The poison sat in the cupboard, waiting to be used.
Tick-tock.
Tick-tock.
The sound echoed throughout the house. Each second passed by as swiftly as the one before it. Soon the poison would be taken, and the receiver would never hear the maddening sound of the grandfather clock again. Not much of a sad thought, the person thought, smirking.
The scratching of the quill blended with the clock. Every so often, though, it would stop to be dipped into the ink well, and then the scratching would start once more. Measures on the paper were written at a quick tempo, drawn in red ink. One would think it were blood if they didn't know better.
The quill paused, hovering over the freshly created double bar line signalling the end of the piece. The opera was finally finished.
The composer stood up and stretched. Composing had tired him out, so now he would rest. He would rest forever.
Scooping up the opera, he strolled lazily to the kitchen. Opening the cupboard, he took out the poison. Carefully closing the cupboard, he gleefully walked to his bedroom. In the middle of the room was a coffin, proclaimed as the center of attention. He stalked to the wooden structure and laid down on the silk inside. He blinked, consumed the poison, and pulled the coffin's lid down. Grasping the opera, he closed his eyes, waiting for the poison to take him away from the horrifying earth that had mutilated his life.
He listened to the clock. Tick-tock, tick-tock. The haunting sound echoed through his mind, making him cringe as every second came and went. Death is too slow, he decided harshly. The sound suddenly stopped.
He was dead, then.
And nobody would care.
Erik swallowed back his tears.
He opened his eyes. Darkness was all around him, impossibly black walls glared at him. Scorching heat filled the air as the lights came on. Mirrors, mirrors, mirrors! The walls were mirrors! The realization struck him hard, as if his mother had slapped him across the face. The realization that death was simply a...
...torture chamber.
Death was simply dying. He was dead. Yet he was dying once more. Oh, the irony, he thought cynically, that my own death shall be what snuffed out the life from so many other people.
He had not been prepared for this. Nothing would have prepared him for this. That was why he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the angelic voice speak.
"Hello, Erik," it said.
Dumbfounded, he replied with nothing, instead choosing to stare at the mirror with surprise. He wasn't even upset about not having his mask on.
"Ah, I see you are surprised. Did you not think that your sins would separate you from -"
"I KNEW EXACTLY WHAT MY SINS WOULD DO! THIS IS NOT DEATH! IF I WERE DEAD, I WOULD BE DOWN IN HELL, BURNING ALONG WITH ALL THE OTHER CRIMINALS!"
"Each person has their own Hell, Erik. Your sins have separated you from everyone."
"What..."
"Some of your sins include; murder, theft, kidnapping, and suicide. As I said before, that is just some of your sins."
"And...? Lots of other criminals commit those crimes. What separates me from them?"
"Nothing."
"Then why -"
"You are receiving the same punishment as them."
"But -"
"Of course, you did these things all because of your face. That is why I shall give you another chance."
"T-thank you," Erik replied gratefully. Another chance... he wouldn't mess up this chance. He was being given another chance... the fact made him smile.
"Also, you shall have a normal face, just like everyone else."
Erik stared. A normal face? Finally, his one wish was answered – a normal face.
"When?" he asked.
"Now."
One of the mirrors slid back to reveal the exit. Full of hope, he left the chamber and entered a new world.
The first thing he felt was pain.
"Keep pushing, Comtesse," the midwife gaudily cheered on. Christine looked to Raoul, the pain visible on her face. She dug her nails into the cloth hanging above her.
"Just the head now, and your baby will be borne," the lady informed her. With a few final pushes, the procedure would be finished. The only thing that kept Christine going was the fact that women did this multiple times in their life. But she felt the excruciating pain nonetheless. She wanted to just rest, but she knew the midwife would not tolerate a pause. The lady did in fact have other people on her schedule to attend to. Thoughts floated through the young Comtesse's head as she gave the final push. What if he looks like Erik? What will I do? Will I be able to love him?
Comtesse Christine de Chagny was a young woman, around 20 years of age. She was happily married to her husband, Comte Raoul de Chagny, who took over his brother's title after finding him dead on the shore of an underground lake. The lake was located directly underneath the Paris Opera House, where the resident Opera Ghost turned out not to be an actual ghost, but a disfigured musical genius, who had become obsessed with Christine, who had worked there as a chorus girl. With the Opera Ghost's help, Christine rose to Prima Donna, and became engaged to her present husband against the ghost's wishes. He kidnapped the young Prima Donna and held her in his house by the lake. Raoul was disturbed by the disappearance and teamed up with the kidnapper's friend to get Christine back. On the way to the ghost's house, the pair fell into the genius' torture chamber, while the girl was being presented with two choices; marry the ghost or blow up the Opera House. She chose to marry the disfigured man, but deciding that he loved her too much to allow her fiancee to die in the torture chamber, allowed the couple to live their life together, but come back to bury him when he died. The man's friend was released also, and three weeks later the notice was posted in the paper;
Erik is dead.
Doing as the poor man had pleaded, Christine and Raoul had came back to bury him, pitying the man as they did so. Little did they know that he would come back to haunt them...
