Chapter One
A dark night.
But then, aren't all nights dark? Isn't night just another word for darkness? Perhaps. Perhaps not. They do not know the answer to such a simple question. They will never know the answer to such a simple question. Such is their fate. Such is their bliss. Perhaps. Perhaps not. They will never know the feeling of icy cold wind upon their neck as they ride into the night on a valiant steed. Never know how the moon follows them as they ride away from civilization; away from human connection. Away from everything.
Such as I did on that night of disaster. That night of sorrow and despair. On that night, everything I had ever dreamed of was torn away from me. But I had to let her go. I did not deserve her. I do not deserve anything. And so I rode upon my trusty horse in the dead of night, followed only by the moon.
I have wondered why she followed me that night. Why did she not say to the world that I was dead? Why did she find me interesting enough to follow? The moon has retained her old magic, and I have not. She knows I am jealous. And still she followed me as I rode away from all I had ever known. Through a forest, through a fire, through a maze of emotions and a tsunami of tears, the moon followed me, and the moon only.
Oh, Hamlet's words were beautiful in their own disgusting way. To die, to sleep, perchance to dream. But dreams have never found me amusing. Dreams have only lingered for a flash and disappeared into the darkness before I could ever grasp them. Like fairies, dreams have avoided me. Only nightmares have given me comfort.
The stars did not glow that night. The moon was the only light to guide me to my destination. Where I went and how I got there is something no one will ever know, but get there, I did, and I stayed the night. It was a lonely cabin, far, far away from the world of humans. Away from those seeking to end to my life. As much as I wanted to surrender to them, my pride was too big a chunk to swallow. I had to survive.
That night was torture. I stayed awake through it all, unable to sleep for fear of horrible nightmares, come to haunt me; remind me of my sins. Though God was never there for me while in my sorrow, my sins made Him angry. I paced the floor for a good portion of three hours and then sat on a bench and looked up at the moon.
The moon stared at me, and I stared at her. She was most likely wondering why I looked so much like her. Yes, I had half of the moon's magic in me, the other half was human. Normal. Unimportant.
Unsurprisingly, the moon did not say anything. She merely stared at me until the sun turned the sky into the color of blood. The morning's brisk air seeped into the cabin and I rode off again, as if on a mission. And no one could stop me. Many hours later, I arrived at a clearing in the middle of the woods. It was the perfect place. All I needed was contact with an old friend.
Nadir was always there when I needed him the most, and so finding him was no trouble at all. Negotiations on contracts and employees were not a problem for Nadir. He tried not to ask any questions of me, but I knew he desperately wanted to.
"Erik, my old friend-"
"Simply state your mind, Nadir. I will have no beating around the bush," I told him sharply. He would always skip around in his conversation, careful not to disturb me, but doing so anyway.
He sighed, "My friend, you are making an un-wise decision." I was silent, and I could see his hand in a fist, trembling. "It is true that you have committed crimes no man would ever forgive you for," he continued. "But you do not deserve such punishment! Do not hurt yourself again, Erik. Do not torture yourself again."
"When I want another man's opinion I shall ask for it!" I raged. Such a weak and insolent man to think so little of me! "The phantom of the opera can handle himself well enough in whatever he does! He does not need help." I stormed to the other side of the room.
Nadir watched me as I turned my back on him to look out the window to see the rich city of Paris, "But you do need help, Erik. If it had not been for me, you would not be able to build your mansion in the clearing of a forest."
I turned as if to snap a snide remark, until I looked into his eyes. They held truth. I looked away from him. I looked at anything; just not him. "Architecture is my last hope. My last dream. If I cannot fulfill at least one dream, then dreams must not actually exist." I barely heard the floorboards creak as Nadir walked over to put his hand on my shoulder.
"My friend, I will help you with anything you need. You cannot have your love, you cannot have your dreams, but you will have your mansion. And one other thing, Erik," there was a slight smile upon his lips.
