Erik slowly moved to let the moonlight shine in on his organ. Somehow, there was one low side of the Opera House, and a crack was made in one brick.....Erik wasn't even sure how the moonlight got down to his room, but for certain, each night he would see it, a crack and a stream of moonlight to light the passage. As the moonlight fell over the organ, His writing would begin.
"Daylight, see the dew on a sunflower, and a rose that is fading,
Roses wither away.
Like the sunflower I yearn to turn my face to the dawn
I am waiting for the day. "
One rose. He glanced over at the rose which lay on a table all it's own. Christine had given him the rose from a performance. When he gave her the voice of angels, as she called it. *But, a voice isn't enough...And this rose is almost dead..* He touched the frail petals with a tender care. The petals were so brittle, even his light carress broke off a few edges. Erik brushed them into his hand and dropped them into an old dish by the rose. *I love the moon, but the sun..Chrisitine wanted sun..maybe if I was in the sun....* He stopped and wiped away a tear. *No..I'm of the moon....she was of the sun...*
"Memory, turn your face to the moonlight
Let your memory lead you
Open up, enter in
If you find there the meaning of what happiness is
Then a new life might begin."
*The memories....* Erik touched a hand to his face, for when he wrote, he took off the mask. His wrinkled flesh was there, as it always was, reminding him of his monstrosity. And how Christine had turned away. * But, still..that was the only time I've ever been truely happy...*
"Memory, all alone in the moonlight
I can smile at the old days
She was beautiful then
I remember the time I knew what happiness was
Let the memory live again*
*Alone..again....* A small smile lilted Erik's cheek as he remembered that one moment in which he had thought Christine loved him...*The memory is full of tears and sorrow now, but.....then...I was never the angel..she was....*
"Burnt out ends of smokey days
The stale cold smell of morning
The streetlamp dies, another night is over
Another day is dawning *
The room in which he wrote got no warmer as dawn approached, it got colder. Even the moonlight was starting to fade. Erik held his pen tighter, writing faster, as if his pen would disappeer when the sun had come.
"Sunlight, through the trees in summer
Endless masquerading
Like a flower as the dawn is breaking
The memory is fading"
Erik reached over and put on his mask. He never went without it in the daylight, even though he saw no one. The dark was his only refuge. His writing was now erratic, and ink drops were strewn over the page.
"Touch me, it's so easy to leave me
All alone with the memory
Of my days in the sun
If you touch me you'll understand what happiness is
Look, a new day has begun."
*If only...* Erik slumped over as he finished. He breathed heavily before making his way over to the bed. The crack now showed no light, sun or moon, and like aways, the only light in the room was a candle. Erik made sure the mask was tight before laying his head on the ratty pillow. *Memory...*
"Daylight, see the dew on a sunflower, and a rose that is fading,
Roses wither away.
Like the sunflower I yearn to turn my face to the dawn
I am waiting for the day. "
One rose. He glanced over at the rose which lay on a table all it's own. Christine had given him the rose from a performance. When he gave her the voice of angels, as she called it. *But, a voice isn't enough...And this rose is almost dead..* He touched the frail petals with a tender care. The petals were so brittle, even his light carress broke off a few edges. Erik brushed them into his hand and dropped them into an old dish by the rose. *I love the moon, but the sun..Chrisitine wanted sun..maybe if I was in the sun....* He stopped and wiped away a tear. *No..I'm of the moon....she was of the sun...*
"Memory, turn your face to the moonlight
Let your memory lead you
Open up, enter in
If you find there the meaning of what happiness is
Then a new life might begin."
*The memories....* Erik touched a hand to his face, for when he wrote, he took off the mask. His wrinkled flesh was there, as it always was, reminding him of his monstrosity. And how Christine had turned away. * But, still..that was the only time I've ever been truely happy...*
"Memory, all alone in the moonlight
I can smile at the old days
She was beautiful then
I remember the time I knew what happiness was
Let the memory live again*
*Alone..again....* A small smile lilted Erik's cheek as he remembered that one moment in which he had thought Christine loved him...*The memory is full of tears and sorrow now, but.....then...I was never the angel..she was....*
"Burnt out ends of smokey days
The stale cold smell of morning
The streetlamp dies, another night is over
Another day is dawning *
The room in which he wrote got no warmer as dawn approached, it got colder. Even the moonlight was starting to fade. Erik held his pen tighter, writing faster, as if his pen would disappeer when the sun had come.
"Sunlight, through the trees in summer
Endless masquerading
Like a flower as the dawn is breaking
The memory is fading"
Erik reached over and put on his mask. He never went without it in the daylight, even though he saw no one. The dark was his only refuge. His writing was now erratic, and ink drops were strewn over the page.
"Touch me, it's so easy to leave me
All alone with the memory
Of my days in the sun
If you touch me you'll understand what happiness is
Look, a new day has begun."
*If only...* Erik slumped over as he finished. He breathed heavily before making his way over to the bed. The crack now showed no light, sun or moon, and like aways, the only light in the room was a candle. Erik made sure the mask was tight before laying his head on the ratty pillow. *Memory...*