The reason for living—or if one could call my pitiful excuse for a life living—my angel, my soul! She is surely sent from above! Oh, Christine. And her Erik has cleverly captured her. Or so he thought, until last night.
Last night, while my angel was sleeping in the swan bed; last night, when her angel sang to her; last night, when she sang only for her Erik; last night, when the music of the night was no longer alone. Last night, my angel slumbered in the swan bed. When he thought no one was looking, her Erik touched the gossamer curls. My filthy, unworthy hands took away some of her innocence! My disgusting, dirty self stole away some of her beauty! Poor Christine! Her Erik is a monster! I then ran to my room and struck my head once, twice, thrice against the wall, praying that the pain would cause me permanent harm. A beast does not deserve to even look at the beauty of an angel.
When she found me, I was half dead of tiredness at my organ. Ungrateful Erik was punishing himself for being a wretched monster. Christine, my darling—she sang of her dreams the night before, then walked up to me. For the first time in his pathetic existence, her Erik felt warm.
When she revealed me, I was panicked. What was poor Erik to do?
"Lying Delilah!" her Erik screamed. "Viper!"
And now, her poor Erik regrets everything.