Hopeful Soul: A Phantom Story

Chapter Twenty-Nine.

Don't worry, guys. As far as ships go, the sail will rise shortly. Not here, but soon 😊

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ERIK:

The daroga had thought he destroyed my opium syringe, but I had another waiting in a compartment of my coffin. Sometimes I would take opium to distract me from the ridiculous life I led, but it gave me strange dreams. I would wake up in the oddest of places like bathtubs, inside organs, the lever of the torture chamber and even box five. The drug was also the greatest method of sleep I had ever known - though vivid dreams of my past would wake me up in a cold sweat.

I stood in my room and glanced at Don Juan Triumphant, cursing myself for ever having created that vulgar thing. It fulfilled a masculine desire within me, but still left me hungry for more. I encased the score in a mahogany box that used to hold my mask during the night - the mask I couldn't find. Against my better judgment, I decided to take the opium syringe before going to sleep. It helped to relax my nerves and, as I eased into the coffin, made my emotions somewhat vanish. Sleeping was easier...

The day seemed normal with a new composition sitting at my organ. The notes seemed to blend into each other as I scratched out the paper multiple times before finally tossing it aside. Several other papers scattered the floor - I was having no luck with this. Then a beautiful song filled the room and I turned to see a beautiful brunette - Christine.

We sang together now, caught in one another's arms as we made beautiful music, and the world seemed to stop. We swooned into the loveseat in another's embrace and she softly kissed my forehead. I missed her sweet, soft lips and smooth, doll-like skin. Her big, brown eyes held me in a blanket of comfort and I tightly embraced her.

Christine's warmth was unlike anything I had ever experienced. She was finer than the most expensive wine, more soft than the velvet that lined my coffin and offered more protection than the mask I once thought shielded me. She was magnificent and I wanted anything she would give me. I accepted every caress, every pain and every warm embrace and offered. She was my life line.

Christine had then pulled away to tell me the one thing I had never heard before, whispering gently into my ear, "I love you."

My heart began to race and I felt tears stain my cheeks - was this a dream? It felt so real. I could feel her skin and her warmth radiated against me. She gazed into my eyes and straddled my lap, brushing through my messy hair with her fingertips. I was frightened, yet very allured. I would definitely have to make adjustments to Don Juan if this was what it felt like - fire everywhere.

She leaned into my chest and her lips came closer. We shared the same air and I gulped audibly as she came closer and closer until...

Fire boiled in my body and I found myself on the loveseat. Warmth penetrated every corner of my form and I then realized that she wasn't here. Tears weren't even the beginning of my sadness - why on Earth would my mind play cruel tricks like that? Why would my dreams convince me that Christine loved and fondled me when in fact she would probably vomit at the thought? I wasn't just angry - I was furious.

"Why?!"

I grabbed the swords from the fire and made fresh, hot wounds in each of my arms, screaming at the pain. At least this pain didn't hurt as much as dealing with the fact that I would never be loved. I would have cried myself to sleep, but that would only make things worse. My mind would deceive me again.

I had let her go. My life was useless. The only thing I could do now was die and even then I lacked the courage to kill myself. Perhaps in fear of something greater, but even then I was doomed to the fiery pits of hell and eternal damnation - and all because of a face.

Maybe if my mother had loved me I wouldn't be insane. Maybe if I hadn't been trapped in that gypsy fair for five years I would sleep in a bed like a regular person. And perhaps if my face wasn't so damn hideous Christine would be able to love me! But no, that was too much optimism! Erik was doomed! Erik could not be loved and could, therefore, not be saved! Erik was impure and needed to roast alive in a fire!

I couldn't take the pain anymore, running to the fireplace and resting my hands on the coals momentarily - it hurt, but it was a good distraction from the emotions slowly rolling within me. More than anything, all I craved was love - a gentle touch. Her sweet smell of roses filled the room, but I had rushed around to get over the faux scent. What an awful place my mind was.