Fan Fiction ❯ Breathe No More ❯ Breathe No More ( Chapter 1 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Insanity and character death...alot of character death, actually. My first ever Phantom-phic, so criticize all you want, as I'm sure I'll need advice. Read, review, and enjoy. Not at all depressing, at least to me. THE FOP DIES! ERIK LIVES!

Anime/Manga: Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / / Psychological / Horror | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 02.26.2006 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.7K | Visits: 547 | Status: Completed

Hi! I'm Ceris Malfoy, wife of Draco Malfoy. Also known as the Spanish Rose. I've recently become addicted to Phantom of the Opera. (grins) I've read Leroux, watched the movie, and plotted my ass off, and finally came up with this, my first ever Phantom of the Opera phan-phic. I'm in love with Erik, just to let you know, and as far as I'm concerned, the only reason why I tollerate Christine Daae is because Erik seems to love/want her. (shrugs) Whatever makes my baby happy.

OH! I almost forgot to mention this, but if you're really confused about how this story came about, just review and write PREQUAL WANTED somewhere in it. If there's enough requests, I'll try my best to figure out something plausible.

WARNINGS: This phic is really weird. Graphic violence and insanity. Plus death. CHARACTER death.

DISCLAIMER: Phantom of the Opera is sooo not mine. I own an Erik (my boyfriend...his real name's Eric, but I make him spell it with a 'k' -) and lots of home-made pimped-out-phantom-Erik-plushie dolls, but no money. Please don't sue and take away my plushie dolls and my Erik. (sniffles) That'd be just plain cruel. SONG ISN'T MINE! It's "Breathe No More" by Evanescence.

Breathe No More

One-shot Fic

By: Ceris Malfoy

The soft light of a thousand candles flickered brilliantly over dark waters. The ebony of the underground lake glimmered with unimaginable beauty and the gentle twinkling of the water as it lapped against ivory-stone shores echoed in the large cavern until the sound grew into an orchestra of beauteous melody. The walls of the caves glimmered and shimmered enticingly; the yellow-orange glow of the candles giving everything it touched a warmth that would never have been there otherwise.

Red velvet and silk draped along the ivory shores and the surrounding walls and from the ceiling gold chains were hung. Glitter shimmered over every surface, giving the already majestic caves an almost ethereal appearance.

But Christine noticed none of this. What had once been a beautiful girl of 17, with large, brown eyes and soft, curly brown hair, was now a skin-covered-skeleton. Her warm brown eyes, once so adored by two men were dull and lifeless -despite the many candles. The soft curls that had once been smooth and gleaming were now tangled and matted, having been shown an appalling lack of care. The gorgeous body once clothed in the most expensive shimmering clothing was now wasted and thin, and clothed in tattered rags.

A soft hum escaped the girl's lips, and despite her appearance, it was still a sound that could make angels sigh and demons weep. It used to be a silly tune, one that her father had sang to her once upon a time. Now it was a dark tune, warped by her own twisted imaginings and inability to remember the original lyrics.

“I've been walking in the mirror for so long.
That I've come to believe my soul's on the other side.
All the little pieces falling, shatter.
Shards of me,
Too sharp to put back together.
Too small to matter,
But big enough to cut me into so many little pieces.
If I try to touch her,
And I bleed,
I bleed,
And I breathe,
I breathe no more.

I take a breath and I try to draw from my spirits well.
Yet how can you refuse to drink like a stubborn child.
Lie to me,
Convince me that I've been sick forever.
And all of this,
Will make sense when I get better.
But I know the difference,
Between myself and my reflection.
I just can't help but to wonder,
Which of us do you love.
So I bleed,
I bleed,
And I breathe,
I breathe no...
Bleed,
I bleed,
And I breathe,
I breathe,
I breathe-
I breathe no more.”

Christine held the last insanely high note for what seemed like hours before she broke off in a set of bitter giggles. A haunted grin crossed her face as she stood up and stumbled her way to the corner of the cave, where a bloodstained man was shivering violently; whimpering as he caught sight of her.

The bitter grin turned dark. “Shhh,” she whispered. She knelt at the figure's shivering form and reached out. Delicate, thin white hands smoothed back grimy brown hair. “Shhh, sweet one, don't fear.” A giggle, dark and cold, broke free. “Soon you'll be at peace.”

