I like to believe that from the moment I was born – or even the moment I was conceived – God decided to make my life a living hell. They say that our Lord works in mysterious ways and that He has a plan for everyone. Well, apparently, His plan for me was to make me look like Death itself and, therefore, unable to be loved by anyone.
Not even my own mother.
She made me a mask to cover my hideous face and told me never to take it off. She distanced herself from me and locked me away from the world. As a child, I never understood why. Now that I do, I realize just how lucky I was to be unaware of the ugly truth.
My father, I never knew, and my mother never spoke of him. I can only assume that he left her once he saw the abomination that was his child. Or perhaps they only ever spent one night together and I was just an honest mistake. Maybe that is why I look the way I do. God wanted to punish my mother for her sin and decided to take it out on me; an innocent child. For isn't that what we all are at the start of our lives? Innocent, unassuming children who have no clue just how cruel and dark the world can be.
Especially to someone like me.
When the opportunity revealed itself, my mother did not hesitate to get rid of her burden. A traveling fair came to our town and she sold me off as their newest attraction. That someone was actually willing to pay for her ugly spawn was astounding. That people were willing to pay to see said ugly spawn was even more so. But more than anything, it was humiliating… And disturbing.
They locked me in a cage and put me on display like any other animal. There was an elephant that I grew very fond of. Ziva was her name. When I first saw her, we looked into each other's eyes and the look she gave me was one that I, at the time, could not name, for I had never seen it before. It was not until years later that I saw that very same look again; the look of pity and sorrow. I expect I had the same look in my own eyes. It was the first time I had ever felt connected with anyone. In that moment, I realized I probably had more in common with animals than I had with people. But the thought did not deter me. On the contrary, it was a revelation for which I was thankful. It made me realize just how much I despised humans and their treatment of beings whose lives they deemed lesser than their own.
It was late in the evening and the fair had been closed up for the day. Several people had come to gawk at the Living Corpse, as I was called, in lack of another name. I was trying to get some sleep when I heard terrible sounds that would haunt me for as long as I lived. It was the sound of whips slashing against flesh and the pained cries of a defenseless elephant.
I knew I had to do something and knew at the same time that there was nothing I could do. I was just as defenseless and helpless as her. Still, I cried out and begged them to stop their barbaric beatings. In hindsight, it was a rash and foolish decision, but possibly also the boldest decision I had ever made and therefore, I do not regret it. They turned their whips on me instead to silence me and said that they would do something much worse should I ever misbehave again.
I didn't.
Ziva was not strong enough to outlast the recurring whippings. I lost my one and only friend. I made a vow to be strong and get out of that wretched place for her. In order to gain strength, I behaved and ate what little food they gave me. I had all the time in the world to plan my escape. And, one night while I planned, I heard something beautiful.
Music.
It came from inside one of the tents. A music box was playing a soft melody. I closed my eyes and focused only on the music and my mind suddenly became more sharp and clear. It helped me think. It helped me focus. Before the melody slowed to a stop, I had formed my plan.
From that day on, music became my one and only ally. After successfully escaping the fair, I searched everywhere for a place where I could find it. My search took me to far-off places and I heard a different kind of music in each one. I soon discovered that I could sing and decided to learn how to play a variety of instruments. It was some time before I finally settled down in a place where music would always be a comforting presence.
The Palais Garnier in Paris truly was a magnificent work of art. Its golden splendor amazed me and the music within was like a cure to the poison in my soul. I decided to make it my new home. Alas, I had to content myself with living in the cellar deep below the Opera. It took several months of hard work before my abode was complete with roof and furnishing (as well as a torture chamber for potential intruders). It may not have been perfect, but at least I had a view over the underground lake.
I became known as the Phantom of the Opera, or simply the Opera Ghost. I must confess that the tales I overheard kept me most amused. It pleased me to know that I was feared. I could exploit that fear and use it to my advantage. I sent some notes to the manager, demanding a monthly salary of twenty-thousand francs as well as some well-needed rearrangements in the ensemble. Unfortunately, I was forced to demonstrate what would happen if my demands were not met. After that, the poor manager agreed to anything I said without a second thought.
