trance, the man loosens his fingers. Ashamed, Erik takes away his hand, the worried expression of his face completely masked but his eyes dim their glow considerably when meeting Rose’s deep brown ones.

“I have hurt you,” he says, tone dripping with shame and panic. “Erik has disappointed his little Rose…” His voice trails into a pained whisper and telltale signs of his particular rhetoric threaten his descent into madness.

The once towering form standing nearly two heads above her, falls onto its knees and Rose knows he will beg for her forgiveness before he even utters a single word. While the momentary shock melts from her mind, she takes the opportunity to direct his attention away, knowing these instances are crucial for him.

“Are you quite sorry, Erik?” She probes gently. “Come here.”

Sitting on his desk chair, she gestures him forward, finding it amusing the way he crawls to her like a kicked puppy looking for food. She allows him to rest his head on her skirts, caressing the few locks of hair that remain atop his head.

Patience has always brought the best results with one such as her lover. She imagines not many have afforded Erik the luxury of their time or care. The most she can do would be to let him speak on his own terms.

“Erik is sorry,” he says, his words wet with tears and no doubt snot under his mask. Heaving at the realization of his mistake, Erik’s mind threatens to spiral into melancholy. At the thought of having to be alone within the walls, at the thought of his little painter leaving him for good. “You will leave your Erik…”

The silk of his mask which covers his mouth moves from the pressure of air passing through the fabric, a new style that facilitates more kisses among other things. At his declaration, Rose can only shake her head no.

“I know you are sorry,” she replies. “Do you want to fix it?” Sometimes she gathers he is much too exhausted with himself to even right his wrongs.

“Yes,” comes his response after a brief pause. Erik always sounds uncertain of himself during moments such as these, looking for her guidance like a dying light in a storm.

“Good.” Her lips curve into a soft smile, voice still controlled by its volume. “Why don’t you start with setting the lamp?” Rose suggests. And her words do not fall on deaf ears as Erik scrambles to fulfill her request, looking to Rose for approval.

“Very good. And your music notes?”

It is the wrong suggestion, because as soon as the papers are within his grasp, Erik makes the mistake of looking upon his failures, and the frustration starts to eat at him once more, growling and tearing them to shreds.

“Erik!” Rose calls. “Look at what you��ve done…” Disappointment palpable in her voice, she does her best to regain his attention. Immediately regretful, Erik’s mood pendulums to the other extreme, begging for her forgiveness.

“Erik is sorry!” He says, tears of frustration now wetting the silk as he crawls about. Finding the hems of her dress he clutches them for dear life. “Please let Erik fix it!”

“Do you promise to do better?”

“Erik promises!” His desperation heightens, voice sounding distressed, and Rose realizes perhaps a different approach is required.

“Why don’t we give you a reward,” she says, guiding his hands. Cold, long fingers send little shocks to the skin of her calves as she uses his digits to push her skirts higher. The chill of the study permeates within her and she feels a gentle shiver.

Speechless at the revelation of her legs, Erik watches with rapt attention, hands shaking in her grip yet hungry for more contact. She forgoes any stockings while at home and Erik’s heart threatens to give out at the sight of her plump thighs, the skin soft to the touch. Even in the darkness, her warm brown skin manages to possess an ethereal quality.

When the little tufts of intimate hair peeks from beneath her open drawers, Erik’s breath hitches, his music forgotten. In fact his brain matter is nothing but mush. His anger now simmering and turning into desire makes him dizzy. “Rose…” he says, breathless, and the longing in his voice nearly breaks her.

“Use your mouth, Erik,” she says, and this time it is not a question but a command which she knows he will obey.

From the gentle nudge of his hands to her thighs, Erik lowers himself to her, allowing her hands to pull the silk out of the way. It’s a strange sensation feeling his icy, rigid skull on her skin. Rose squeaks, feeling his inexperienced tongue dance around her entrance. Despite the times they have shared this exact activity, he still hasn’t found his footing quite clearly.

Breathing little moans of pleasure, Rose does not shy away from her praises. “Good boy,” she whispers, feeling the ice of his thin lips turn cool from the heat of her folds. “Very good boy.”

Her words have their intended effect as Erik groans into her, the glow of his eyes never leaving her form. “Maman…” he says between licks getting lost in the pleasure that is not even his own. “Maman, please…”

“Here,” she guides, moving her hips to his mouth with more force, enjoying the lewd groans that seem to escape him with every minute passed. After several tries, Rose finds her climax, panting for breath only to cry out from the overstimulation.

