Disclaimer: Not mine, making no money, don't sue. Also, I don't know if this is up to FFN's code of conduct – if not, I apologize.
Author's Note: Another one shot, 100-word drabble – with a twist! This one is for all the dedicated writers and reviewers who have been so kind as to read my work: just a crazy idea that came to me and I decided it was worth a laugh, anyway. (There might even be sequels!) So here goes. Flame all you want on this one!!!
Quarter Notes: An Open Letter from Erik
Of all the curses this face has brought me, fanfiction authors are the worst.
Oh, you are intelligent, talented people, and I rather enjoy working with you.
But can you not leave us in peace?!
Regardless of the truth behind our story – the ongoing debate annoys me somewhat – the fact of the matter remains.
I'm dead. So are the lovebirds, whom I might inform you have gotten no better.
On behalf of myself, Christine (who still hasn't made up her mind), Raoul (he owes me for this) and Israfel (who's tired of hearing me called the Angel of Music)…
Pistachios are good, Navajo tacos are better, but review goes down fastest and easiest. I'd like some of that, please, with fries and a Sprite, no ice. Btw – Israfel is the name of the real Angel of Music. He's come up a few times in my stories, but I warn you, he's not nearly as well-known as, say, Archangel Michael. If you want to see more of him in my work, go read "Guide and Guardian" and "Treble Entendre." Then come complaining to me!