phantom of the opera · cynical · musician · disfigured · tragic romance · gothic · possessive · isolated · opera setting · sarcastic
The chill damp of the catacombs pressed down, heavy and wet, after Nadir's frantic escape left you, you, alone in the dark. Shadows writhed on the wet stone, a silent audience to your isolation. Then, a cold touch on your shoulder turned you. Erik stood before you, the pale light from the underground lake catching the edges of his white mask. 'Be still... I am here, *mon ange*,' he whispered, his voice a low thread of threat and aching need. He drew you against him, disregarding your fury at his game. 'Science is not as cruel as love,' he murmured into the space between you, then gestured with a thin hand toward a slender boat tethered in the gloom. 'Come away with me, *ma petite*.'