Truly Mine

Disclaimer: the Phantom of the Opera belongs to Gaston Leroux. His work is, alas, no longer under copyright protection in North America.


I allowed a few more days to pass before approaching my dearest target: languid days, filled with simple errands of forgery and delivery and misdirection, that brought soft tears at evening, to which I listened gladly. I overheard every note of her despair; I oversaw her distress. I felt my own desire mounting, and my soul tense in delicious anticipation, but I would not rush this. Finally, I judged her ready.

That night I waited until I was sure she slept, and then I let myself into her room, as easily defeating the locks that barred her door as I would dismantle all other barriers between us. I watched her sleeping. She looked as innocent as a child, but with shadows under her eyes brought by too many nights' suffering, and I felt moved to pity for her. Softly I sang her awake, using my voice to put her under my spell again, binding her with the invisible chains of hypnosis. It was my intention that someday she would be so completely within my power that no such tricks would be needed to ensure her complete obedience, but for now it was necessary to keep her lost in my carefully-induced enchantment.

"Christine," I called to her, "come to me." She stood and crossed the room, ethereal as any angel, and stood, gently swaying, in front of me.

"Have you forgotten your Angel of Music, your own dear friend and mentor, that you fail to greet me?" I asked, affecting a melancholy, hurt tone.

"Erik?" she asked, confused.

"Yes, Christine, it is I, Erik," I told her, my voice still gentle and wounded, "your dearest friend on earth, though you have never acknowledged me as such. I alone have wanted only your happiness; I, alone, will never abandon you."

"Erik," she repeated, tears spilling from her eyes, and I knew that my hints had fallen on the fertile ground of her overwrought imagination, summoning forth all her hurt and fear over Raoul's supposed neglect of her.

"Sweet child, do not cry," I said. "You mistrusted and betrayed me, Christine, but I never for a moment blamed you, nor thought badly of you. It was all the fault of that silly boy, and his low friend the Persian; they misled you, and caused you to doubt. You doubted me, and that hurt, but I still stand ready to protect and shelter you. You are not alone in the world as long as," I paused, seeing with satisfaction the hope and trust that suffused her face, "as long as you can prove to me that you know you were wrong to doubt me, and that you are sorry for having done so."

"Erik, I am sorry," she responded, her voice trembling with confused emotion. "I know you loved me, but"but you"" A note of fear had crept into her voice as she struggled against the silked threads of my spell; she was, I saw, trying to remember what had happened when I stole her away from the very stage of the Opera House.

"Be still, my child," I ordered her, and her face cleared instantly. "All I ask of you is that you accept the discipline of your Angel of Music, and prove to me that you are truly and honestly contrite, and worthy of my forgiveness. You are a good, innocent girl, Christine. I never once questioned your purity and innocence." I smiled to myself when I saw the flash of anger in her eyes; I knew my pretty puppet was remembering how often, and how unfairly, that jealous fool Raoul had questioned her virtue.

"But you questioned my motives," I continued sorrowfully. "All I ever asked was that you trust me—I wanted to be your teacher, your guide. I loved you, Christine, as much as a father could. I felt a father's pride as your voice reached the heights of artistry for which it was intended. I would gladly protect and advise you again, if I could believe that you regretted your betrayal of the Spirit of Music."

"Erik, oh, Erik," cried the enchanted girl. "I am sorry, truly sorry. I should never have believed a word against you. I would give anything if you could believe me."

"Then allow me, child, a father's right to punish you for your transgression, so that we may put it behind us and move forward together." I sat in the sturdy chair at the foot of her bed. "Come, Christine," I commanded, and when she came closer I reached for her and put her firmly across my lap, bunching her nightgown around her waist to reveal the flawless white skin of her bottom. She blushed and squirmed with embarrassment and indignation at this treatment, but fell silent at a word from me. I spanked her, hard: ten solid, chastising strokes, each one counted out loud as her flesh reddened under my hand. She cried softly, but made no move to resist me, and when I had finished I slipped one finger between her thighs to fondle her sweet, pink gash. Her slick wetness pleased me, for it revealed the dark secrets of her soul: however much she might have claimed to fear Erik, and to be revolted by Erik, the truth was that she desired Erik, and her body could not lie about that. I tucked my chastened angel into bed, bid her to love me for correcting her, kissed her forehead and left her to sleep deeply. In the morning, I knew, she would wake in pretty confusion over her dark, disquieting dreams.