Broken Roses, Broken Dreams
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He watched them ride away on the Vicomte’s horse, and with it went the only thing he had ever loved. Erik looked away, no longer able to bear the sight. He glanced down at the crisp white snow, fighting back the tears of grief that threatened to engulf him. It was then, that he noticed the petals of perfect roses she had carried for her father, crushed into the ground like a bloodstain. They lay broken like so many hopes and dreams that he had cherished for the both of them. Dreams that she had once shared.
Erik fought to get his breathing under control. Anger like none he had ever known, coursed through his veins like fire. He had given her everything…his music…his passion, his love. She had left him lying there in the snow, much like her roses, as if he were nothing. He would have justice for the outrages they had visited upon him. They would wish they had never spared his life. He would never dream of harming Christine bodily, but there were other ways…
A slow smile spread across his face, a plan came to mind as he bent down to retrieve his sword. His greatest work yet, his opera would be the perfect ploy to lure her back to him. The fools that ran his opera house would put on his work; they now feared him just as they should.
Erik left the cemetery and walked towards the abandoned carriage. He climbed onto the box seat of the trap and flicked the reins. The wintry countryside passed him slowly; there was no need for haste now. He welcomed the familiar feeling of solitude as it wrapped its self around him. The one thing in his life that he could still count on, that cold, silent companion.
He’d been ready to meet his death. As Raoul’s blade had come slicing through the air towards him, he’d glanced at Christine. If he were about to die, her face had been the last thing he’d wished to see in this world. What horrors could death hold, which he had not already experienced here?
Her words had rung out “No!! Raoul, no not like this,”
He had not mistaken the terror in her eyes. Her pleading words had stayed her suitor’s hand as he had gone in for the deathblow. Christine was far from indifferent to him, no matter her actions to the contrary. He had lavished his affections and his art on such a fickle creature. She would learn that it was better to put a dog out of its misery than prolong the agony. Christine had not spared him. She’d damned him.
Erik focused his thoughts on the task ahead; there was so much to plan. He spurred the horses on, finding himself, suddenly impatient to return to his lair. Raoul may think he had bested him yet again, but he would have his day. He would have his opus even if it became his epitaph.
THE END
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