“That’s enough! Erik has made maman proud,” she tells him, stopping his movements to a gentle halt. Erik’s stare boars into her and she knows what he wants.

“Do you want to know what maman will let you do if you clean the glass?”

Smiling at his enthusiastic nod, Rose utilizes her silver tongue once more. And thinks of every little thing that makes this dreary, lonely tombstone home feel every bit less solitary.

#poto oc #phantom of the opera oc #phantom of the opera #erik the phantom #Erik #Erik x oc #not jojo #oc stuff #selfship stuff #rose #n sfw #fics #sid writes #phantom of the opera x oc #erik/oc #phantom/oc

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milady-pink · 9 months

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Rosewood Manor

Summary: The cause and conclusion of Rosewood Manor.

Warnings: death, alcoholism, suicide, war, killing for hire

Word Count: 6560 || Dividers: @firefly-graphics

Complete Series

AO3

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Chapter 13

Morning came and went rather quickly. Christine spent most of breakfast in fear, as Sorelli has yet to make an appearance. But that fear was soon replaced with relief as soon as the olive-skinned woman graced bothe Raoul and herself later than usual.

After sitting down she started to say how sorry she was to worry them about her absence, but she had something that needed to be done in the library. While she wanted to ask further, Christine kept quiet about Sorelli’s mysterious quest, giving the dark-haired girl a chance to eat some food. She tucked into her, now cold, eggs Benedict and side of fruit, occasionally taking sips of her complimentary orange juice. Christine had thought Sorelli kept looking at both her and Raoul, but made no comment; she rather waited until they were alone to ask her if everything was alright.

Once breakfast was concluded, Sorelli was the first one to leave the dining room. Thinking she would have to catch her later, Christine made her way out of the doorway, only to have her arm grabbed by someone, and dragged to one of the many empty hallways. Right when she was about to scream, she whipped her head around at her attacker, Christine saw the elegant face of Sorelli in front of her.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Just had to get you alone for a sec.”

As Christine’s heart rate started to drop back to a normal level, she took in Sorelli’s lopsided smile as an apology. “No, it's fine. It’s just this place, always walking around jumpy, ready for the worst.”

The smile left her face completely, replaced with an irate expression, keeping her eyes focused for any passersby. “Yeah, well that shouldn’t last long,” she muttered under her breath. Fixing her gaze on Christine she asked, “I wanted to know if you were up for some sun soaking by the pool.”

The sudden question surprised Christine, seeing as how they never got any real relaxation time, she was ready to answer yes. But then the reality of her situation came crashing down; a killer on the loose, everyone a suspect.

Her face must have conveyed what she was thinking, for before she could speak a single word Sorelli disclosed, “Christine, I know it’s hard to believe but I’m asking you, for your safety, to trust me.” Her eyes gazed downwards, before continuing on, “there are a lot of things I think you and I have to talk about. Things I believe you already figured out.” She casted her eyes back up, paired with a small smile and sincerity in her eyes, “I only want to help.”

Even though she knew she shouldn’t, Christine believed her. So, with her mind made up, she told Sorelli that yes, she would really like to have a chat about everything that has happened.

They parted ways to get changed with the promise to meet by the lounge chairs in five minutes.

When Christine got to her room, she went straight for her suitcase, already packed and ready to leave, to retrieve her swimsuit. Just when she found the polka dotted garment, a knock was sounded at her door. Confused, she padded over to open it, ready to tell Sorelli that she had definitely not been more than five minutes, only to find Raoul standing on the other side. Now she was even more confused.

“Oh,”

“Hi,” he scratched his neck, “I was wondering if we could have a quick chat?”

Although she wanted to let him in, Christine did not want anything to happen to her friend while she was alone caught up with Raoul. Then again, maybe this was her chance to convince him of the severity of their situation. Besides, Christine could just look out her window and see Sorelli from there and, as of right now, she wasn’t.

She looked back at the man in her doorway, with his boyish looks on show, and decided to let him in.

They sat across each other on her bed, Christine facing the windows and Raoul facing her and the bed’s headboard. It seemed like he had many thoughts running around his head, and Christine only hoped she could help him sort whatever was bothering him. It could hardly be a secret that Raoul was a very good looking young man, with a dazzling personality and humor to match. Maybe after all of this, we can rekindle that bond, go back to the beach.

“What is it you wanted to talk about?” Christine started, since it looked like Raoul was having a hard time organizing his thoughts.

