Too long had the flames been burning. Too far had they spread. The once fabulous Opera Populaire was now a distant memory. Too much damage had been done to the Opera house and no more performances would go on. The rain patted the flames but held no verge of beating them out. To hot for anything to survive. It would make the front page of the news and act as a legend for years to come. How The Opera Ghost Burnt Down The Opera Populaire! Front page for Erik. But would they have the truth in there or just make the legend last even longer? A Legend Like No Other!
The once terrifying Phantom of the Opera will always be just that a Phantom. Erik broods as he watches his one love sailing away with another man. Raoul de Chagny. Christine's childhood sweetheart. Christine was gone and all The Phantom had left to remember her by was her ring. The ring that was so light yet felt so heavy in his hand. Letting it drop to the floor with a clanging sound that filled the whole cave with echo after echo The Phantom heard the beginning of the mob closing in on his lair. Walking away from the closed mirror the Phantom heads further down the Opera Populaire than he has even been.
Proceeding further into the depths of the Opera Populaire's catacombs the Phantom comes to a stand still once the sound of the mob had disappeared. In the silence the Phantom waited. In the silence the Phantom pondered. Why had Christine left him? Ok so he had a short temper span but he had been living under the Opera Populaire and what about his childhood. He had been brought up with the name of Devil's spawn. If he was the Devil's son he would prove just how evil he could be. He had killed three men and many more was yet to come. He did not fear those he killed nor did he feel any regret to what he had done. Only those who got to close to finding out the truth about him would never breathe another breath.
Keeping in the shadows in case one member of the mob decided to descend down here he would be ready. Anyone who ventured this deep into the catacombs of the Opera Populaire would never get out ever again. Hearing no footsteps the Phantom slid down the wall and sat on the cold, dirty stones. After what felt like an hour the Phantom stood once more to his full height he started to head back to his home to see what the mob had done and if there was anything worth saving that had been left. Hearing no sound behind the curtains once he made it back he pulled it back and a horrible sight met his eyes.
His drawing where burnt to a crisp and not one line could be made out of the ash. His organ had been smashed to pieces and anger flared up in his chest, a part of him felt like it had been destroyed when he saw what had happened to the one place he could call home. His home was no more than a mess of rubble and his mask had been carelessly taken. He would find the stupid fool who had decided to steal from him and they would never see the light of day again. Sighing he turned away from the sight to go to the bedroom to see a yet worse sight. His once glorified bed was now a heap of splinted wood. He was going to have to leave his home until the time was right to return and restore it to its glorious self once again.