Many years later and many years to late
Once, long ago, I might have convinced my self it was for her. To spare her from the nightmare of the dark angel. Now many years later, many years to late, I know the truth of those thoughts. The nights I would stay up thinking, wishing, it had been me. Me who the Phantom had sought out. Me whom his dark feelings had fallen upon. The one to learn his music of the night. The one he had taught his dark magic too.
Yes in those days I convinced my self that my want was only to take away her pain. To take her place, for her and not for me. I lost my self in the love I felt for her, yes I loved her. I loved her more then I have loved any other woman, let no one ever question that.
But it was he whom I longed for. That dark man drawing me to his blackness. In my last moments with him I protested that I loved her, I wanted him to take my life and free her. I knew she could never live with that. It was hopeless. He wanted her, not me. it was always her, I do not blame him she was the loveliest woman who ever lived. Her heart kind and pure, never to be infected with darkness. It was their story not mine.
Looking back I can see it now, what I was blind to in those days. Why couldn't he have gone after me? Yes it was a selfish thought and I can only bring myself to voice it now that she is gone. If only he could have loved me, all would be so different. I would never have fought him. Oh never would I have won a woman that my heart could not be truly faithful to. My one greatest regret, something I could not hope to control.
The times I saw him were short, brief, and intense. I had to protect her from his darkness so I lost myself in this quest ignoring the dreams that came to find me in the night. Dreams of him singing to me. Dreams of a dark place, far away, in which I would finally learn his secrets and help mend his past.
Now I find that the last act of our meetings play out in my head over and over. I, shouting that I loved her but thinking only of him. pleading with him to stop this madness knowing there was no escape. Like a writer had set us up, the climax. It was then, seeing her pity for the monster he had become, that I began to think on these feelings, the thoughts the dreams. Why? Why was it her?
I wished to bask in this darkness and sway to the sweet sounds of this music in the night. I heard his voice menacing and dark. Biting and mean, the dog who had been kicked one to many times. I knew then, in some small unrealized part of my being, I wished I could heal him.
His strong hands on my throat, the rope digging in to soft flesh, a memory burned forever in to my brain. I occasionally fidget with the neck to my cloths, feeling the scarred skin that never quite healed. Such a rough touch he had, looking in to my soul with cold eyes. We stood, seconds perchance, one breath apart. That is when I knew it was hopeless.
I might die today from those cold unforgiving hands. I might fall under those dark eyes. I might feel that hot breath of anger for the last time. Rage radiated off of him. He only ever saw me as a nuisance, a obstacle if you will, to surpass. Nothing more, He could never see me with his eyes clouded by her beauty. I was left in the dust, a man written for the part who outgrew it. Trapped in a existence I longed to change.
I could not fight this. Fight the feelings, fight the nightmares, fight the darkness, fight the light. Fight my very role in this universe, fight my destiny. To fight all I had been created to do, for I no longer wanted to do it.
looking in to those eyes I knew he was for she and she was for him. But he had done the unforgivable and now there was no hope. I knew I had no place here. The mold I was set to fill no longer fit me. Feelings had surfaced that were never meant to be.
As the rope bit more in to my neck, a tog from my captor, I managed to sing the words I knew I was meant to say. I played the part, but inside I seethed. Why couldn't it have been me? I would have gone with him willingly. Why not? Why was I doomed to play this part? Perchance this is what my creator had set me for, to take her away from the darkness and act as her light.
She walked like an angel of light, with feathered wings and grace. He turned to her, the look on his face was all I needed to see. He loved her, loved her perhaps more then I ever have. She was his light, his only light. The only music his ears would be satisfy with, the only face his would ever look upon without fear. A tear may have graced his scarred cheek, I could not tell, but kindness entered his heart. In the darkest parts of his soul only her light could shine.
I felt the ropes slacken as my heart filled with the sight of him, my last glimpse of the man behind the monster. The scarred tissue of his face illuminated by the flickering light. She took me away, from this darkness from the madness. What could I do but watch as we left him, never to see him again. I knew he would never come to haunt us, to keep her happiness not mine. I drunk up the sight of the face, and the voice so I would never forget.
many years later, many years to late, I see that face when I close my eyes. A child, scared and scarred, afraid of the light, hidden in the dark. A man who had grown up too fast, making his home in the night and his music in the smoke. The voice torn raw from the silent screams never to surface, screams never to be soothed by the soft touch of another hand.
Years have past and days gone by but I still remember that voice, that called me to the darkness, that man we never spoke of. A nightmare, not because of what he did to her but what he didn't do to me.
She died not old and not young. Avoid fills my heart, I am the one the only one to carrie the burden. I lost my two greatest loves, the light and the dark, only void is left. Now I amuse my self with writing, it will be a play entitled 'the angel in hell'. Perchance one day I shall show it to the public. It is their story, not mine, their love and struggle. For all to view, see the darkness and the light. His darkness and her light.
And maybe, just maybe, one day he will see it, he will see his actions from my view and his words from my lips. He would never see me or my love, I have written the mold I was to fit and not the person I am but I hope he will see her love and kindness and will be comforted in the hought that she died loving him. For that I will be grateful and maybe one day I can rest knowing I, in some small measure, helped him to heal. The dark man of the night whom I love.
authors note- Random phantom fic that just popped in to my head. Honestly I haven't see the Phantom of the Opera recently so forgive me if I got some of the details wrong. I hope you like it and remember reviews feed the starving writer.