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Ressurection (Open to Enigma, Christine)
Consciousness returned slowly, and it was the recognition of distant music that drew him up at last from darkness. La Traviata played far overhead. Here in the cellars, several floors down, he could still hear it - thanks to the design work he'd put into this building.
The wretched pain in his chest was gone, but weakness remained. He felt as if he had been bound hand and foot to a rack for days. Erik lifted one still-gloved hand and passed it over his face. The rasp of too many days caught him by surprise. How long... how long? His dreams had been painful, blood-soaked. He'd called for Christine, but she hadn't come. But there'd been another presence, hadn't there?
With slow, determined movements, he drew himself up straight, then set his feet on the cold stone floor. Enigma had been here. Erik frowned at the chair drawn up by the couch where he'd been lying. He remembered the sound of her dark, sweet voice - but the words were mist. He knew better than to try to catch them in his fractured memory. Instead, he wrapped one hand around the back of that chair and pulled himself to his feet. Act One played above.
By intermission, Erik had made himself presentable. He was thirsty, maddeningly weak -- but the music above drove him onward. He began the trek from the fifth cellar upward. And those interminable stairs! When had they become a trial? By the time he arrived at his normal seat in Box 5, he was late enough to have missed all but the very end of Act 2. Dropping into his seat, face as pale as the mask he used to wear, Erik turned his attention to the stage. His exhaustion was horrific -- but the music alone was worth it.
The wretched pain in his chest was gone, but weakness remained. He felt as if he had been bound hand and foot to a rack for days. Erik lifted one still-gloved hand and passed it over his face. The rasp of too many days caught him by surprise. How long... how long? His dreams had been painful, blood-soaked. He'd called for Christine, but she hadn't come. But there'd been another presence, hadn't there?
With slow, determined movements, he drew himself up straight, then set his feet on the cold stone floor. Enigma had been here. Erik frowned at the chair drawn up by the couch where he'd been lying. He remembered the sound of her dark, sweet voice - but the words were mist. He knew better than to try to catch them in his fractured memory. Instead, he wrapped one hand around the back of that chair and pulled himself to his feet. Act One played above.
By intermission, Erik had made himself presentable. He was thirsty, maddeningly weak -- but the music above drove him onward. He began the trek from the fifth cellar upward. And those interminable stairs! When had they become a trial? By the time he arrived at his normal seat in Box 5, he was late enough to have missed all but the very end of Act 2. Dropping into his seat, face as pale as the mask he used to wear, Erik turned his attention to the stage. His exhaustion was horrific -- but the music alone was worth it.