A/N: Wow. I actually completed a piece of (not very fine) literature! Amazing.
Just Erik's thoughts as he watches Raoul and Christine sail away and waits for the mob to come kill him.
It was going to be the prologue for a whole fic, but… I dunno.

Reviews are most definitely appreciated!

Track down this murderer - he must be found!
Hunt out this animal
Who runs to ground!

Erik closed his eyes. He couldn't. He wouldn't. There was no way he could let her go off with... him. "Insufferable idiot." He whispered to himself as he heard Raoul's less-than-angelic voice entrance Christine with promises of a flawless life through his song. Erik knew now, clearer than ever, that he had never had a chance at Christine's heart. He certainly wasn't a Vicomte. He certainly wasn't the handsome patron of the Opera Populaire. Simply Erik. He had believed that his music, the one thing that he had always thought to be a true gift, would be enough to being her to him. Erik closed his eyes and longed for a chance, a chance without being branded as a disfigured maniac. He had been judged from the second he breathed first.

Closing his eyes, he cried out, just wishing for the mob to come, to take him, kill him. Because no torture was worse than watching his angel with the Vicomte, sailing away on their way to eternal bliss together. How could he have been so ignorant? What could have compelled him to believe he could ever be happy? His heart was sinking further and further into his chest. The sun was finally setting on his facade.

Christine hated you. She hated you. She hated you, Erik repeated in his head, thinking of the pain he had selfishly caused her. But didn't he deserve a chance at happiness too?

No, it seemed. Life had deemed him unworthy of it. Yet Christine…

She was just in misery because of him, if he left her alone, she could have had an ideal dream as a soprano of Paris' leading opera with a handsome husband and a beautiful life.

Vowing himself to never come into contact with her again, he lay down, waiting for the mob to end his misery.

Too long he's preyed on us -
But now we know:
The Phantom of the Opera
Is there deep down below . .

They were getting closer, he knew. Erik could hear the splashes of the angry mob's steps as they raged toward him. Erik lay down, sprawled across the floor, surrendering himself completely to whatever punishment they could devise to afflict upon his broken heart, although he knew that the ultimate punishment had already been executed on him…

Christine's kiss had killed a part of him. Erik knew he had always dreamt of that moment, always wondering what it would feel like if she dared come in any contact with him. And once it happened, he had envisioned completeness. Yet it wasn't what had happened. Not nearly close. When her lips broke away, a part of his soul had broken away as well. Christine has shattered yet another barrier that sheltered Erik in his usual redundancy. He did not enjoy his isolation, but it made him feel secure. No one could betray him as long as he was alone. Yet somehow, Christine had broken through his music, his heart, and now his soul, seemingly effortlessly. Yet she had no idea of the effect her words and kiss had left on him. She was a raven: beautiful, yet an omen of death. Sleek, shiny, innocent, it was all a lie. "Damn you, Angel!" Erik screamed, the knife of his words slashing through the blackness. Erik once more lowered his head, wishing for death to at last consume him, in any form.

Who is this monster,
This murdering beast?
Revenge for Piangi!
Revenge for Buquet!
This creature must never go free...

They were at last upon him. Dripping water and brandishing swords, the mob advanced towards the now visible lair, the closest thing Erik would ever have to a home.

Closer...he could hear every hushed whisper...feel every vibrating footstep... And at last, a violent kick jolted Erik from his misery and into the real world, just enough to know that he had nothing left to live for. They would destroy his lair, his music, and Christine was gone. There would be no more attempts to seduce her through song. Now that Christine had robbed him of his soul, he was ready to end everything. He closed his eyes.

And with that, Erik, who was at that point perfectly alive, felt his arm grow cold and blood rush over it as a knife was lowered across his shoulder, barley slicing the side of his neck. Crimson pools began to gather around the man's head and he closed his eye, taking what he assumed to be his last breath, and he whispered…

"Goodbye Chirstine, my angel"...

That's all. Hope it wasn't too bad:

melodic-sliver