Who: Beauty What: Reveal~ Where: Beneath the Paris Opera House. Warnings/Rating: None.
The transition was mercifully quick, yet no less cruel for it. One minute there was pleasure and the solid warmth of another pressed against him, and the next it had vanished, replaced by cold and darkness barely pervaded by the flicker of candlelight.
He was clothed now, and the smooth, supple body which had been his for such a short time was gone. Beauty was once again little more than a fairy tale, that which he could long for but never possess, yet there was a significant difference. He knew what it was like to have it, whereas he hadn't before, and the loss cut painfully deep. He had experienced perfection, of being desired and admired, and above all else he had felt more in a few hours than he had in an entire lifetime. No matter that his partner had been a man; touch was touch, regardless of who was responsible. The masquerade had given him a taste of heaven only to tear it away, and now he would be forced to live with the knowledge of that which he would never, ever have again.
For Erik, it was too much to bear.
In the solitude of his underground lair he sought out one of his few unbroken mirrors, tugging off the heavy dropcloth which hid it from sight. The face that looked back at him was no golden-haired god, only the familiarity of a quarter of unblemished skin while the rest was covered by a mask. With slow, sluggish movements, Erik removed his mask and let it fall, revealing the horrible deformity that consumed the remainder of his head and continued down the side of his neck beneath his shirt collar, and further still, out of sight.
No one would ever want him like this. The warmth of hands on his skin, which he swore he could still feel, were little more than a memory now. It was a cruel joke, offering him a whiff of beauty to further torment him in his loneliness. He was a monster, and monsters were not loved, not desired, not touched or caressed by adoring hands.
He let out a wordless, inhuman roar of agony, and brought his first against the mirror, which shattered with a thousand screams and rained glass slivers all around. Erik turned wildly, staggering, and continued in a frenzy of destruction that lasted for what seemed like an eternity, only stopping when his anger seeped away and left him with nothing but pain and despair.
The journal lay on the floor, splayed open, and he fell to his knees before it. His hands shook as he picked it up, and his breaths threatened to become sobs at any moment. Erik scanned the words on the page once, twice, and then spoke the last few lines aloud.
"Masquerade... paper faces on parade. Masquerade. Hide your face so the world will never find you..."
Erik screamed, and the sound echoed up, up, up, to the main level of the Opera House, but there was no one there to hear it. He was alone.