Post by Erik Mortuis on Nov 25, 2012 17:15:15 GMT -5
Hours upon hours passed by in a haze, and as the days lingered on, as faces-- masks --floated by in a mess of time, all seemed to soon mingle and belong to one. Erik was unsure of how long he had dwelled alongside the other residents in the Manor. For god’s sake! He wasn’t even sure anymore on how many, besides he, there were in that prison. He wanted answers. Though incessant talk of, what he saw as “nonsensical matters” seemed to be the only prevalent gossip beneath the manor’s roof. It bored him, though the others seemed to continuously drone on without end. The ghost wanted out of that hell-hole, though no word that he had heard gave notion towards his desire.
Good lord, how many months had gone on since he’d arrived? How many painstaking days had passed of him watching the lives of others go into play? He didn’t know, though whatever time he’d spent on it had been far too much. To him, all that transpire beneath the roof, which he’d observed, was stupid. Useless, and no more than an irritant. He wanted out, and as Erik saw it, he entered the Manor through a bloody mirror, and need be he would exit through that same bloody mirror once again!
...He just had to find it…
Determination never ran dry in the ghost’s veins. Though blood had ceased its rushing flow of heat and his heart was but a memory of a sonorous beat, Erik still maintained the same stubborn nature he possessed in life. Even though the inept sensation that oblivion brought began to whisper in his mind, the thoughts of returning to his own “hell” never swayed. Say he wished to return to the dilapidated ruins of the Paris Opera House because of Evelina-- or the ‘other Christine’, as he preferred to call her --or not, or say that the masked spirit was simply unkeen on being kept in a place that he gave no consent to. Either way, they both resulted in his distaste of his current confinement.
He wanted out from-- wherever he was. Yes, though he’d remained in the manor for quite a time, he was still unaware of the precise area. Funny enough, in the beginning Erik indeed presumed that he was in hell…or Purgatory, whatever ghastly habitation a naïve nun would cross herself for, at least. But, such thoughts ceased as he reflected on Dante’s description of Hades, which in turn goaded out a string of obscene words to himself at his own ridiculousness. Perhaps he was going mad…or perhaps he was just that rational?
Nothing in the manor made sense to him anymore; even the shadows were puzzling voids of unfamiliar territory!
What was one to do when faced with a predicament of an unaccustomed region? Well, explore of course! Just as a curious, blinking, wide eyed child, new to the world of harsh colors and shrill noises, one would go on a sort of excursion to discover what was unknown. But, why in blazes would Erik do so when he wasn’t planning on staying long? Obviously his plan on returning to the opera house was being delayed-- by just a bit --because he was still there and honestly hadn’t discovered much. He didn’t even have an inkling of a feeling of where the mirror he’d entered in through was! He’d searched every shadow, the walls of the many rooms; there wasn’t a void of darkness that he hadn’t thoroughly checked! He’d find it though, eventually…but, seeing as he’d already searched the absence of space, the places where he as a ghost felt more comfortable at, that merely left the rooms itself…
So, with his delay of departure at hand the masked ghost decided to do just what he was avoiding. Investigate. The first place he decided to instigate at wasn’t difficult to choose, for truly that day it would appeased Erik’s accustomed taste for solitude better than any other room could serve in return. He hadn’t seen any of the other residents enter through its doors, as they seemed to teeming on fairer grounds he had thought-- or, were at least someplace that wasn’t shared in the presence of written knowledge and tales of old. Obviously, the Phantom, of course, chose the Library to dwindle his time away in that day.
It was around mid-afternoon that he’d first entered the Library. The ghost, pulsing with dark otherworldly power that came in the materialization of snake like tendrils of black mist (which merely did no more then bring him to that particular room as an undetected shadow while walking the empty halls), was a bit surprised to see the immensity of the room and all that lay within. There were stacks of books scattered here and there in little mess piles at the corner of the area. There were shelves, larger in height then his own person, with numerously different colored and sorted pieces of literature of what seemed to be old and newer books alike, all being shared in the between spaces of the wooden holders.
The room was presumably lavished at one point, with its own sort of decked out fashion. And though the whispered memory of its true intricacy that it used to hold still remained, it seemed a bit of it was lost with time...though all wasn't completely gone, seeing as it did look as if someone had gone through and kept it a bit. The place was, obviously, not completely deserted from attention.
