Prolouge
It had been dark, lonely and desloute for months, the now darkened and burned Opera Populaire suffering greatly from ill repair, only added to the dark mood of the rakish figure sitting in the center of the stage, his dark hair sticking out in all directions, his shirt buttoned hapzhardily as he leaned on his left hand, running his finger through his hair with his right. No sounds, save the almost inaudiable sound of soft sobs rolling from the man's body, and the occasional soft, "Christine...". The broken Phantom of the Opera wallowed in his pity, while he would also storm in his anger, finding many more things broken day after day. Feeling his own heart dying slowly, along with the slow crumbling death his opera house had been reduced to. The silence was deafening, the ragged breathing getting stubbly on his nerves as he swapped back from sadness to anger, feeling the urge well up to punch something, Erik moved to jump off the stage when he stopped dead...somthing was in this opera house.
TBC
