Paper Faces on Parade

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Phanfiction by [Miss Pirate] AKA Luke-Warm Predator

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Disclaimer: I own none of the characters associated with this "phan"fiction. All characters belong to Gaston Leroux.

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I hid in the darkness, begging the forces to keep me hidden from the...thing...after me. My body froze in horror as I heard the door creak open. The coffin in which I lay could only serve as temporary relief from the Hell I’d entered.

The person I’d married not a week before changed so much, I fear I hardly recognized the one who woke in my arms day after day. Such sweet bliss. I had to wonder what evoked the change, and if it could be reversed. It terrified me so.

Their gentle nature was warm and comforting. Where had that gone? My usually strong backbone turned to pure liquid whenever we were in the same room.

Footsteps echoed in the vast, empty room. All that was ever kept here was the old coffin. Even as we shared a bed, it still remained.

“Oh, lover.” The voice changed even. It was different from that sweet, loving voice. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.” Oh that voice. It was no longer the beautiful voice that sang me into a sweet slumber every time I requested. A gracious voice that never failed to hypnotize me. No longer did that heavenly voice call out. It had morphed to something evil and demonic; unearthly. It was gruff and edged with violent thoughts. “Quit your hiding,” it called.

My heart was beating so hard I thought it would give me away. And it did. My own bleeding, aching heart betrayed me, screaming out, “Here I’m here Inside this rotting wooden box ”

As the lid was slid back, my breath caught. Those beautiful eyes that always looked to me across the dining table with great adoration. Yes, those eyes now threatened like a knife to the throat. The gleam was a yellowish blue and predatory. I was yanked from the coffin with a force unknown. It couldn’t have come from such a being. It was a brutal, strong force I did not know existed. They fisted my hair and drug me down the hall.

Those once caressing hands grabbed the bag of life and death. The one warned not to use for it held the keys to a room not to be seen by eyes such as those. But those eyes were gone. I was continuously dragged into the other room, the Louis-Philippe room and I watched as the silver key was thrust into the lock and turned. What would happen was what I’d always feared for some reason unknown to myself.

No lights graced the walls of this room called the torture-chamber. Remembering my body being shoved into the wall and bound to it makes the pain return. Knowing that I can recall these incidents in such vivid detail makes me shiver. Do I have some sort of masochistic trait that makes me enjoy telling the stories of abuse set upon me by the only one I ever truly loved? Surely not That cannot be They are merely thoughts, burned heavily into my brain, refusing to let go.

Slender, creamy hands caressed my face. Drawing nearer and nearer, I waited, braced myself for the event to take place. The same words to tumble from the mouth I thought I knew so well to come pouring out again as they had for the last week.
It was as if the words, “I do,” were a spell. Something to bewitch the creature before me and turn them into this rabid and sadistic lover. A lover I had sworn to give my life to. Now I know that that love will most likely never be returned again. As I’ve said before, I wish I knew what caused such a change so that I may correct it in time.

That mask that I had come to know as part of a face was ripped away to reveal the monster outside as well as in. I cringed when I heard the delicate ivory shatter on the hard stone floor. It was like the sound of a wine glass being broken on the keys of a piano. Soft and elegant yet the impact made you jump. A slight wince came upon my features as I felt the contact of a hand to that deformed and marred flesh. The flesh that would never heal itself.

“LOOK A monster ” growled a voice. I did not know whether it was my own or the other being with me, nor did I care. All I knew was I heard the familiar words. “Cursed with ugliness A mother could never love a thing such as this ” My head was thrust hard into the concrete wall I was fastened to at these words. I could feel the warm blood trickle down my head and matt my hair at the fresh wound. Pain surged through my cranium and I sucked in a breath.

“That’s right. Show me it hurts.” Every time that voice spoke, I wished to be deaf. Every time I saw that face, I wished to be blind. Every time I felt those lips, I wished it to be out of love. But as for every sinner, their wishes are not worthy of being granted. Not even one in need such as I.

I then felt the ghastly pressure of the Punjab lasso pull around my neck. Looking to the source of my bruised body and swollen lips, I found the remainder of the rope draped over their arm, ready to tighten at a moments notice. In the other hand was a thin, black, leather whip. My eyes widened in horror as I thought of what was to come.

