A/N: My first fanfic. I was listening to Mozart's Requiem while writing this. The dark, gloomy, yet joyful mood this music brought up ― you might be able to trace this back in the words.
Enjoy reading. Disclaimer: I do not own the characters; credits go, in this case, completely to Gaston Leroux.
There's no truth in sight; images always lie. They show something different from whatever angle you look at them. Music is truthful. When I sing, do I promise to be good or please everyone around? No. I promise nothing. I just sing.
I - The curse of this existance!
Whirl, whirl around in the dark she did. At the stage last night. Dancing, and singing, oh, singing, how she sang! By the sight of her, a sharpened knife pierced my throat as far as the blade would go. My heartbeat…I did not even know of the existence of my heart and now it is suddenly demanding my constant attention! It beats so much, it hurts…it hurts! The memory of that face, the voice… it hurts!
I could hardly walk to my lair, in desire of peaceful silence, more stumbling, tripping over my own feet. Had I ever tripped before? I was never this clumsy. Hold the wall, cold stone, to come back to reality. Breathe! Her voice constantly ringing in my ears like a tower bell, her name dancing in my head, and this strange new feeling is running through my veins like some injected poison.
She was walking through the mirrors, and they didn't even reflect her! Oh, they don't have the power to reflect her, to catch her in their cursed web. There was only her - and the blank glas.
And me, unseen. If she could ever look upon me… Hell is not a place. It's an obsession with a name, a face, a voice.
The curse of reflection ….
The mirrors. The mirrors...
Is it good that I have power over reflecting glass? I can't even tell the difference between good and evil! God, who am I to know what is good and what is not? Is it good that I still live?
Is it good to see my reflection in a mirror?
Ah, mirrors... One of the most devlish inventions of he human mind. Nobody in the world knows their real gist, nobody but Erik. And what is that gist? Ah, that gist is in the fact that mirrors seem to tell the truth, but really they always lie! And the most terrible thing in all this is that the truth is caught in those lies, like a moth in a spider's web.
Just last night I had a dream about those bloody mirrors. The damn things whirled around me, taunted me, and laughed at me! At me, who had curbed them once!
I know, the Sultan of Mazenderan has never guessed the real reason for the creation of the Palace of Illusions. Well, he never thought of things like that. He got what he liked, and that was that. And every innocent girl, admiring herself in a mirror, becomes a victim of that terrible spider web, not knowing that her soul is already in its unseen threads. No one is free. No one - but me. And that is why it was me who invented the Palace of Illusions, because only I could see the source of the real power of mirrors and master it.
If I could only look in a mirror myself!
This strange new feeling makes me a stranger to myself. I cupped the rose, meant for her… just one single rose. Her picture makes for a blurry image in front of my eyes all the time now. Perhaps it would be enough, just satisfactory, to let her know there's someone who has her name in his mind.
That great mirror in her dressing room. I did want to break it last night, but she appeared, and I fell back. No, she is not flawless... she can cry. Godesses don't cry, and humans have their reflections in mirrors. Oh, her tears! Every tear was a torture in my heart. She was crying, sitting in front of the damn glass, and it must have been reflecting her disheveled golden hair on her table.
And I began to sing. No more than my voice I can give her. If only I could give my arms in an embrace around her and a shoulder for her to cry on. But what if I gave her an angel so she will stop crying. Yes, she will. My voice will make her beautiful, bright, enlightened, unreflected by mirrors again.
Only that reflection, in that damn, big, mockering mirror.
It's the only mirror that has power over her perfection and that's why it will take her to me. She goes through the mirrors, and they don't reflect her anymore. She goes through them every day and doesn't even notice. Any other person would have gotten tangled in all those reflections, but there aren't any of her, so she is free to sing to me.
I lift up my arms to reach her, but the damn glass makes me stop. This thin mirror between us, and she doesn't even realize I am right beside her! How I long to feel her curls between my fingers… her skin… no. Don't think such things. They'll kill you.
I return to my darkness in solitude. No arms to embrace me ever. The smile she had on her face today when she heard my voice should be enough. Yes, what a kingly gift that was! Oh my angel!