Erik wasn't sure if he was alive or dead.
It was a question he asked himself often. It had been three years since Christine had left him, and he found himself simply going through the motions of everyday life. Never had he thought that love could leave such a heartache!
He walked, composed, and occasionally ate and slept like a living man would do, but his mind was dull. He had no motivation.
He didn't even have his cat anymore!
The Opera Ghost had disappeared for more then a year, and Erik only retook his old pastime to try and keep the memories at bay.
The old Erik would have laughed to see the managers' faces when they read his note. Andre and Firman were still at his Opera house-they were being paid heavily by the Paris government to stay. And when the Opera Ghost had disappeared, it had only taken them a few months to regain the cockiness and idiocy they had possessed before. He didn't' laugh, however. Tormenting two numbskulls no longer seemed amusing to him. He needed the money, and the distraction. But he had no real interest in staying alive.
He had thought he was dead, back then. He had been in a deep sleep for a week, coming to sore, sticky with blood, but alive.
Why? He often thought. Can't the Universe grant me this one mercy?
But all the events had taught Erik to be wary of fate. He had a suspicion something was coming-he was desperate for a change. All he needed was a spark...some inspiration...something to live for.
Erik was used to looking for inspiration. A shepherd's model, his many talents, the way people practically begged for death by speaking ill of him...a young chorus girl. He tried telling himself that nothing could surprise him anymore. But even as he threatened the managers, frightened ballerinas, and composed works of genius, he didn't realize that inspiration, his spark, was coming.
Just not in the form he expected.