As I stood on the edge of the rooftop of the Garnier Opera House, I thought it certainly would be easier. To jump would take all the pain I'd ever known in this unforgiving life. An overwhelming sense of pain that I just couldn't bear. It clawed at my chest like a terrible beast, wanting to devour the denizen of my chest. What was left of my heart was beating so slowly. I couldn't jump. To kill myself would be a coward's way. I was no coward and I was not to be made a fool of.
What was this feeling? The feeling that I felt so deeply for that woman. Her dark curls and deep brown accursed eyes. Christine was my ghost, and yet an angel. Those imbeciles below dare call me a phantom? Hah! They have not known the torture of a beautiful woman. I gave her everything. Everything! I gave her lessons. I refined her very spirit, and this is how she repays me! She runs about with her little fop and plays husband and wife. Damn her infernal innocense! Soon my dear. Soon, you shall see what the result is of a child's game shall be. Death! Death to the man who took your voice from me. I held out my arms to the sky and gave an unearthly cry of vengence. I don't believe I've ever seen myself that way. But in that moment it didn't seem to matter. I was driven into a deep and dark madness. One that I felt would never let me go.
Love. I felt it for that woman and I couldn't stop. Why? I do not know. I've never been stricken with such absurd passion in my life. Music used to be my only reason for life. Now, I have another. Christine was my reason for life. I know that she'll love me. She must love me. I gave her all of her fame. I brought her the feeling of appreciation. She must love me for that.
I was becoming obsessed with Christine and what's worse is that I began to realise how completely insane I was. That's what my love for her did to me. Drove me mad. "This will be over soon." I told myself between coughs. "It's nearly finished. She may have left with that foolish boy, but soon he shall not be there for anyone to worry about. If you ask the right people, they would say that I am doing Paris a favor.
I went there today. I was completely mortified by what I'd seen. I had planned everything so carefully. The entrance was to leave in the middle of the night and enter through the de Chagny's kitchen door after the help had left. Once I was in the house, I went down the hall and ascended the white marble grand staircase where there were red rose petals leading up to the second floor. It seemed as though I was not the only one with plans for the evening. As I climbed the exhausting stairs, I strained to heave back a cough so as not to be heard. I pulled, from my suit jacket, an embroidered handkerchief and breathed into it. I pulled it away from my disformed lips and discovered the red splatter. Blood. My morphine days have really done it to me now. I dug my own grave, I suppose. Before I was to lie down in my tomb and give up, I needed to finish this. If I couldn't have her; then neither could that wretched fool! I'd be damned if I just let them do this!
When I approached the door of their drawing room, I do not know what came over me, but something told me just to stop and wait a moment. I stood at the dark cherry oak door and looked through the small crack of the opening. Of course, Christine was a vision. She had a certain glow about her that nearly awakened the good in me. Something seemed off about that evening and Raoul noticed it soon after I. He looked at her, "My dear, is something the matter? You haven't touched your champagne." His hand reached for hers when she set down her champagne goblet. Christine's voice began with it's usual unsure timidity. "Actually," She began, "I wanted to tell you something. I- Well, I'm pregnant." Raoul, the poor fop, started choking on his drink at mid-sip. I started to sway. It couldn't be true.
The child was no de Chagny, I knew that much. Raoul didn't seem to see it as clearly as I. Then again, he never found out about the tryst between Christine and I some months after their marriage. I now felt such guilt. It pressed down on my lungs until I could not breathe, and yet I stood there staring as Raoul and Christine embraced each other lovingly. In a way that I couldn't. I was ashamed. I couldn't kill the miserable oaf. I was dying and ready to kill a new father. That would be even more selfish. A child needs its father. Who am I to steal a father's joy of seeing his child?
I stammered down the hall after my knife had fallen to the floor with an audible thud. I was running quickly. Too quickly to take notice of the things passing me. The front door, the street, a dark alley. It was all a confused blur. Before I knew it, I'd passed back into my condemning hell. The endless labyrinth that saw my end. I was a mess, coughing and heaving blood. I knocked over candle sticks as I stumbled to my room. When I slammed my door shut, I was nearly ready to collapse. I took everything. My composition, and instruments of invention, and threw them to the floor with blind and confused fury. Who am I mad at to begin with? Not Christine, she was still only just my angel. I have no grudge against her bearing of my child. It was not even the useless boy, Raoul, whom I was displeased with at the moment. Myself. I was my own worst enemy in that moment. I guess, I'd always been my own enemy; I just never saw it so clearly before.
I was staring into my mirror, condemning myself. I nearly killed the only man who could have a possibility of raising my child. The morphine had more affect now than ever before. It was coursing through me and I could feel it. I wanted to flay myself. To cut open the veins just to make the burning in my heart end. Then it did. I wasn't sure at first. It was so quick and everything went dark. I collapsed onto the floor where my sheet music lie. This truly was a musician's fate. To go down with his music; which in similarity, had also died with him.