Oneshot. No own. Phantom. Closet. Whipped cream. Chocolate sauce.
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Heartbroken and ridden with despair, the shattered opera ghost sat hunched at his organ. The lilting, deep sounds echoed through the lair, the notes heightening each time as if they were attempts to fill his empty heart.
He thought of her so much, now, so much he felt it as pure, unbridled pain.
He let the tears blur his vision, crystal drops threatening to spill over.
Almost, almost, never quite enough
His teeth soon ground together and clenched, biting back the tears that mocked him from his mint-green eyes.
He could hear his breaths shortening to quick, together gasps ridden with emptiness.
Almost, almost, nothing left of me
He shivered and kept on, letting the music embrace him deeply. Letting his notes sweep him away from this despicable reality.
His fingers were soon nimbly and angrily floating over the keys with a relentless rage, smashing into them, nearly shattering them beneath his gloved digits.
Almost, almost, what more can I be?
The vengeful thoughts stirred within his maddened brain, clouded with a red fog of hatred. She had chosen him, that stupid, ridiculous, foolish, young Vicomte boy! It was…..infuriating.
But, before she left….he had seen it.
A glint of longing in pools of dark chocolate as lips parted to sing one final goodbye. A gentle, butterfly touch as it lovingly caressed his cheek.
Almost, almost, no more will I see
The only kiss he'd ever known, those lips pressing to his with a need, a want, which was mutual between him and her. His distorted flesh fluttering beneath those slender fingers.
But that glint, that small, insignificant yet so prominent glint. The light in those divine eyes that softly told him that he would never be forgotten. The glint that told him….
….that told him that their love was a shared thing, not solely his feelings.
Almost, almost, none of this is real
The dam burst, the tears flowed in trails down his mask. The melody became quicker and quicker, speeding up in an attempt to act as a painkiller to the sadness.
Almost, almost, no more will I feel
"Christine!" wailed sobs as his fists pounded forward, reverberating a tremendous boom throughout the lair. His head fell forward, shoulders convulsing as his forehead rested against the keys.
The cries were shuddered and violent, causing him to tremble badly. He continually banged his fists upon the keys. The painkiller wasn't working.
"Christine…." The voice was so strained and desperate "my God, Christine…."
The lonely, broken, Opera Ghost….
….Almost, almost, never quite enough
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Aww! It's sad and having an emotional breakdown! So crappy! Review! Heh….