Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera
Erik looked about the remains of the place he once dared to call home. It was near irreparable, but for some reason he didn't care. The only person who would listen had closed her ears-and her mind-to him. He was alone. Once again his mind plunged into darkness. Lashing out he completely destroyed anything in this path, it didn't help-he could still feel the pain. He closed his eyes; if her were lucky he may never open them again.
She was there-in his dreams, his dreams mocked his reality for in them he looked like any other man, his face was free of deformity and she was his. The problem with dreams was that they always ended. He woke in a mood that rivaled, perhaps even exceeded the one in which he had entered sleep with. The anger had dissipated and all that was left was an overwhelming sadness. Christine had once said that actions determined a man from a monster. Which was he? The darkness which consumed his mind decided for him.