Before speaking, he took a deep breath, letting the air out through his nose. “Christine, I think it’s time we discussed who the killer is.”

This was not something she was expecting. “O-okay. Who are you thinking?” She asked, voice laced with surprise.

To this question, he looked deep into Christine’s eyes, making sure she heard every word he said. “I’m one-hundred percent certain it’s the butler, Erik. Truth be told, I don’t have any physical evidence, but I’ve seen him wandering the halls at night alone. And, right before a body is found, he’s quickly walking the other way.” He took another slow breath, looking down at Christine’s hand on the bed, before taking it into his own. “Christine, I’m starting to think what you mentioned earlier was true; about the deaths being real. I’m getting worried, for myself, but mostly for you.”

Not for the first time since Raoul has entered her room, he surprised her yet again. “Worried for me?” What about Sorelli, or the maids?

His eyes held somewhat of a guilty look, giving her a preview that whatever he was about to say may offend her. “Well, yeah, I mean, not that you aren’t a strong woman, Christine, but you’re a really easy target.” The guilt had faded away, leaving his eyes blue and stormy. “Truth be told, I care about you, a lot. More so after these past weeks with your presence. I don’t want to lose you, Chris.”

At first, she was a bit taken aback that he would say she could very well be the next target. But then she remembered who she was; a young woman with few friends and no living family. Christine could have been picked off during the first few days and no one would have mourned her. Except, maybe Raoul, who she also cared very deeply for, ever since their childhood of sand and snow. Although she was cross, it was more so at the situation at hand than it was at Raoul personally.

With this in mind she told him very plainly, “Thank you, Raoul. I care about you too.” A moment passes between them as Christine weighs out the consequences of what she says next. “I care about your safety too, Raoul. That’s why you should come talk to Sorelli and me. I’m supposed to meet her soon by the pool, to talk about the deaths and figure out a way out of this mess.” She told him, smiling. “We would love your input on how to tackle this.”

The first thing Christine notices about Raoul, is how his face lit up when she reciprocated his feelings of care. The second, is the shadow of annoyance, but that could be pointed towards the many lives that have been lost at the Manor. He settled into a small smile when saying, “That sounds like a good plan, Chris.” Before taking on a much more serious tone, “But we have to all be agreed, we get out of this madhouse, and call the police on that butler.”

While she wasn’t quite convinced that Erik could really pull such an elaborate scheme while also maintaining other duties, she had to trust Raoul in his conviction. After all, with so few of them left they were stronger in numbers.

Giving his hand one last squeeze, Christine got up from the bed and decided to forgo the bathing suit, and just wear her t-shirt and shorts to talk with Sorelli and Raoul. Right as the two reached her room’s door, a very loud splash was heard from the window. Looking at each other, fear and panic overtook all other emotion from their faces. Without wasting time, they run through the Manor to the patio, not even daring to take a peek out that fateful window.

To say she was aghast at what they found would be lying, for Christine had this bizarre sense of deja-vu. She should have known this would happen if she took too long, unfortunately far too used to the effects this house hashadon its residents.

Staring at the crystalline pool, thus comes the end to one game, with the real Sorelli floating in the pool.

As Christine walked the long, dim hallway to the morgue alone. While Raoul and Christine stared in horror at the scene before them, Erik had made his quiet entrance. At the first sign of his presence, both remaining residents of Rosewood Manor spun around quickly, their defenses raised. Because the “game” was still being played, Erik stated yet again that they must choose between Soreli’s last known whereabouts or the morgue. Feeling like she owed her short-term friend a proper goodbye, Christine wanted to visit the morgue. But the second his white gloved hand opened and extended towards the house, Raoul jumped in front of her, putting himself between them, yelling at their butler.

“Like hell I’ll leave her alone with a monster like you! She’s been there before, she knows the way.” He exclaimed, leaving Christine thankful for his thoughtfulness.

So it was agreed that she go down to the morgue, to supposedly figure out the cause of death, but Christine knew that already. Right now, she needed to grieve a person she wished she could have gotten to know better.

Once more standing outside the two kitchen swing-doors, no fear for what lay inside occupied even an inch of Christine Daae’s mind. All she felt right now was a deep sadness that penetrated through her heart so sharply, it felt like she was losing her Papa all over again. After opening the doors, she padded her way over to the metal table, not a bed of choice for any living being.

