But how can I trust this malicious word
When his eyes sparkle life from inside?
What if his story is simply misheard
And his song thus forever confined?
The touch of his lips - both sincere and divine
How could I neglect a soul... in union with mine?
Some of you may recall of the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera.
It was the year of 1870 when things started to go wrong at the Opera Populaire. Christine Daae was one of the best singers. Her Maestro, a man in a mask. Her Angel of Music she called him. The rest knew him as the Phantom of the Opera. For as long as he could remember, he had lived there ever since Madame Giry had taken him in when he was young. So, he was destined to wander the underground catacombs of the Opera Populaire. He became an architect, composer, musician, singer, magician. But, nobody had known. As for Christine Daae, she was becoming the newest opera diva. The Phantom had loved her. She loved someone else: Raoul de Chagny; The Vicomte. She denied and betrayed the Phantom and fled with the Vicomte in the end. In all his madness and despair he lit the opera house on fire leaving it in ashes...
A few years had gone by. The Opera Populaire was soon rebuilt and furnished the way it was before. Everyone thankfully was still there according to the managers Monsieur Richard Firmin and Monsieur Gilles Andre. Christine Daae though was gone and so was her lover. They had fled to somewhere else. Far, far away.
As for the Phantom. He still remains. Unknowingly to everyone else. Until...
She came.