Yours truly, Erik
A/N ok this first chapter is my prologue and it just has background information on Erik and stuff… it's like a mini story kind of… enjoy. And review :)
Disclaimer – I own only the plot… kind of… well you know anything that isn't recognisable I will show you the patent thing I have of owning it. So there :P
Prologue
I had been to hell. Or so it seemed. My pitiful existence had mostly been in the travelling fair. I was in the freak show.
'Come see the devil's child!' It wasn't fair. It was torture. I was tortured. One night I just could not take it anymore. After the "show" I untied the rope, which was keeping me trapped in my cage, and I hanged my "master". I showed no remorse. I grabbed the musical box I was making and a young girl took me and hid me in the opera house she lived and trained in. I was in heaven; I was free! Heaven turned to hell again when the girl – who's name I found out to be Antoinette – led me deep down to the buildings catacombs.
She left me and I found somewhere sufficient enough to sleep. I thought Antoinette would have left me for good but the next day she came down with food, drink, clothing, pillows and sheets and a warm blanket, a few books for entertainment and many candles. Indeed it was the beginning of a large collection.
Over the next few weeks and months, I collected many pieces of building material to turn the place into my lair, my home.
I had read so much as a child. When the public weren't watching my every move - mostly me being whipped – and pointing and laughing I would be reading some book or another. Mostly I stole them from gypsies with turned backs or somebody would leave one behind after the previous nights fair. Not one person felt pity, compassion.
Although I never had a proper education in a school or a private tutor, I learnt soon that I could turn my hand to anything if I put my mind to it. I could play the piano, violin, flute, harp, clarinet, bagpipes and most other instruments you can think of.
I could be an architect or I could be a magician. I could be a composer or I could be an author. I could speak English and French. I could speak German and some Latin also. I would be admired so… if I weren't such a monster.
So, after about a year I had perfected my lair. I had made myself a black metal swan bed with velvet sheets and pillows and lace curtains for privacy. I had made a gondola and oar to cross the lake, which wasn't very deep, but I didn't want to always get wet. I had turned it into a proper apartment with different rooms and after exploring I had found out that it was actually quite large. I sculpted many holders for candles and I had many where the lake finished. I made lots of traps to keep people out and also a gate that came down and I could pull the lever to operate it. It was sort of homey and the darkness suited me well.
Four times a week Antoinette came down to me with lots of food and drink. I had no idea where she got it from but I never asked. Sometimes she would stay for a while and admire my work and talk with me. Other times she left quickly saying she had not the time to linger, or else saying nothing, not even hello or goodbye.
So it was for a few years. I was lonely but I was safe. I started wearing masks to cover my repulsive face. The most common was white porcelain one that covered the right half of my face. I left the safety of the opera house more often and although people were curious as to why I wore my masks nobody ever asked and nobody could ever see my deformity and harm me.
I felt more secure with a mask and one would rarely leave my Face.
I matured, the older I got and learned that prudent silence was wise. Not to Antoinette with whom I was quite close with in a restricted way – she was more like a guardian then a friend, a guardian angel – but to anybody else who questioned why such a young lad was out by himself etc.
I learnt to improvise with what I had but I didn't need anything or anyone apart from my music. My music. I had made an organ and I composed and played all day stopping only briefly and rarely. It went to waste though as nobody could hear me play. I was far too deep town and nobody but Antoinette knew I was there. She heard sometimes. I was a genius in her eyes.
One day as I was out, a very peculiar thing happened. My mind was deep in my music and I accidentally walked into an alleyway I was not familiar with. A beautiful kitten was there and I could immediately tell that she was hungry and needed a home desperately. It was raining heavily and her lovely fur was drenched. I had suspicions that she wouldn't last long, living the way that she did. I picked her up, took her back to my underground lair and nursed her back to health. Thankfully Antoinette didn't mind finding extra food and I didn't mind my new companion.
I was happy. Almost. For still my heart yearned for human company. Ayesha tried hard and was a good friend but cats can only go so far friendship wise. I wished I had friends – lots of them. Friends that understood and adored me. They wouldn't back away just because my face was different. They just accepted it and it didn't matter.
Of course I was wise enough and practised enough to know that it would always matter and it would always hold me back. Upsetting as it was, I just learned to accept that fact. Secretly, I wished of beauty and heaven but there was no God who could love me and care for me enough to grant me my wishes.
In private I would also teach myself how to use a sword skilfully and a Punjab lasso as I had first murdered somebody by hanging him. It was purely for self defence should the need ever arise and it was useful to know.
When a girl a couple of years younger than me came to live in the dormitories upstairs I would keep a watch her quietly like her guardian angel. Whenever she sang in her soulful voice full of grief I taught her and told her how to improve and sing without the grief.
I also started blackmailing the manager. He gave in and eventually gave me twenty thousand francs a month in salary. The first month I was paid, I gave Antoinette half and thanked her for everything she had done to help me. I said that I no longer required her assistance even though I appreciated it and she was still welcome to come and visit me whenever she wanted. She did so seldom.
I bought music books to compose in and a writing set also. I bought a wax seal marker in the shape of a skull and became known as the infamous "Phantom of the Opera" or "OG – Opera Ghost". I would always sign notes with OG. I put the rest of my money away each month in savings only taking out what I needed for supplies.
When I had just left teenage years that young girl who I had helped was and was a ballet rat, bloomed. She was very pretty and very artistic. I had no idea of the effect she would soon have on me.
A/N And that is my story I know it is short but I thought it important to get that out. The next chapters will be in a different format (see if you can guess by my title) and should hopefully be a lot longer. The dates will be a bit awry but please don't complain, as they would be near enough. I'm basing this on the film not the book by the way. I remain ladies and gentlemen, your obedient author, SL (starrylibra) :D