Sorelli lay, not moving, on the metal bed while Christine stood on her left side. Her body was still wet from when they fished her out of the pool like trash. Tears pricked Christine’s eyes, knowing she could have stopped such a traumatic end if she hadn’t talked to Raoul. Trying to place Sorelli in a less grim setting, Christine imagined her friend laying, just like this, on one of the lounge chairs with all of the confidence and self-assurance everyone wished they had. Now the tears started to stream freely down her face, falling off her cheeks onto the floor.

The second time Christine has ever been to the morgue, and both times she wound up crying. Instead of crying tears of fear and anxiety, this time many emotions swam the rivers that flowed down her face. She felt frustrated for not knowing how she could have helped, a mixture of self-loathing and guilt for not trying to save the others before Sorelli, and such an anger at the fact that seeing a dead body has become routine for her because of this cursed Manor.

After she had calmed down from her crying fit, cheeks wet and eyes bloodshot, Christine was prepared to leave this all behind tonight. She wasn’t going to sit around and wait to be killed, or worse, stumble upon Raoul’s dead body then act like he was just holding his breath. And for what? A sum of money that should make all of this feel worth it? Nothing was worth the pain and fear she has felt while inside these walls.

Prepared to leave and get ready for her last dinner she made her way over to the doors again. Before leaving, Christine glanced over her shoulder at Sorelli, ready for whatever the night had in store for her. She whispered, for only the many ghosts to hear, “They won’t forget you”, leaving the basement morgue for the last time.

While Christine was getting her hair ready for tonight’s last dinner, a soft knock sounded from her door. By the way it sounded she was sure that it wasn’t Raoul who had done it. After making her way over, then opening the door, she looked down the hallway, right then left, after finding no one there. To her left Christine thought she saw a fleeting glimpse of black coat tails, but she could have imagined it. Before retreating to her room, she looked down, finding a note upon her doorstep.

Fear surged through every nerve of her being, recognizing the cream colored envelope. Bending down to pick it up, some of said fear evaporated when she noticed there was no red wax seal keeping the envelope closed. Closing her door and walking to sit back at her vanity, Christine opened it, holding in her hand a cream piece of paper, again causing some alarm. Almost every last ounce of panic left her system when she opened the folded paper, noticing right away that it wasn’t the infamous type-written font; it was handwritten.

It took three reads before any of what the letter talked about had soaked into Christine’s head. This couldn’t have been true, could it? Why didn’t she hear about this? Why didn’t he tell her, she could have been there for him?

Suddenly her feelings for tonight’s dinner changed from anticipation anxiety of the unknown, to a different fear of two possibilities to how the night would go. Setting the letter aside as she finished getting her hair ready, a plan of sorts was weaving its way into Christine’s mind. It wasn’t going to be easy, and it was going to hurt for many years to come, but she would live.

Putting on her earrings, making her way to leave her room, she was going to prove that she was indeed her father’s daughter. Christine Daae was going to survive this night.

Raoul was already sitting at the dark wood table when Christine entered, greeting her with a friendly demeanor; seeing as they were the only two left. Wanting to get a feel for things before lighting fires everywhere, she sat down and tried to bullet point what she knew had to happen before the sun could rise.

Tonight there was no cream colored paper awaiting them at their seats, apparently skipping the usual guess-and-tell routine. Breaking her from this train of thought, Raoul cleared his throat, causing Christine to look across the table. “I think tonight we should confront him, after we learn what he did to Sorelli.” He told her in hushed tones, conviction plainly shined in his eyes.

All she could do was nod, trying to reciprocate the same belief as her companion. Thankfully, instead of losing her mind trying to keep up appearances that everything was normal, the maids entered to serve them dinner. After they leave, both Christine and Raoul wait several minutes for Erik to emerge and explain to them what was on their plates. It took about four minutes before they started to tuck in, as it appeared the lithe tuxedo clad man would be making his entrance later. For their last night they were served homemade butternut squash gnocchi with herbed brown butter, and a side of broccolini roasted with garlic and olive oil.

Christine was fairly hungry, but wasn’t so keen on eating at the moment for she knew that soon enough her stomach would be churning over from the upcoming events. Eating a few bites of the gnocchi it melted beautifully on her tongue, the brown herbed butter adding a delightful saltiness to the sweet squash. Even better was the garlic from the crispy broccolini and the olive oil that added just the right amount of acidity that the pasta was missing. If one thing could be taken away from her time at the Manor, it would be the want to learn how to cook and properly fuel herself with meals that satisfied the body and soul. While he tries to get her to engage in conversation, Raoul gives up halfway through and settles for the silence.

