Awakened in Death

The darkness seemed to melt away into fuzzy shapes around her. These shapes began to solidify and Misha realized that she was back at the opera house, stage hands bustling around her.
It was opening night. Everyone was focused completely on the task at hand, there was electricity in the air like she had never felt before--anticipation for something.

Looking out past the curtain, Misha gasped at the full house seated in the darkness. Everyone was richly attired, and the audience seemed to glitter in the light. Men in full tuxedo and women in sweeping gowns and jewels as such that she had never seen in her entire life outside of movies. Paris definitely knew how to dress for an opera.

And then there was a voice. A tall man dressed as Don Juan was on stage with another singer.
"Oh, Brandon is feeling better," Misha thought with a twinge of disappointment, but that feeling was quickly forgotten as the two figures began to sing.
Brandon had never sounded better. His voice was magnificent. It seemed to carry through her entire body and clutch and pulse around her heart. His voice was perfect. And then she realized that it was not his voice. This was not Brandon. And then she looked at the figure playing Christine and realized again that it was not Vanessa. This Christine was perfect. Indescribably perfect in her range and tone and feathery touch to the music that seemed to kiss at her face and arms and left her tingling in goosebumps. No this was not her cast. This was something else.
What was going on?

Misha and everyone else watched as the pair climbed high into the rafters of the stage set, meeting in the middle, caressing each other, entranced in each others presence as attraction flamed into lust and Misha felt her face burn watching the couple, so intimate and uncaring of the audience watching them. And as the song faded away, she watched in horror as Christine ripped away the mask of the phantom. And apparent lust transformed into anger and fear. Gendarmes poured onto the stage, and then they both disappeared, flying to the bottom of the stage, and disappearing into a gaping trap door that had appeared out of no where.

And then there were screams. Bloodcurdling screams as the great crystal chandelier came hurtling to the ground. Everyone scrambled for the entrances, people were trampled and Misha felt her blood run cold hearing the desperate gurgles and animal cries of the unfortunate souls that were caught underneath its crushing weight. In the pandemonium, the curtains caught fire against the stage lights and then the fire spread with dizzying speed to the velveted cushions of the audience as people desperate to escape became a crushing wall.

Misha tried to run, but could only move in halting steps, her leg protesting in angry screams as she hobbled in the direction of the mass. She was thrown to the ground by a man trying to get by her. And then another man that stepped on the middle of her back, crushing her to the floor. And there were more people, running on her, battering her to the ground. She felt crystal shards from the chandelier digging into her skin and screamed in pain as she was mercilessly trampled into the ground, flames licking higher around her.



Erik emerged from the underground, one hand clutching the misshapen side of his face, biting back tears of absolute sorrow that was now transformed into a heaving, surging rage. He felt his vision turn red and the thirst for a bloodlet tingling at the tip of his tongue. Woe be it to the miserable man he would cross today.

There was nothing left of the opera house, as it was fitting. Everything was scarred as he was, burnt and charred beyond recognition, nothing left of its glittering glory. The flames had died away and everything crunched black under his heavy stride, the air clogged in a gray haze. He needed to get out, needed to get away, but he could not bring himself to step outside...

And then a figure caught his eye, it appeared to be a boy, laid out on the ground, trampled... but dressed as a Don Juan? There was a groan, and Erik realized he was still alive.
Against his nature, Erik picked the boy up, surprised at how light his body was, hanging limply from his arms, and he carried him back down. Why he did so, he could not explain, but he was moved to help this boy that was dressed like him, left to die like him, forgotten like him.