A/N: This came out of Nowhere. Yes, it's now capitalized—it is the home of evil plot bunnies—the ones that distract me from finishing my other fics. (Sigh)

Disclaimer: Don't own, not making any money!

Ratings: PG

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Nothing really…

Main Characters: Erik and Christine

Additional Notes: All right—I do not "hate" Christine, I'm just not very fond of her. This is only a "what if" fic, and nothing more. Please don't flame me for it. "La Bête" means "The Beast" in French.

La Bête

There was no time to defend himself, no time to pull his Punjab lasso from its hidden place, before the men were on him. Two grabbed his arms, two grabbed his shoulders—the other six leveled their pistols at the place his heart should have been. He had known they were there. He had known, and yet he wanted to see her one last time, despite it. His flame eyes never left Christine's. She watched the men grab him, restrain him, her face softened with a vague sadness. But she did not cry.

"I'm sorry, Erik," she murmured; her eyes were slipping away from his face and towards the ground.

He laughed bitterly. "My dear, I think not—at least, not for me." His eyes narrowed suddenly and his anger, his pain of betrayal, rolled off him in harsh waves. "Christine, at least tell me why. Is it because you fear me? Or is it because you fear the idea of me?" Her eyes returned to his, a flicker of fear in their depths, and a gleam of triumph entered those cat-eyes behind the black mask. He continued. "Is it that you wish to remove temptation? Or merely what you see in yourself?"

She shuddered, pale now. "Stop it Erik!"

"It is only the truth."

Panic curled around her chest and she turned away, motioning to the men. "Take him away!"

The men instantly complied, steering the monster away, past her and to the door beyond—the door that would eventually lead to his death. He stopped, however, on the threshold and would not be moved. Once more he turned to her, one final time before the noose would find his neck. A dark chuckle bubbled forth from his throat as he looked at her. She was trembling, her arms wrapped around herself and eyes wide.

"Remember my words, mon chere, for they are the truth," he sneered with his twisted lips and an angel voice that caressed her as though he was standing no more than an inch away. "Il y a un bête au-dessous cet belle a vôtre, mademoiselle." Then he was gone to his fate and was no more.

Yet the words still echoed in her ears and she knew they always would. Truth never dies.


A/N: Um…yeah. I'm not sure on the French—I don't really know a thing about the language, to be honest. If it's incorrect, please, just tell me and I'll happily fix it! Anyway, it's supposed to mean, "There is a beast beneath that beauty of yours, mademoiselle." (Thanks for the correction, phantomthought!) Please, review!