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weirdagnes:

She, my dearest, my joy, my beloved sister,

Alive in translucent form and ardent whispers,

Alive then thereupon dead and gone.

I embrace her while she still lingers,

But only sand was sifting through arms and fingers.

Poem and drawing by me, based on Mendelssohn’s String Quartet no. 6 in F minor. And from wiki: “It was the last major piece he completed before he died two months later on 4 November 1847. He composed the piece as an homage to his sister Fanny who had died on 17 May of that year and it bore the title “Requiem for Fanny.”

In regards to the Erik Stank™️ discussion, doesn’t Erik also occasionally swim in the underground lake to kill intruders?? An underground, enclosed lake from the Victorian era? Even if it’s the closest to a soak he gets, how bad does THAT water smell too? But if Erik goes through all the trouble of making a fake nose for his few outings, the ornate clothes he wears, he probably gets some kind of perfume with the most intense smell to mask (heh) that scent, and any smell in excess is Bad™️

muirin007:

into-the-stratosphere:

muirin007:

Living in the 19th century has a 100% mortality rate, and 80% of those deaths are brought about by spectacularly awful hygiene and sanitation practices. If you are currently living in the 19th century, doctors strongly suggest to relocate to another century to avoid the perils of just, like, existing.

I sincerely doubt that underground lake is as pure as a stream in the Alps. The lake comes from the natural landscape around the opera–it was actually very swampy, marshy land, so they had to pump water out to build. Plus, even today, there are fish living down there. So it’s fishy. It’s dark. It’s 1880. You gon’ die.

(In all seriousness, I personally doubt that Erik lets his hygiene go to that extent–I always imagined he’d be quite fastidious about it and, like you mentioned, he might be a fan of perfumes.)

I think he would take good care of his hygiene, given 1) he wants to appear “normal” to both the public on his few outings and to Christine 2) the man honestly thinks of himself in extremes- he’s either a god of artistry whom the entirety of the opera house must bend before his will, or he’s the lowest of gargoyles and corpses, with no sense of in between.

He’d probably care well for his appearance especially when going out and buying things, but perhaps when he gets particularly low (for example, like how he makes Christine scratch his face until it literally starts bleeding the first time the mask comes off) then all decorum and standards fly out the window.

I TOTALLY agree with you! It is stated (pretty consistently) in the novel that Erik wears “dress clothes,” implying he’s quite a fancy dandy. I’m sure Leroux did this to tie into the whole Aesthetic: Gentleman Death, the gothic contrast of a corpse dressed like the living, the horror and thrill of seeing something abject masquerade as something lovely, etc. 

Like you, I’ve always had a headcanon that Erik is extremely fastidious when it comes to what he can control about his appearance: namely, his clothes and his bearing (and his voice, of course). I’m right there with you: I think he’d be impeccably tailored within an inch of his life, complete with a tasteful dab of cologne, not a hair out of place, Armani, darling, Armani. 

Except when he “loses it:” in high-stress situations, when he’s furious, when he’s completely enveloped in the creative process, when he’s despondent. Then, he’d start to come apart at the seams. I totally agree with you when you mention his black and white, extreme mindset: “I am either the omnipotent Phantom of the Opera, a musical genius, an artist to the core, or I am the lowest, most abject creature that ever slithered out of the bowels of hell.” There is no in-between for him. He can’t simply be himself because he abhors himself.