A/N: Ciao, bella! This is just a very short fic that spilled forth as a result of boredom with a slight tinge of depression. Honestly, this isn't anything great; it's mostly just a test run to get the hang of the whole phantom community. All comments and questions are most welcome. My Sincere Regards
Obsession. Obsesión. Besessenheit. Ossessione. De obsessie. Obsessão. No tongue known to man could have fathomed the emotion that had swollen inside him until, at this very moment it had swollen to the precipice of bursting. The slightest push of a hand of prick of a pin could end it all for him right now. But, no, instead of such methods he chose the blade, shinning and glittering before his own desperate, glassy eyes as he raised it to the light.
Passion. Pasión. Leidenschaft. Passione. De passie. Paixão. It had driven, compelled him through nights of sleepless composition and days of tortured existence. All of him, all of his emotion, his very being he had thrown to the girl and still she had rejected him with such scathing fervency. But what had he expected? Such a miserable creature as himself was not meant to dwell with angels such as his sweet Christine.
Want. Necesidad. Besoin. Wunsch. Volere. De nood. Quererira. Oh how he had longed for her, longed for her in a way such a blessed little suitor in the form of her noble would never know. As much of an ungodly sin as the mass of singed flesh he had once dared to call a face was, did whatever god there was or was not fail to see that she had been his only pillar of hope in the crumbling, ruination of despair?
Love. Amor. Amour. Liebe. Amore. Liefde. It was a blessing he would never know, one had offer with open arms to the young that he had been so taken with. Whatever had been left of his shattered black heart before such a churning declaration had belonged to her fully and completely. He had belonged to her. Yet, it was only now through this turgid veil of reality that he had been granted sight.
Rejection. Rechazo. Réjection. Ablehnung. Rigetto. De verwerping. Rejeição. Could he have expected anything else? What plight of insanity had caused such an obtainable longing? He was a beast. She was a beauty. Yet, unlike such childish fairytales he could not transform himself as the last petals fell. There would be no happy ending.
Death. Muerte. Mort. Tod. Morte. De dood. There was so much he did not understand, but this he did. This was his escape, the painless transport into an expectant hell where he would at least not suffer from soul shattering hope. Gripping the handle of the small dagger tightly, the one known as the phantom of the opera house inhaled sharply as the blade speared his unknown heart. It was over.
It mattered not in which form it was expressed or by whom, in the language of love, all words are spoken as one. The pity bound to the mortal race, was the lack of competent translators
A/N: Okay….so maybe I was a bit more depressed than I had been willing to admit but I do feel a lot better now. Anyway, I'm actually really happy with even though its horribly short.