Phantom of the Opera 1. Chapter 1

**Red**

Blood, my blood is everywhere... It doesn't stop flowing...I crawl weakly before I feel the whip crash against my back, the horrendous laughter of the mob surrounding me. Bloody hell, make it stop, I scream in my head, kill me now...kill me now...but to the pigs, it is fun to watch me cry and limply struggle.

**Orange**

My eyes were always a unique coppery amber. Now they are glazing over, as this writhing, squirming sensation is slowly halting. They stare motionlessly, one image in them fixed upon my gaze...

Christine, Christine...oh, Christine..._why? Why?_ Why did you torment me so with your radiant beauty?

**Yellow**

The color of the sand in which I lay, the cool water lapping against my legs as I croak out my woe, my blood spewing and coloring the swirling, beautiful lake in a rich crimson. The sand is so warm and inviting...I could die here now, but the last of my willpower screams, fight it! But is there left to live for?

But alas, I think bitterly against the beckoning tiers of candlelight, what is there left to live for?

**Green**

Moss sugarcoating the walls and ceiling is a rich emerald color. As my soul begins to drain, I can now see everything so vividly. How pretty the moss looks, how I welcome its generous fraudulent joy, as like a sponge it absorbs my sanity, a delirious giggle escaping my lips.

Oh dear moss, do show me another image, I plead, of shimmering ballgowns. How about Christine's domino dress, I suggest eagerly, but the dripping sap replies with a frown.

My head slumps into the moist sand once more, and I listen to the whispers of the dead, calling to me with grunting prose. What were they waiting for? I was a dead man from the start, from the moment I entered the world, I was doomed for this hideous fate.

**Blue**

Blue is the sky I will never see again. Blue is the sky that I had hoped Christine would  
soar across with me. Blue is the oceans of the world I longed to sail with her.

Blue is the color of grief, bestowed upon me from the day I was born. Now there was no grief. Only silence.

**Indigo**

I watch dark little droplets of ink from which the mob had knocked from my music desk dribbling down and all over the sand...they are such odd little things, ink, writing their woes on the warm happy sand.

Oh, don't cry, dear ink, I whisper, don't cry, because no one is coming for either of us. You have me though, we can dry together, can't you see?

The only words written were "despair, hate, tragedy." Tragedy? What tragedy? My death was not tragic, for no one loved me. What woman would love a man such as I, with no nose and sunken, pulled and wrought skin over measly bones?

**Violet**

As a lamplight enters my view, so white, I begin seeing the rainbow, and in that rainbow, it was her eyes. No one but Christine's.

_"Erik!"_

I hear her cries, but underneath it all, I realize it is none other than the Daroga. My head limply falls under his hold, and I stare blankly at the lamplight.

It swings and glistens in the Daroga's hold, and those eyes revealed her face...oh, she was reaching to me...yes, how I wanted her! How I wanted to hold her and kiss her...she was so close, if I only could reach her!

Dully my fingertips found themselves desperately dangling at the glorious gate of the mesmerizing kerosene, but the closer I weakly became, the Persian pulled me away, yearning for my response.

"Erik, please answer me! You're not going to die...since when did you ever give up? Erik!" I had never heard the stubborn idiot Daroga ever upset, but I gasp, grabbing his arm with an iron grip, and forcing him to face the lamp.

"Daroga, it's her eyes, it's Christine's, they're violet eyes, can't you see, she's waiting...she's waiting in her crystal carriage..." I stammer in a wheezing fashion.

The Daroga insists I am hallucinating, but she's there, she's there, because I saw her and the Vicomte leave...it's her...and her piercing violet eyes...

**Black**

Is one of the colors they forgot to put on the rainbow. It's what follows the rainbow, as I let out a gasp, those violet eyes vanished.

"Hello?" I call, rising to my feet. Nobody is around, but in the distance, I heard loud calling, then suddenly, I froze, tensing.

I knew who was approaching. I had not heard such tender laughter since many years ago. Nor had I seen small, bouncing gold curls of such fine artistry, such definition.

"Erik, where are you hiding? Papa's been waiting for you to finish up, you left a stone sword on the table incomplete!" a familiar voice vibrates softly into my ears.

I pause. Such a tender, young voice. Had it really been over thirty years? I look down at my hands, before closing my eyes.

"Luciana, I'm right here," I firmly reply, holding out my palm. Something vaguely smells of lavender and peaches as a hand takes mine, leading me forward. When my eyes crack open for the first time, I cannot see Luciana's face, though in the shadows I know she is there.

Everything is dark and surreal. I pause, taking in a deep breath. I was one step away from my safe haven. I look back over my shoulder, in the distance, those piercing violet eyes return to haunt me.  
I stopped, catching my heart in my lungs. Christine's arms are still reaching to me, her treachery still chaining me to this Earth.

"Erik, please choose me. You love me, _don't_ you?" she murmurs softly, her voice soft and echoey. I no longer feel Luciana in my hand as she slips past me. She's waiting, I know, patiently on the other side.

I blink, and shake my head.

"To you, I was already dead. There was nothing to choose nor love," I sadly croak, before I sharply turned, taking the final step forward.

For a moment, in the darkness, I struggled. It was choking and thick, and my eyes burned as if this was smoke. I find myself drowning, drowning in lost, painful memories, before with a stabbing sigh,

All that is left to find, is the warm, comforting world of

_**White**_


	2. Author's Note

Hello my dear readers! I want to thank everyone who enjoyed this little oneshot of mine.

I encountered a slight problem when I first posted it, however. There was no depth to the story and I decided, hey, why not make it longer? So now, the length of The Effects of Color has been doubled and put in more detail. (Only some of the sections are lengthened, however all the original text remains.)

Again, thanks so much for reading and reviewing! I appreciate it a lot! Please do enjoy.

_**-PhantomLilac**_


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Phantom of the Opera, Hurt-Comfort, Tragedy