Slowly, this thing before me unraveled that whip, showing me it’s length. Grabbing hold of the handle so tightly, those thin knuckles turned white, I watched as the arm was drawn back. Nothing was heard except for the cracking of the whip against my already scared flesh. Nothing was felt except the fresh lines of blood falling down my damaged chest. Nothing was seen but the back of my eyelids as I closed my eyes tightly. Nothing was smelt save for the staleness of the clothes that whip cut through like a knife through butter. Nothing was tasted, only the tang of fresh fear and hatred mingled together.

Another crack, another line, another tang. “Look at me Look at me and show me the pain ” that hideous voice called to me. My eyes forced themselves to open and gaze upon the only true monster in this room. In this world. Once more, the whip struck my flesh with such force I felt as though it might slash my heart. Again, the striking blow. And again. And again. And again. Over and over I felt the sting of leather slashing flesh.

Never once had I let the tears flow, I must keep my courage, show that I am not easily broken. Now I could hold back no longer. Every time that leather snake slapped against me, I let a new wave of tears filled with the utmost hatred towards the one supposed to be my lover, my friend. Why did my Angel of Music have to hurt me so? What had I done so horribly wrong to deserve this fate? The answer to those questions is something I shall never acquire.
No longer able to contain myself, I cried with the fury of a thousand Angels watching this torture from their Heavenly loft, safely tucked away from the evil I endured. My head hung as I let the tears fall like the Nile from my swollen, beaten eyes. The lower my head, the tighter the rope, but I did not care. A few moments passed of my tears and of that whip crackling against the skin of my legs and thighs through my bottoms. I finally raised my head to take a deep breath and bellowed what I’d longed to say for days. “KILL ME Do what you like with my body but kill me first I fear I cannot contain the small bit of love for you left in me Why do you hurt me so ?”

Cold, empty laughter rang through the small, mirror lined room. “Why? WHY? ” it snapped back. I felt the small tip of the whip cut my face open with such ease. “How dare you question my intentions The reason you put up with this is the love you have for me. You’ll never let go of it It is your sanity.”

It was then I felt the sharp nails digging into the fresh wounds upon my thighs, deepening them, forcing them to bleed the right amount before it was satisfied. Bloodied hands roamed over the deep lines on my chest, scratching at them, causing me fresh pain. A pain I shall never forget. They forced themselves under the flesh already torn and made a sad attempt to peel it away. “NO NO NO NO MORE Please If there is a God in Heaven make it stop Oh GOD ” I cried over and over. Hoping someone would hear me, though I knew no one would. This deep cavern was far under the streets of Paris for anyone to hear screams of pain, hence the location of the chamber.

As those hands pulled themselves from the holes now created, I heard the sound of air and blood mixing. The sound of sifting your hands through noodles and water filled my ears and I knew that that particular gash would never heal quite right. I felt the warmth of my own blood on my face, not from the gash there, clearly forgotten over all pain. It was those hands. Those slender, gentle hands. They caressed my face lovingly.

“Oh, my darling. Why can I not stop this blissful torture upon your wonderful body?” The sweet voice I knew returned once more, only to tease me. I felt my head become light as it was lifted from its hanging position. I stared into those eyes once yellow, that now returned to their soft blue. The blood that streaked the wonderful face remained, though, and that was how I knew this was not just a dream. Gingerly, I felt lips pressed to mine in a loving manner. A manner in which deepened slightly as if to say, “I’m sorry.” Soon, that silent plea for forgiveness was thrown from my clouded head as I felt those blood-caked nails did into the flesh upon my shoulders and arms, tearing the cloth easily and ripping the skin clean open. I screamed into the mouth pressed to mine and begged for this bloody torture to stop, at least for the night.

I opened my eyes once more to look into those now yellow orbs. “Christine,” I pleaded. “What has happened to you my beloved Angel?”

A sadistic grin spread upon the young woman’s face as she stepped back and tightened the rope slightly. “I love you, Erik.” Her eyes, those beautiful eyes turned blue again and pleaded for redemption. “Please. Forgive me, my love. For you know in my heart of hearts, I love you dearly.”

Another crack. And another. And another. As the blood pooled around my feet, my eyes shut tightly, begging the forces to keep me hidden.