The man's brown eyes, glinted with new life as hope dawned at her words. “Chris-”

“NO!” she barked, her eyes somehow both dead and intensely alive. Quieter, she added. “You must not speak, sweetling.” Her eyes narrowed. “You must not.”

The man shivered but nodded, brown eyes wide in fear. She continued to smooth back his hair as she mumbled to herself. “Little Lotte thought of nothing but the hunger. Little Lotte thought, but could not see. She thought of sweet, sweet music and warm, rushing blood. She thought of the Master of whom she had betrayed more than once.”

As she spoke, she smoothed her hand over the man's face and down his bare chest, and back again. Over and over, until the man began to be lulled into complacency.

Unnoticed to the both of them was the black shadow that had walked in and stopped as it caught sight of the two figures in its home.

“Little Lotte thought of the sea and how in her dreams it was warm and thick and red. She thought of her father and the night and the house by the sea, where a little boy saved a red scarf.” A seeking finger inserted itself inside an old wound. The man screamed, pain outlining every inch of his face. The shadow twitched. “Little Lotte thought of her childhood friend, and the sweet angel that loved her. She thought of everything and nothing. She thought of the hunger...”

Her eyes locked onto the crimson blood, dribbling down the man's chest. Eyes lit and her mouth opened to release a breathless sigh. Humming softly, she leaned down and attached her lips to the wound and began to suck, a soft purr rumbling through her broken frame as she fed.

The man screamed at the pain of the blood being forced from his skin. The shadow moved violently towards the pair, before settling back down.

Christine leaned back, crimson blood staining her lips, her eyes closed in pleasure.

“Little Lotte thought of the dark and of her new husband who sought to control her. Little Lotte thought of the pain and the anguish and the lifeless body of her only child. She thought of caves and candlelight and soft, soft peace.”

The man's eyes were wide as he stared at her. “Christine!” He whispered, a mixture of plea and command.

Her eyes snapped open and she back handed him, a snarl on her gaunt face. “Raoul, YOU MUST NOT SPEAK!” She howled, her voice suddenly deep and angry. Raoul shrank back from her.

“Little Lotte, Little Lotte, little Lotte...grew up! She grew up to dance and only He ever noticed her then! Little Lotte sang for Him but it was the false friend who stole her heart. Little Lotte deceived and prayed for one she thought was true.” With each new word her voice grew colder, angrier, more bloodthirsty, and Raoul shrank back even further, but her was starting to get angry.

The black shadow glided closer, keeping silent, always in the shadows.

Raoul tried again. “Christine! Christine, please forgive me. I had no choice!”

Christine snarled and shouted, “The choice wasn't yours! It was mine, mine, all mine, the baby was MINE!”

Raoul's anger got the best of him, and he shouted, “OUI! IT WAS YOURS ALL RIGHT, BUT IT SURE AS HELL WASN'T MINE, WAS IT! No, IT WAS THAT BAS-“

Christine gave no warning. One second she was staring at Raoul, shocked that he had dared to raise his voice at her, the next she was holding onto his throat, squeezing, digging her fingers as deep as she could into his windpipe. Tears swam down her face as she started to mutter again.

“Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing. She thought of the North were wolves howled their glory to the moon. She thought of everything, everything but the babe that was not His, but her false friend's, her husband's. She thought of nothing but the babe, cold and blue in a sea of crimson.”

Raoul had long since stopped moving, but she squeezed tighter.

“She thought of caves and water and soft, soft candlelight and thought of peace. she thought of leaving. Little Lotte thought of the Light and its babe and could not stand it. So Little Lotte ran away. But she was followed. So Little Lotte thought of the babe and all that red, and decided that her false friend must be silenced. The light must stop itssooooouuuund!” Her voice became a keening wail as she unclasped her hands and brought them to her ears.

The black shadow moved into the light, revealing a strong, solid man of black, black night and solid ivory with only half a face, the other half hidden. Carefully, gently, he placed one hand under her chin, and the other on the top of her head and whispered softly, “Christine, be at peace,” as he twisted harshly.

The wail broke off sharply, and then there was silence.

Dunno. Might do another one-shot, only from Erik's point of view. (shrugs) Read and Review people, and tell me how I did. Never did Phantom phiction before, so any criticism will be more than appreciated. I'm more obsessed with Phantom of the Opera than I am with Harry Potter(which considering I practically live, breathe, and dream Harry Potter is saying something) and I really, really want to get it right, instead of floundering along like I do with Harry Potter.

Your obedient servant,