Soul-burning grief consumed Erik, and would already have swallowed him whole -- had it not been for that meddlesome little surgeon who played on Erik's pianos. Hannibal had unwillingly roused Erik's hunger for music once more, even in the devastating wake of Christine's departure, by practically begging Erik to write for him. Just once more. Just one more time.
And Erik had, curse his foolish hands. Erik had written a weapon, a danger to everyone who would ever brave the stanzas top to bottom. Hannibal still didn't understand what he might do if he truly did play the entire thing for an audience. But that hadn't been the end to Hannibal's meddling, no. There was also her.
Magdelene. Magdelene.
Her voice had ensnared him, just as unwillingly as Hannibal had forced his hand to write. Magdelene. Her very name was reminiscent of a sinner - but her voice was a golden ribbon from Heaven itself... if such a place existed. Her voice struck him through the shattered remnants of his heart, gave it something to cling around, to hold onto.
And he didn't want that. He wanted to be left alone. He wanted to leave this entire place, to descend back to his house by the lake, and there to stay until he'd breathed his last.
But he couldn't. He couldn't, knowing first that his music may be played (and how strange to be excited and violently opposed to the idea at the same time), and knowing second that the wealth of beauty in that slim pale throat waited for him to give it something worthy to sing.
Erik had been sitting in Box 5 for the last few hours, staring blankly at the blank stage, and considering what he should do. He hadn't reached any conclusions, when the woman of his very thoughts stepped onto the stage, into the limelight. Erik froze, half-rose, then sank back down in his seat when she began to sing without accompaniment. Powerless to move as her flawless Russian poured over him, he closed his eyes and bit back a groan. Her voice was like a feast, and he was starving, desperate...
And so confused. Lost, more than he'd ever been in his life - and that was saying much.
He had to go down to her. He knew that. Using every hidden entryway he knew between here and backstage, he moved silently and swiftly from Box 5 to the left side of the stage. His shoulder leaned against the wall - deja vu - and he watched her hungrily. In the light, she seemed to glow.