I frowned, "And what on Earth would that be?"
Nadir shook his head, "Your music."
And so I made preparations to build a large organ room in the west wing of the mansion. Designs and blueprints were easy to make. They were very much like the Opera Populaire; with minor differences in texture and size. The opera was always on my mind, and yet it wasn't. The beginnings of the construction of my mansion started only days after the final blueprints were drawn. I did not have time to think of the opera.
Very little comes to mind for the next few months. Construction went fast and I stayed with Nadir, away from the innocent eyes that had never seen such a hideous beast such as myself. I had a garden planted, a rose garden. Everything went according to plan, it was almost a miracle.
Finally, almost a year and dozens of thousands of francs later, the mansion was completed and I moved in along with a few servants Nadir had picked out. I refused to allow them to see me. A maid came every morning and night with water and food, which she slid under the door I had especially designed to do so. I stayed in the music/library room every day. My new organ, though never comparable to the organ I had in my underground lair, was nearly perfect and almost the same. My library was packed full with old books and scores of the famous writers who never knew how to write a song and actually feel it. They would never know.
But I didn't play my organ. The mansion was disturbingly quiet. I preferred it that way, though there were moments when I missed watching the performance each night or listening Madam Giry yell at the little ballet rats. But those days were over.
The construction of the mansion took nearly a year, a very short amount of time when one looks at the actual thing and tries to imagine a hundred men working on it. Fall was slowly turning into winter and one day, snowflakes fell upon my mansion. I looked outside my window to see the two young girls whom dusted every part of the mansion each day, playing around in the snow. Their laughter did not miss my ears.
At that moment, I remembered Christine's laughter. It was a rare and beautiful sight. She was young, but serious. When she laughed, it was as if the heavens were falling. I began to feel an awful tug in my chest. A year earlier, I had been hearing Christine's laughter. But she was not alone in her giggles. There was a young man laughing with her.
I suddenly collapsed onto the floor, the pain was too unbearable. There was somebody knocking on my door, but I could not find my voice to tell them to sod off. The world truly became dark for me, and for a moment, I thought I was dead.
But I was not. When I opened my eyes, an old man was peering curiously at me. A doctor. It occurred to me at that moment that the right side of my face felt extremely cold. My mask was missing. I tried to cover my face, but found that I could not move without feeling the most pain I had ever felt in my life. The doctor frowned, "Monsieur, I suggest not moving."
"Yes, thank you," I hissed through clenched teeth.
He stood up, "Do you know your situation?" When I did not answer, he continued, "You have experienced a heart attack. A man of your age should have been much more prepared for something like this." Was he mocking me? "You were alone in a locked room with only ten servants in the house. Do you realize what would have happened had a maid not checked on you?"
I did not say anything, I merely turned my head to the right, and so he could not see my face. This man made me feel like a child being scolded for eating one too many candies.
"Do not turn away, I have seen your face," he told me. "If your face is the reason for your solitude, monsieur, I would call you a fool."
I glared daggers into his skull and growled; "Only a fool would say such things to me."
The doctor smiled, "But I am no fool, monsieur, I am a doctor. I have seen many like you, but none of them went to the extremes you have gone to. You must have had a depressing life."
"Are you now a physiatrist or God?" I sneered.
"No, monsieur. I am a man willing to help you, as I have done for the past three days you have been out."
"I do not need your help, old man!" I sat up too quickly, cried out in pain and fell back onto the bed. The doctor sighed, but did not move from the middle of the room. My position on the bed was uncomfortable, but I did not care. "Go away," I told him.
The doctor picked up his bag quietly, "You will never have any happiness in life if you never ask for help from others and only rely on yourself. Think about that for a while." And with that said, he walked out the door.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera.
Author's Notes: At first, this was supposed to be a one-shot. But then it sort of grew. So I hope that you enjoy it, and I hope that you review. Feedback, comments, complaints, critique, it's all welcome. Thank you everybody.