Unfortunately, her last meal is over far too soon for Christine’s comfort, as no fewer than two minutes after wiping her mouth with her napkin does Erik come walking out on his long legs. In his hand, was the horrible truth of how dear Sorelli was taken from this world. He started to read with a noticeable furrow in his brow, likely from anger, which only made Christine more on edge for everything after.

“Of all of the men in the world, it must have taken a very special man to garner the affections of such a beauty. Many of them have tried to get the attention of the raven-haired Sorelli, but few were even given the time of day; including myself. Trying to do the world a favor and rid it of such an adulteress, I requested her presence in the parlor room after breakfast, only to be stood up. Thinking I must have scared her straight, I kept my eyes on her till a moment presented itself. Thankfully, one did; for not long after having a chat with dear Miss Daae, did Sorelli state she would be waiting for her friend by the pool. Not wanting to be seen, I made my way stealthily over to her sun-lounging form, and strangled her with her own towel. Depositing the body into the pool, the splash alerted the Manor’s remaining residents, who stumbled upon the scene. For a woman floating in an ocean of her choice of men, it seems she couldn’t even handle the shallow end of a swimming pool.”

The anger that bloomed within Christine from the first snide comments about her deceased friend made her face warm. When even more accusations about her private life were prodded, that anger inflamed her entire being, causing her whole body to shake with frustration. By the end it felt like Christine was living in a fog of rage and clam, the eye of the storm. The only good that came from what Erik had read was the energy it supplied her with, enough to weather the storm brewing in the dining room; the storm Raoul DeChagney was about to bring to a head.

“Must have been easy to recount, seeing as how you killed her,” came his matter-a-fact voice. As a response, an unexpected one at that, Erik simply raised his one visible brow in question. Raoul decided to try again, really egg him on. “You killed Sorelli just like you killed the rest of them!” He exclaimed quickly, standing up from his seat making his chair fall behind him.

The dark blonde young man started to slowly walk towards the other side of the table, his hands free by his sides and eyes on the host the entire time. Cautiously making his way to Christine, Raoul went on. “I don’t know why you brought us all here to your murder mansion, but you won’t lay a finger on Christine’s head.” Just to prove his point, when he reached her right side, he kept moving until Raoul planted himself between the two; much like earlier by the pool.

All the while Raoul kept going on with his accusations, Erik stayed silent and stood tall at the head of the table. Deciding he had let this gone on long enough, his velvet voice began to respond. “I should like to inform you, Mr. DeChagny, that your game is up. I think it’s far time you explain to Miss Daae the truth of what has transpired in this Manor.” He was calm and collected, not afraid nor concerned for his own wellbeing.

Between the two of them, Erik far exceeded any brash expectations Christine was fearful of in one of her three determined scenarios. Raoul on the other hand…

“Christine, can you believe this freak? Trying to manipulate you into thinking he’s in the right? A monster in every science of the word!” At the end of his statements he looked over his shoulder to Christine, presumably to make sure she wasn’t scared. But what he found did not make him too pleased. Christine’s face wore a tired look, with dark under eyes from nights of endless fear. “Christine?,” he asked, a bit unsure about her mood.

This was it, she thought. Before speaking, she took in a shaky breath, hoping releasing it will carry the words she says across the room with little effort. “Raoul-,”changing her mind, Christine switched her view from the two oceans that have always comforted her, to the amber orbs that she’s grown used to. “Erik,” she started, “did you kill those people?”

Her question was one he was expecting, fearing the connection that would be lost between the two once he answered. Lowering his head with eyes closed, sadly, he told her his answer. “Yes, I killed them.” His voice is soft yet tight with emotion.

Having gotten the answer she needed, she asked another question into the silence. “Did you invite them?”

It felt like time stood still, neither man having expected her to ask that question.

Looking up, Erik shot his stare directly at her, “No,” he shared, “I didn’t even know them, let alone invite them and you here.” Christine saw pure truth in his tone. She smiled softly at him, in sympathy and kindness, before turning her attention towards her savior.

“Raoul,” she started, “did you invite everyone here?”

Silence, not even a muscle moved on his back.

Determination settled on her face, she tried again. “Raoul, did you invite all seven of us to stay here; yes or no?” Her voice has taken on a grounded tone that left no room for arguments.

