Okeday, this is slightly dark and The Phantom seems quite twisted and a more insane than he was in the movie, so I dunno, it might even be a little creepy. It's just him musing about his mask. It's all in his POV, so I will say no more and get to the story. Oh one more thing: It's a oneshot, nothing more.
A mask, my first unfeeling scrap of clothing… I stared at the white thing in my hand. How I hated it, yet how I loved it. It kept me separate from the world; well, it didn't, but what it symbolized was the core of my solitude.
My face…I unconsciously touched my hand to my disfigured cheek, fingered the contorted ear, ran it through my stringy brown hair. A hideous appearance, the heart of who and what I was: a horrible, loathsome creature.
The half-mask was my life, all I knew to be true. That is what it was: the truth. And that truth was this: I was a horrendous beast that had no right to exist, to breath and poison the same air that normal people breathed, that she breathed.
Angel, you deserted me, ran from me in fear and cold blood. And all the blame lied with the mask and what it hid. That is why I hated it.
But it was my friend. It didn't leave me, never criticized me, never screamed. How could I hate something so faithful to me? Many reasons why I hated it made me love it as well. It was true. It didn't lie to me. It let me know and never forget I was ugly, yes. But it never once called me beautiful, so it did not lie.
It hid me and my horrors from the real world, kept them away from my secret, but also out of my life. A mask was all I knew. I hated it more strongly than I hated him, but loved it more than music; more than her.
It made me an angel and a demon, a wolf in sheep's clothing. It made me alone but spared me their looks, glances, and grimaces. It made me who I was: The Opera Ghost. The prison of my mind lay, not within the opera house, but in my mask.
I wanted to break it, destroy it, throw it away, dispose of it; I wanted to hold it, look at it , touch it, feel it. It was my life and my death.
From womb to grave nothing truly existed but the mask. I can't force myself to get rid of it, or keep it; love it, or hate it; control it, or let it control me.
It was my center, my life sentence. Cost me everything an nothing. Hated me yet loved me. My mask. My one friend and enemy. My hope and shattered dreams. My gain and loss. My mask. The one thing I knew.
OK that's it R&R please.