Gerard Butler Imagines

You Could Be Mine🖤 Erik Destler

Meg and I notice Christine's absence, which is not unusual. We share a look, and Meg leads our way to the Chapel. The cool hall is illuminated by candles on both sides, providing enough light for us to see our way to the small church.

Meg and I listen closely to the soft singing of a man. A man? What is Christine doing with a— it is Erik. My poor, kind, desolate Erik. Christine sings a response to him.

Meg opens the large door slowly, the wood creaking on its hinges. There, Christine sits. She blows out the candles that were previously lit, and rises to her feet. 

While she and Meg converse, I allow my eyes to search the room. Nothing catches my eye. Disappointed in my finding—or lack thereof—I sigh, leaving the chapel after Meg and Christine.

——————

From the Primadonna dressing room, there is a voice. Erik's voice. He beckons Christine forth into the mirror, which is also a doorway to his dark world where fantasy takes flight. Well, not my fantasies, but his fantasies I suppose.

In all the times I've visited him, my fantasies of singing with him have yet to happen. I don't suppose he sees a solid singer in me, which pains me more than anyone could think.

For some reason, I've grown feelings for my dear Erik. Each time I hear his voice, my feelings grow stronger. When I see him, my heart grows fonder.

But I have a burning jealousy that rages within me. It is like that of a raging wildfire, coursing quickly through every fibre of my being.

My thoughts are interrupted as the Viscount de Chagny bangs mercilessly on the door to the Primadonna dressing room. I sigh, knowing it is of no use. He will only infuriate Erik—or the Phantom.

"Viscount, Madame Giry has gone to retrieve the key. You must be patient. No harm will come to Christine," I assure. He seems worried, perhaps a touch of frustrated, but he nods, accepting my words as solace.

Madame Giry retrieves a key, opening the door. Christine is gone. The Viscount begins to panic.

"Monsieur Viscount, it does no good to panic. Christine will return by tomorrow. You will see this," I say.  He is not happy with me. I can tell by the way his brows furrow in frustration.

"You said no harm would come to her. Is this still true?" He asks. I nod. The Phantom would ensure of Christine's safety. I know he will.

Madame Giry and I glance at each other with a similar frown. Unfortunately, Erik would take great care to protect Christine.

——————

As I travel the path I know well, I cannot help but to think that perhaps this has been taken out of hand. Erik, although obsessive with his objects of passion, is inclined to the possibility of hurting them without realising it.

He has an occasional burst of fury, which allows him to speak what he has on his mind, no matter how harsh it can be. With his fury, he will do—other things—that would not be fit for society to see.

Increasing my stride, I find the black stallion I love so dearly—Cesar—and mount him. I place a gentle kiss on his head. The horse slowly takes me to a small wooden boat.

By now, I can hear Erik's organ. It sounds so beautiful echoing from the walls of the cave-like home in which my Phantom resides—although he truly is not my Phantom. He belongs to no one, however, his heart belongs to Christine.

By now, I have dismounted Cesar and sent him on his way. I board the small wooden vessel, pushing off shore with the oar. I row gently, so as to remain upright.