Even though I had everything I wanted (namely my music and a home secluded from the despicable human race), I couldn't help but feel like something was missing. It was not until I saw her that I realized what that something was.
I believe it was a late Wednesday night when I decided to take a stroll in the building. The people who worked at the Opera had all gone home short of half an hour ago. Or so I thought.
When I was alone, I liked to walk into my private box and admire the view of the stage and the empty seats below. I felt free here. The stage was still lit and I imagined how it might feel to stand there in the spotlight, in front of hundreds of faces. To hear the sound of thunderous applause as I take my final bow. I laughed at myself. That dream was never to come true.
Suddenly, I caught sight of movement down on the stage and I quickly retreated into the shadows. Then I waited. For what exactly, I do not know, but certainly not what came next.
Singing.
Someone was singing. A woman. Her voice was so small that it was a miracle it reached all the way up to my box. After a while however, it grew stronger, as if more confident, and I could hear the clarity – the purity – of it. I had never heard anything so sweet in my entire miserable life. The sound was foreign to me. Each note wound around my heart and tugged at its strings, pulling me out of the shadows. I had to know who was singing so beautifully.
Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw. Even from this distance, her beauty was blinding and my eyes burned. The light fell on her golden hair, creating a halo around her head. My eyes did not deceive me. I was looking at an angel.
How come I had not seen this girl on stage before? She must have been a new addition to the company. I took it upon me to find out more about this little songbird.
Her name was Christine Daaé. An orphaned girl from Sweden who, as I had expected, had just arrived to pursue a career at the Opera. But, as any beginner, she was only a chorus girl and not a lead singer. But she had the potential to become one, if only with the right tutoring. No one at the Opera was going to do that, that much was certain. They already had a lead soprano and she would sooner die than be replaced. If that was what it took to get Christine on stage, then it was something I was willing to do. But first, she needed training. The question was how?
First of all, I made sure she was moved to a solitary dressing room far from the others. There was a two-way mirror in that room which allowed me to see her. Hopefully, I would be able to summon up the courage to speak to her as well. I should have known it would be a difficult task.
I stood behind the mirror and waited for her to enter the room. As soon as the door opened and she stepped inside, I wished I could just turn back and forget about my mission. Instead, I stood stock still and I found it hard to breathe. She was even more beautiful up close. So beautiful that it physically hurt. I watched as she sat down by the dressing table to unpin her wavy hair and brush the strands carefully before tying a ribbon in the back. Then she disappeared from my view for a few minutes and I could focus on regaining my breath. When she returned, she had changed her clothes, preparing herself to go home. She stepped up to the mirror to make sure everything was in place. I swear she looked impeccable. Not a single flaw.
She had no idea that she was looking straight at me and, though I knew she could not see me, it was still the first time a human being had looked at me without fear or disgust. I held my breath and stared into her eyes. They were like the bluest skies. Like sparkling sapphires. I felt my own eyes begin to water. Time stood still. She was so close – mere inches away from me. Were it not for the glass separating us, I could have reached out and touched her, had I actually dared. I opened my mouth to speak her name, but no sound came out of me. My voice was caught in my throat and before I could regain it, it was too late. She had already left the room.
In spite of my better judgement, I returned to the mirror each day to see her and each time hurt more than the last. I willingly exposed myself to torture. But the pain was still better than feeling nothing at all. I had sworn to hate mankind for all eternity. But this girl… I could not hate her. Not even if I tried. Instead, I felt myself drawn to her. I felt like I needed her. Could it be that she needed me, too? I was about to find out.
I was waiting as usual for her to come into the dressing room after the evening's performance, expecting nothing out of the ordinary. She would sit down, brush her hair, change her clothes and I would be far too frightened to approach her. But, as she came through the door, she hurriedly closed it and leaned against it for support, covering her mouth with one hand. There were tears in her eyes.