Slowly dropping his arms, the young man began turning around to face his childhood friend. When he turned around enough for Christine to get a read on his face, she saw what she feared she would; displeasure from getting caught.

“Christine,” he tried to explain, “you would never have understood, those people were killers. They murdered Phillipe!”

“No, Raoul. Phillipe killed himself.”

Another gust of silence befell the dining room. Two pairs of eyes were on Raoul, while his own set were fixated on a spot in the table.

“How?,” he questioned, “how did you find out?” Venom filled his voice, one Christine has never heard before.

“Miss Daae is innocent,” came Erik’s voice, the two moving their attention to him. “This morning Sorelli was writing a letter in the library, I found it when you had asked me to dispose of her.” Raoul’s eyes were aflame, rage rising in his strong form. “I gave it to Christine as I felt her torment had gone on far too long.”

She looked to Erik with a thankful nod, hoping to thank him properly if they survive this encounter. “It was addressed to you,” she said looking towards Raoul, “it was an apology for what happened to your brother and the part she may have played in it.”

To this his expression changed from fiercely angry, to a manic joy. “Ha! So you see,” he ordered, “they killed him, drove him to suicide from their reckless lives!”

Pity began to fill Christine's entire being, completely overtaking what little sympathy she had left. “Raoul, their actions could not have possibly led him to make such a drastic decision,” she reasoned. “Ultimately the final say was his, and it was a fatal mistake that shouldn’t have happened. But no one is at fault for his death.”

“No, that’s where you’re wrong Christine,” he countered, “see, every one of them did something that led Phillipe deeper and deeper down the path of despair.” He ran a hand up through his groomed hair, causing him to achieve a disheveled look. “Firmin, made his firm lose a substantial amount of money.” He began counting on the names on his hand. “The bastard embezzled from him right under his nose.” Finger two. “Carlotta wouldn’t let him take her divorce case, one that would have saved his company from going under. Piangi, fat pig, made him late to an important hearing by getting him drunk the night before. Innocent little Jamie filed a fake sexual harassment complaint against Phillipe. The reason? She was jealous of Sorelli, who was dating Phillipe. She wanted to be her so badly, but she couldn’t handle everything that went with it.

“Andre threw a fit in court, causing him to lose a huge case at the expense of Phil’s company. And Sorelli, fiery Sorelli. She decided she had enough of Phillipe and his money, so she decided to end things. Ended up being the breaking point for him. Joseph was supposed to deliver an important appeal for Andre’s case, but got ‘sidetracked’. You never met the bum but trust me, even you would be happy he was dead.”

So many thoughts and feelings were going through Christine, and so were various questions. “Raoul, they made mistakes, but again, Phillipe could have done a multitude of different things before settling on taking his own life.” She tried to make him see reason, prove to her that he didn’t really plan all of this. “Why did you invite me? Huh?”

In response, Raoul’s face turned a bit guilty, while still maintaining a frantic look in his eyes. “After your dad’s death you needed money, which I happen to have plenty of. The only thing I didn’t have? An alibi while that disfigured freak took care of everyone in the house.” He pointed at Erik while making the crude remark.

“Don’t call him that! You blackmailed him to do your dirty work, he is anything but a killer!” She stated trying to defend the masked man.

“Oh he’s not?” He questioned with a sinister sneer. “Why don’t I tell you the story of how our dear butler earned his role? Or, better yet, he tells you himself!”

For not the first time that night, the room fell into another dry spell of talking. Erik clearly did not want to disclose his past, but also knew he could keep it hidden from Christine for very long.

“I was born with a very prominent facial disfigurement which caused many problems growing up.” He started to share. “My father left when he saw me in the hospital, leaving my mother to despise my entire existence. So, when I turned fourteen she got rid of me by sending me off to military academy. I was always good at following directions, so by the time I graduated at eighteen, the dean said they could use people like me overseas; I left without saying goodbye to my mother.” Already Christine did not like where this story was headed. “Within weeks of being on the front lines my troop was captured by the enemy. Curious about my mask, they made me take it off at gun-point. Their leader saw something in me, and decided to spare my life while killing my brethren. They used me to take out several people, so many I couldn’t keep up counting. In school they taught us a variety of different weapons, but overseas I was taught a new one, one that I grew to prefer among the rest.”

Christine gasped, having felt it bubble up to the surface. “The noose,” she whispered.

