Darkness had been a constant companion. At least until the first guttering point of candlelight had come from up above, where only Gods seemed to tread and sounds were not so hushed, stifled by the soft lapping of water on rock. Then, there had been the discarded trappings of divinity…chipped gold paint that glittered and flashed in the warm light from dozens of points of flame, cracked mirrors that he both loved and hated because of their beauty and his hideousness. He learned where each had sprung from, listening to the voices of angels filtering into his dismal Hell until he became old enough to learn that there was a bright world outside of the place of his exile. He learned every inch, sat for hours in the half-light at the edges of the beautiful world he had no place in, listened and learned and stole little things that no one would miss…
He filled the endless night with music of his own.
But even though his soul could be sent soaring through the darkness, beautiful and unblemished, he never felt fulfilled. He watched and marveled at the glorious spectacles above his hellish home, taking care of the Opera as only he could to earn his keep, to make the petty people – no longer Gods, now that he saw them practice, fail, and strive for perfection they never, never caught a hold of – realize that this was his domain. He made contributions where he could, and when the players were smart, they took heed. They re-named him; made him better by calling him the Ghost of the Opera House…they gave him power a mere monster could never have.
Still, there was no fulfillment…no sense of real accomplishment. He knew he could write music just as stirring as that of the old masters, but he also knew that none of the voices he heard would ever do his genius justice.
Until she arrived.
She was perfect…and so shy. Her voice could, would be a soaring soprano under his tutelage. Her beauty would make her a Diva of the most precious, rare sort. And she was kind, so kind to the unworthy fools that surrounded her that he was sure, oh so sure, that once he had propelled her to stardom, given her everything a woman of her talent, her perfection could ever want from the Opera – the world – that she, with the angelic soul that she had, would raise him from his eternal damnation and be the first to love him.
Soon. Soon he would have everything ready. And then all they would need was a chance for her to show everyone else just how perfect they could be together.