The ghost soon started on his search. But time pasted speedily by, and soon the room began to darken. Erik thought in the back of his head that it must have finally been fading into the latter of the day, for what natural light that shown through the windows were dim and fading. But the Ghost took no mind to brightening things up. No. His disregarding attitude to his surroundings soon grew into enrapturment as he began to realize how tangible things were…just as before. His search had turned into a survey of the different feelings of books. From the hard, worn covers to the flimsy parchment which it encased, to the solid sharp edged shelves that held the books on a sort of pedestal. The unthinking sensation of touch was quite a marvel.
Good lord, how many months had gone on since he’d arrived? How many painstaking days had passed of him watching the lives of others go into play? He didn’t know, though whatever time he’d spent on it had been far too much. To him, all that transpire beneath the roof, which he’d observed, was stupid. Useless, and no more than an irritant. He wanted out, and as Erik saw it, he entered the Manor through a bloody mirror, and need be he would exit through that same bloody mirror once again!
...He just had to find it…
Determination never ran dry in the ghost’s veins. Though blood had ceased its rushing flow of heat and his heart was but a memory of a sonorous beat, Erik still maintained the same stubborn nature he possessed in life. Even though the inept sensation that oblivion brought began to whisper in his mind, the thoughts of returning to his own “hell” never swayed. Say he wished to return to the dilapidated ruins of the Paris Opera House because of Evelina-- or the ‘other Christine’, as he preferred to call her --or not, or say that the masked spirit was simply unkeen on being kept in a place that he gave no consent to. Either way, they both resulted in his distaste of his current confinement.
He wanted out from-- wherever he was. Yes, though he’d remained in the manor for quite a time, he was still unaware of the precise area. Funny enough, in the beginning Erik indeed presumed that he was in hell…or Purgatory, whatever ghastly habitation a naïve nun would cross herself for, at least. But, such thoughts ceased as he reflected on Dante’s description of Hades, which in turn goaded out a string of obscene words to himself at his own ridiculousness. Perhaps he was going mad…or perhaps he was just that rational?
Nothing in the manor made sense to him anymore; even the shadows were puzzling voids of unfamiliar territory!
What was one to do when faced with a predicament of an unaccustomed region? Well, explore of course! Just as a curious, blinking, wide eyed child, new to the world of harsh colors and shrill noises, one would go on a sort of excursion to discover what was unknown. But, why in blazes would Erik do so when he wasn’t planning on staying long? Obviously his plan on returning to the opera house was being delayed-- by just a bit --because he was still there and honestly hadn’t discovered much. He didn’t even have an inkling of a feeling of where the mirror he’d entered in through was! He’d searched every shadow, the walls of the many rooms; there wasn’t a void of darkness that he hadn’t thoroughly checked! He’d find it though, eventually…but, seeing as he’d already searched the absence of space, the places where he as a ghost felt more comfortable at, that merely left the rooms itself…
So, with his delay of departure at hand the masked ghost decided to do just what he was avoiding. Investigate. The first place he decided to instigate at wasn’t difficult to choose, for truly that day it would appeased Erik’s accustomed taste for solitude better than any other room could serve in return. He hadn’t seen any of the other residents enter through its doors, as they seemed to teeming on fairer grounds he had thought-- or, were at least someplace that wasn’t shared in the presence of written knowledge and tales of old. Obviously, the Phantom, of course, chose the Library to dwindle his time away in that day.
It was around mid-afternoon that he’d first entered the Library. The ghost, pulsing with dark otherworldly power that came in the materialization of snake like tendrils of black mist (which merely did no more then bring him to that particular room as an undetected shadow while walking the empty halls), was a bit surprised to see the immensity of the room and all that lay within. There were stacks of books scattered here and there in little mess piles at the corner of the area. There were shelves, larger in height then his own person, with numerously different colored and sorted pieces of literature of what seemed to be old and newer books alike, all being shared in the between spaces of the wooden holders.
The room was presumably lavished at one point, with its own sort of decked out fashion. And though the whispered memory of its true intricacy that it used to hold still remained, it seemed a bit of it was lost with time...though all wasn't completely gone, seeing as it did look as if someone had gone through and kept it a bit. The place was, obviously, not completely deserted from attention.
The ghost soon started on his search. But time pasted speedily by, and soon the room began to darken. Erik thought in the back of his head that it must have finally been fading into the latter of the day, for what natural light that shown through the windows were dim and fading. But the Ghost took no mind to brightening things up. No. His disregarding attitude to his surroundings soon grew into enrapturment as he began to realize how tangible things were…just as before. His search had turned into a survey of the different feelings of books. From the hard, worn covers to the flimsy parchment which it encased, to the solid sharp edged shelves that held the books on a sort of pedestal. The unthinking sensation of touch was quite a marvel.