Erik sadly nodded. “A variation, called the Punjab Lasso, but it works the same way, I’m afraid. After years living in dry heat and sand as a prisoner of war, my capture was finally caught by the American authorities. One man who greatly improved my life, Nadir, realized I spoke English and asked me how I came to be the greatest hit man in the world. After learning everything, he became invested in my case and made it a point to get me home to the U.S.”

Taking a deep breath, he continued with a solemn voice. “The welcome home was not one to be envied; trash thrown at me, words used to describe what a devil I was to abandon my country for the enemy. Nadir connected me to the older DeChagney’s lawyer firm to help make a case for me to be pardoned as a P.O.W.. While the court proceedings were arduous, they prevailed in the end, and I was given an official pardon; clearing myself of any charges and proving my innocence.”

Seemingly done with his story, Raoul took over to explain what that had to do with Phillipe’s company. “That trial ruined the firm’s reputation, regardless that they won. No one wanted a law firm that helped a serial murderer walk free. So, after I heard of Zorro’s new life as this amazing architect that kept an anonymous profile, I made him an offer. If he did this job for me, and I won't tell his highest paying clients who he really is.” He raked his fingers through his hair again. “After all, what’s a few more deaths to his name.”

Just like she predicted, Christine felt her stomach coiling into various knots in her stomach. Not to mention what all of this information was doing to her head; it felt like her cranium was being split open like a melon.

“Raoul, you blackmailed a tortured prisoner of war for your own gain,” Christine agonized, “and you have the audacity to call him the monster?”

For his part, he certainly seemed to have been punched in the gut by Christine’s cries, owning up with a shameful face. “I’m sorry Christine, but what he and all the others did to my brother,” he hyperventilated, “Phillipe’s death tore our family apart!”

“I could have helped you! You could have reached out and talked to me, not use me as another pawn in your sick and twisted game!”

While the two stared at one another, Erik made a rather important announcement. “I believe it should be noted that the police were called ten minutes ago. They should be here very soon.” The statement came as a saving grace for Christine, but an eminent threat for Raoul.

“You son of a—,” before finishing what he was going to say, Raoul grabbed a gold-tasseled rope from the nearby curtains. Within the span of a few seconds, he configured the rope into a poorly constructed noose, and wrapped it around Erik’s throat; much to the horror of Christine.

She expected the worst to happen, but seemingly by magic, a gloved hand had come between the noose and his neck. Proving he was the true master of the weapon, Erik flipped the noose’s open loop backwards, wrapping itself around Raoul’s throat. With a gentle amount of pressure he pulled the rope tighter, not enough to kill, but enough to handicap Raoul from escaping or killing again.

“Insolent boy,” hissed Erik into his ear, “you could never surprise me with my own device.”

“Erik, please, don’t” Christine pleaded with him.

He took one look into her eyes before undoing the noose and swiftly tying it into makeshift handcuffs behind his back. As if nothing else could have surprised her, they heard the front door open and dozens of police officers swarmed into the Manor.

“Well done, Erik,” spoke a dark skinned man walking over to who he was talking to, “well done indeed.”

Sitting outside of Rosewood Manor, Christine was wrapped in a thermal blanket given to her by one of the many officers. The evening air was cool, reminding everyone that Fall was on its way once again. Her mind was less tangled after things were explained to her. She told Officer Khan, Erik’s friend from the Middle East, everything that happened in the Manor; from first getting the invitation up until moments before the police intervened.

Turns out, everything Raoul said in the dining room was true. While Erik was the one to kill the residents, it was Raoul who organized their arrival and executions. Currently, he was seated in the back of one of the cop cars, claiming to have nothing to say until he got a lawyer. Every single one of the people Christine encountered while staying at the house had, in one way or another, played a role in Phillipe’s life. But she maintained the fact that other people’s actions cannot dictate how you react to them; no matter what.

Walking towards her were Erik and Officer Kahn, who spoke for both of them. “Well, Erik told us his side of the story and gave a statement. It definitely holds up with yours, which will help put your friend away for a very long time. Not to mention what he did to Buquet.”

The brows on Christine’s face shot up, shock evident on her features. “What did he do? I thought Erik was coerced to harm everyone?”

Officer Kahn scratched his face before answering. “Well, we don’t have great evidence that proves he killed the people he invited, the best we can hope for is conspiracy to kill or do bodily harm.” He paused, putting both hands into his pockets. “In the case of Joseph Buquet, however, he took matters into his own hands.” This grabbed Christine’s attention. “He went right to his home and strangled the poor guy, my guess is he was planning on pinning that murder on Erik here too.”

