Tonight was the night.
Now he would finally show them what befell people who didn't listen.
Three months of torturous, dark work to complete the masterpiece that lay in his hand, the opera that he'd been putting his heart and soul into for twenty years, a thing conjured from nightmares. A thing only the most terrifying, tortured caverns of his mind could have conjured. A revolution to the way music was thought of. It had been his greatest piece of work, he'd put his talents to the test writing it… then she had came along.
In his entire life, there had been darkness. Ever since he was born, he was shrouded in his mind. He was hated everywhere, by everyone and anything who crossed him. He had learned to adapt, to hate the world back as it had hated him, and he was content that way. People get rid of things if they're afraid, don't they? It's alright if you're scared. His mother was scared, so she'd gotten rid of him. She'd screamed at his face. She'd berated him for thinking he might belong somewhere, belong to music. People were scared when they saw his face, but that didn't stop them from laughing afterwards. Fear was the driving force of this godforsaken world.
Except, of course, the one person who saw him differently. Christine didn't shudder when she saw him in her mirror, or scream. She followed him down to the lair, listened… didn't fear. To her, he'd been an Angel of Music, sent from her father to guide her. She'd trusted him, not even knowing who he was. And then…
He pushed the thoughts away. He wouldn't make himself remember that terrible moment. Not ever.
And he pushed the doors open.
The music stopped. A gasp went around the room. Terrified eyes peeked out under masked faces. A masquerade… how fitting. He supposed they liked mocking him; thought it was funny. Now he'd be the one doing the mocking.
He slowly descended the stairs, knowing it was pulling at their nerves, making them jumpy. He was enjoying this delightful little game of cat and mouse. The whole room was filled with all his favourite little fools – Andre, Firmin; that disastrous diva, and, of course, the Raoul de Chagny. "The good patron". Hah! The man could may be rich, but he couldn't take a hint and was about as clever as a brick wall. But, no matter. He wouldn't be a problem tonight. He'd make sure of it.
By now, the whole room was staring in a petrified trance. Good. Exactly how he wanted them. "Why so silent, good monsieurs?" The guests parted as he walked, a patronising smile fixed on his face.
"Did you think that I had left you for good….?
Have you missed me, good monsiers?
I have written you an opera!"
He took out Don Juan Triumphant and held it up for all the room to see.
"Here I bring the finished score," He flung it down the steps and whipped his sowrd from his scabbard. The guests gasped and he fought the urge to laugh. Good… BE scared!
"Don Juan Triumphant!
A few instructions just before rehearsal starts…" He smiled to himself. Now it begins. He made his way to Carlotta, who was in a costume that could only be described as an assault to the eyes. He pointed his sword at the quivering diva.
"Carlotta must be taught to act!" He ruffled the ridicoulous feathers on her head with the blade for good effect,
"Not her normal trick of strutting around the stage!
Our Don Juan must lose some weight,
It's not healthy,
In a man of Piangi's age,
And my mangers must learn,
That their place is in an office!
Not the arts…"
It was going well… very well. Now… time for the real hit. He turned slowly, circling like a vulture, looking round at each and every one of the petrified people. They were all still as statues. Good.
"As for our star,
Miss Christine Daae," He spat the words out like poision, resulting in a pleasing jump from the women in the room.
"No doubt she'll do her best,
It's true, her voice is good,
She knows, though
Should she wish to excel,
She has much still to learn,
If pride will let her return to me…" He paused.
"Her teacher.
Her teacher…"
He turned to face the room… and that was the moment he crashed and burned.
She was right there. Right there, a mere few steps away. He chided himself. He'd known she'd be there, but…. She was staring at him, looking not scared, but as if pleading, "Don't do this. Just go." But he couldn't. Slowly, ever so slowly, the pair found themselves walking towards one another, like a force was pulling them close. His heart was pounding as he walked down the steps… a few more and they'd be face to face, in front of everyone…. He fought with his conscious, tried to continue his plan, to follow through, but he knew… he knew with her here nothing would work. Seeing her here… It was torture.
Finally, they were face to face, eyes locked with each other's, each one not knowing what to do or what to say. He scanned over her face, her beautiful face, taking her in. Then… no. It wasn't. He wouldn't… but there it was, mocking him from the chain around her neck. The ring. So it was true. She'd chosen the fop!
His breathing quickened. Anger filled up inside him, anger he couldn't quench. Once again, he'd been betrayed, stabbed in the back, left in the cold to die! In a burst of rage, he tore the chain from her neck, eyes dark with rage. He stared at her, mouth parted in a scowl, and hissed,
"Your chains are still mine,
You belong to ME!"
And then he fled.