She sat down in the chair by the dressing table and let her head fall to its polished surface. To hear her loud sobs was like being stabbed in the heart and I wondered whatever might have happened to the poor thing. Had someone been cruel to her? It was so strange and surreal. I hardly knew this girl and yet, I cared for her more than I had ever cared for anything. I couldn't stand seeing her this way. So miserable and so… lonely.
Before I knew it, I had spoken her name.
She must have heard me, for she lifted her head from the table and looked around the room. For all she knew, there was no one else but her. She looked rather frightened. "Hello?" she asked and it was the first time I had ever heard her speak. "Who's there?" Suddenly I became aware of the situation I was in and knew that I had to give her an answer. But what was I to say?
"Why are you crying, child?" I heard myself say. My tongue moved of its own accord, voicing my concern for the girl. At the sound of my voice, she jumped to her feet and, to my great dismay, started backing towards the door. Once again, my feelings were in control of my words. "Please don't leave!" I said in a desperate attempt to stop her, then added, more softly, "Please stay."
Her back was to the door; her chest heaving up and down as she breathed in and out through her mouth. She was still trying to find the source of the voice she was hearing. "No," she whispered. "It can't possibly…" With a trembling hand, she clutched a gold locket hanging round her neck. "Are you…" She hesitated. "Are you the Angel of Music?"
Her question caught me off guard. I had never heard of such a thing. When all she heard was silence, she tried again. "My father sent you, didn't he? My father Gustave. Gustave Daaé." She clutched the locket tighter still as she waited for an answer. What was I to tell her? That I wasn't an angel, only a stranger who cared for her? In her eyes, I saw a flicker of hope and I did not have it in me to disappoint her.
"Yes," I said. "I am the Angel of Music." She let out a breath of relief and smiled a little. When people smiled, it meant that they were happy. I, the Living Corpse, the Phantom of the Opera, had made someone happy. And I had also found a way to make this girl the greatest singer in all of Paris.
As her teacher, I was strict but encouraging. I told her that if she wanted to reach her full potential, she had to dedicate herself only to the arts and to her angel. Unquestioningly, she obeyed me and her efforts and dedication payed off in the end. She remained faithful and put her trust in me. Every day, she expressed how thankful and blessed she was to have me near and so long as she kept her promise, I swore I would never leave her side. Never had I been so close to any human before. Never had I felt such joy and pride.
Once I knew she was ready, I arranged for her to have the role of Marguerite in Faust and she did not disappoint me. What a triumph it was. I wanted to tell her how proud I was and how happy she made me. Alas, I knew I could not. At least not in the way I wanted to. My disguise prevented me from doing so. To her, I was only an angel. I wanted her to know the man.
Had it not been for that little chap, things might have turned out differently. As soon as he stepped into the picture, everything went straight to Hell. How could I ever hope to compare with him? He was both young and handsome and had the entire world to offer. And what did I have? A cursed face and a house underground, far away from the light of the sun and the moon. The only way I could hope to win was to eliminate my opponent.
Just like when I had tried to save Ziva, I made a foolish mistake. This was a battle I could not win. If Christine refused me, we would all die. If she accepted me, she would never be happy again. Would never forgive me.
Would never love me.
I may have been a monster, but heartless I was not. In the end, all I cared about was her. Whatever happened to me did not matter, so long as she was happy. So I did the only thing I could do.
I let her go.
Then, something extraordinary happened. She cried for me. Cried with me. And when I took off my mask, she did not look away. She was brave and fearless and in her eyes I saw that old familiar look of pity and sorrow. Without a word, she leaned in and kissed my forehead. Her lips were so soft and warm. The experience was indescribable. I did not deserve her kindness, but she gave it to me nonetheless. Feeling overwhelmed, I fell to my knees at her feet where she held me like my own mother never did. It was all I had ever asked for. No man could ever have been as happy as I was in that moment. I was a man who had been through hell and I had been saved by an angel.