At the mention of his name the taller man, who until now had kept his eyes downcast, looked to Christine. Looking in her eyes he tried desperately to find some sort of fear or horror at what he thought himself as; a killer. But, to his utter confusion, he found none.

“I’m so very sorry you’ve had to go through such horrific circumstances, Miss Daae.” Sympathized Officer Kahn, breaking the running thoughts Erik was having. “I understand completely if you would like to forget these few weeks ever happened, but your testimony in court would be the nail on the coffin that could put DeChagney away for his crimes.”

Christine gave him a quiet nod before replying, “I understand my role in this matter has only just begun. If justice for the victims' families means putting him behind bars, you can expect me on the witness stand.”

The dark skinned man offered her a small smile in thanks. Turning his attention to Erik, he put a hand on his shoulder before saying to the two of them, “Well, I should be heading back to the station to interrogate the offender. I’ll let you two be, and should you need me,” he added looking at Christine, “you can always call the station house and ask for me.” She nodded her head in understanding.

With that, he took off to his car for a long night of questions ahead of him. Now alone, neither Erik nor Christine really knew what to say to each other now that they were out of the element they first met in.

Standing up from the front step, Christine took the loaned blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. “So,” she tried to begin, “I don’t know about you but I’m definitely never going to reply to invitations from mysterious people ever again.” She huffed an awkward laugh. Then, letting go of even the idea of normalcy, she tried to start again. “I’m so sorry you were dragged into this, Erik.” Garnering her his attention. “You should never have been made to do those things.”

When she looked up at his face, confusion was clear as day in his look. “Christine, you are the one I should be apologizing to.” Now she was the confused one, her brows furrowing. “I killed several people, have even been fought over as a hit man, and you are sorry I was blackmailed.” There was no anger in his voice at all, only disbelief at how someone could ever think of him as an innocent person who didn’t deserve what happened to him. Only the second person to do so in his thirty-five years of life.

Looking rather embarrassed for herself, Christine moved her view to the pavement beneath their feet. “Thank you. I guess it’s just hard for me to put myself first when it comes to hard stuff.”

“May I ask you a question?” He wondered sincerely.

At the ask, she looked back up to him, nodding an affirmative.

“You seemed to know early on that the deaths were real.” She could feel her hands tort to get clammy, not wanting to answer that question. “I won’t ask you how you knew, as it seems personal.” Letting out a breath of air she didn’t realize she was holding, now wanting to know his question even more. “How is it you knew I wasn’t the one pulling all the strings? That I was,” he paused, “innocent?” He practically whispered the word.

Empathy for this poor man, who has been through the absolute worst from so many different people in his life, flooded through Christine and her comparatively smaller frame. “When I talked to you the night before Jamie died, your answers seemed real. I looked into your eyes and didn’t see malice or wicked glee. All I saw was a sympathy that transcended everything else. I knew at that moment that,” she paused, looking down at her shuffling feet, “you were one of us; someone being played by an unknown evil.”

Daring a look back up at him, his face remained still with confusion for her words and feelings. “I wasn’t afraid of you then Erik, and I’m not afraid now.” Feeling a rush of courage to prove his worth, Christine placed a hand lightly on his arm. At the immediate touch his body stiffened to an uncomfortable degree. “I thought you were innocent because you are innocent, Erik. You did nothing wrong.” She felt the words must have meant something, for his body seemed to soften a bit.

Those two pots of swirling amber had a sheen of tears, making them shine in the early moonlight. Blinking them away, he swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat before speaking. “Is there any way I can make this up to you? For us to forget this dredged place, once and for all?”

Feeling light and warm, a new flight of butterflies were coming out of their cocoon. Christine slyly smiled and looked at the taller man with mirth in her eyes, for the first time in a while. “Maybe you can take me out for dinner.”

Obviously not having expected that, Erik's reaction was shock, quickly replaced with a smile and pink-tinged cheeks. He replied, “It would be my honor.”

The two of them walked away from the dark paradise, to be driven home by a presiding officer. After all they have both been through, nothing sounded better than a long night’s sleep in their own beds. All fear and anxiety escaped them that night, ready to face the new day; the first of many trying to forget the events that took place at Rosewood Manor.

#phantom of the opera #andrew lloyd webber #gaston leroux #erik destler #christine daae #raoul de chagny #Phillipe de chagny #erik x christine #raoul x christine #musical fanfic #murder mystery #nadir khan #the persian

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