A/N: This fic is primarily Leroux based, except for the small part with the Persian, which is more Kay-inspired. This is just a short one-shot, slightly under 1000 words, that I wrote rather spontaneously the other night. It hasn’t been beta-ed, as I didn’t want to bother my beta with such a short little fic. I’ve checked it over several times for grammar and spelling, but I may have missed some minor things. Please feel free to point them out if you find any -- it would be a great help! And don’t forget to review! I love feedback!

Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera belongs Gaston Leroux. Phantom belongs to Susan Kay. No copyright infringement is intended.

---

A Taste Of Heaven

by: OritPetra

---

It’s a small fleeting glimmer at first. Like the shimmer of the stars in the night sky on a clear Parisian night. A small light in this wretched, all-consuming darkness.

A faint spark of hope burns within the tattered remnants of my soul, causing the aching of my dying body to wane for just a moment in time.

The room seems to waver, like the sands of Persia on a blistering hot desert day when they finally distort into a mirage before a parched and weary traveler -- giving a strange and false hope. And then the mirage breaks free, washing me over with its deadly illusion -- the fleeting glimmer transforms itself into a shining white light, wings spreading from a sight that I am sure is that of heaven itself.

Suddenly every fiber of my miserable existence is screaming.

It’s not real. She’s not really here. She would never come back!

But there is nothing left in this old, fragile corpse to care. Illusion or not, it doesn’t matter anymore. What is life, but a pale and cruel illusion?

Christine…!

She stands before me now, the light that first surrounded her ebbing. Her small frame is not hunched with a peculiar sorrow as it was the last time I saw her -- as she left with her young lover. No, now she stands straight, her shoulders back, and her vibrant blue eyes staring straight into mine, reflecting the madness that I’m sure has taken over my sunken yellow orbs.

“You came back…” I murmur weakly.

She nods, and then lightly places her hand against my hollow, sunken cheek.

“Of course I came back.”

My heart is seizing in my chest, thumping irregularly against my ribcage. I’m positive that it will simply give out, and cease to beat at any given moment.

“Why,” I croak out, forcing back a coughing fit.

“Because I love you, Erik,” she says, her voice sincere as she gazes down at me, her blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders and brushing against my hands. She looks like the perfect angel -- a small piece of heaven pushing the darkness away from what is left of my fading life.

There are tears leaking out of the deep holes where my eyes are. Those words, those words that I have longed to hear her say forever -- those words that I was sure I would die without ever hearing. And now, Christine, my angel, has spoken them to me without fear -- spoken them in the purest, sweetest voice that will ever grace this earth.

“I love you, too. I will always love you,” I choke out between ragged breaths.

Two perfect, crystal tears slip from Christine’s eyes, and across her porcelain cheeks, falling gently onto my twisted face to mingle with my own tears.

Just as gracefully as a seraph, she leans down and places her soft, velvet lips against my warped, deformed ones.

All the air, all the life feels as if it is slowly draining out of me and into that kiss. As if anything that was left of my terrible soul was now being absorbed into Christine’s own life force.

The kiss ends, and everything is black now, except for one fierce white light. My lungs gasp for air, and I’m thrown into horrible coughing fit.

There is blood on my hands from coughing, slowly seeping down my arms. My whole body is racked with pain, but I am desperate to find Christine again, my arms reaching out for her. Then the white light fades away, and I am back in my dark, underground home again.

My coughing fit slowly ends, but the aching pain in my body has been amplified ten-fold.

The Daroga is leaning over me, his jade eyes peering into my own, and a warm wash cloth clutched in one hand, and a glass of water in the other.

He leans in to wipe the blood of my hands, and disfigured face, but I grab his wrist with the deadly strength that I have not lost, even as I lay dying of a broken heart. The glass he was holding slips out of his grasp and shatters against the floor.

“Where is she? Where is Christine?” I cry urgently, all remnants of sanity lost to the illusion of Christine. “Bring her back!” I shout, Where did she go!”

“She -- Erik, Christine is gone, she’s not coming back. You let her go…”

The Daroga can be such an idiot!

“She was just here!” I roar, desperate to see her again.

“She’s gone -- Erik please -- you have to stay still; your health is failing,” he pleads.

“Bring her back!”

There is nothing but madness left in my thoughts, as I shake Daroga violently back and forth.

I would have shaken him until he died, but a tightening pain clasped itself around my chest, and the room blackened.

There is no thought left to think. Only the pain.

I am dying now.

I can feel it. I can feel everything beginning to shut down. My black heart is failing.

And there is another light. This time it is a sinister crimson color.

There are hands grasping at me -- clawing, and clutching -- and the heat of the flames around me scorches my skin.

Suddenly, I realize that Christine was the only piece of heaven I would ever know.

And now I was damned to Hell for the rest of eternity for all the horrible things I have done.

But I will never forget that one sweet taste of heaven!

Oh, Christine…!

---

A/N #2: To any readers who have been waiting for the posting of Hello, Darkness to start: I’m sorry to inform you that it is being put on hiatus. I’ve just got too much on the go, what with heading into my senior year, and all the extracurricular stuff I’ve got going on. So, sorry guys. It may be posted in the future, but certainly not for a long while.