A/n: Alrighty ! so before I move on with this story I've decided to edit it so that I can stick to the plot better.Those of you who are just reading this for the first time you're not missing much from the old storybut those who have read this before you might want to scan through again because stuff was mostly added! Also I appologize for not updating in like two months buti was busy withmy play which just finished!and the week after i had a cheerleading competition (we placed third ) SO APPOLOGIES FOR NOT UPDATING! so this is my very first story EVER. Don't be surprised if it's not that great.
Flamers are being disregarded because I don't feel like kicking some flaming a$$! just kidding but I don't look at flames although constructive criticism is always welcome!
Disclaimer: Gaston Leroux's and Andrew Lloyd Webber's characters are mine... haha not. Though I do own the characters that don't have anything to do with POTO.
Why was it that in all his years of existence, all the things he'd faced on his journey through life, that being denied the love of a young girl had devastated him more than he could have ever imagined?
Three years.He had been down there three whole years since she'd left him, every minute more agonizing than the last. Days seemed to drag on forever although he rarely ever glanced at his clock or pocket watch to see what time it was. Since the night he visited Nadir there hadn't been much reason for him to leave his opera house, he had nowhere else to go and nothing to do. Madame Giry ,the closest thing he ever had to a friend had been skeptical at the news of his death, but for her own safety she never ventured down to the lake to see if the rumours were true. He turned rumour into fact when he decided not to visit her again in hopes that she would forget all about the distorted figure living in the dank labyrinth below her. He felt it was for the best since he was dependant on the idea that death would soon claim him .
Everything was over for him the day he let Christine go . She and that fool Raoul had destroyed him. He was a broken man.
Man? How dare he even think to call himself a man. He was a monster, a hideous murderous fiend, he never deserved her love or anyone else's for that matter. She told him his true distortion was in his soul ,but she had taken that from him too the day she left. Now all he had was an empty void, he felt incapable of feeling anything other than pain anymore. But he found he was no longer angry or upset with her ,and he knew he still loved her and always would. He had lost his mind and drove her into the arms of the fop. He couldn't stop thinking about her though he knew she was gone.
So Erik had to try to preoccupy himself. He sealed off the passages that the mob had found some and built new ones. He left Christine's open of course just incase she ever needed to come back to him, though deep down he knew she never would. He began composing again to pass the time, dark ,agonizing melodies that reminded him of her and that brought him to tears. His music had slowly begun to consume him once again and his organ had been drowned in music sheets. He had always vented his feelings through music, creating melodies had been a passion since he was a young boy and one day while doing just that, he missed a very important conversation upstairs, one that would have concerned him a great deal...