Betrayal Is The Highest Form of Flattery
By Deep Roller
A/N: This should be fun to write. It was my first ever phanfiction, and it was a BALL to write. I heavily edited it to make it better and more detailed. The product of a deranged and completely biased mind right before your eyes. Before Triumph, there was Betrayal.....
Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera, I don't own the characters, so nyeh to you!
~Prologue~
They found him at dawn, his form still and cold on the floor of the foyer. The investigators could hardly look, but they had to, it was their job to puzzle out the murderer. One of them cringed as his foot found a sticky congealing puddle of crimson.
"The poor man, it looks like it was a pretty painful death." One young man in a police uniform commented, looking into the glassy eyes of the victim.
"Yes, indeed it does, Maurice, but he had some time to drag himself around first, didn't he? We'll have to inform his closest relations of his death. And that his murderer is still on the loose." Another officer remarked, joining in the initial body inspection.
"I don't think he had any, there might be someone we could ask about..."
"Hold it!" The first man said, bending to retrieve a scrap of paper clutched in the victim's palm. "I don't think there's a murderer on the loose. And there's really no one left to question, mon ami. Look at this." Handing over the slip of paper, Maurice shook his head gravely. A pity really, to see life wasted like this.
~Dear World,
I am so very sorry to leave you as such, but there is nothing left for me any more. She didn't love me, she told me so last night after the Opera. I had only one choice left, can you blame me? I shall miss life, but death is all that welcomes me now.
Adieu...~ But the note was cut off, torn at the last word. Maurice bent down to examine the face, cringing at the look of intense anguish that creased it. He wondered who the nameless soul was, and why one woman could have driven him to such horrible heights of grief. The inquest could tell who he was, and that was set for the afternoon. Until then, there was nothing left to do.
By Deep Roller
A/N: This should be fun to write. It was my first ever phanfiction, and it was a BALL to write. I heavily edited it to make it better and more detailed. The product of a deranged and completely biased mind right before your eyes. Before Triumph, there was Betrayal.....
Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera, I don't own the characters, so nyeh to you!
~Prologue~
They found him at dawn, his form still and cold on the floor of the foyer. The investigators could hardly look, but they had to, it was their job to puzzle out the murderer. One of them cringed as his foot found a sticky congealing puddle of crimson.
"The poor man, it looks like it was a pretty painful death." One young man in a police uniform commented, looking into the glassy eyes of the victim.
"Yes, indeed it does, Maurice, but he had some time to drag himself around first, didn't he? We'll have to inform his closest relations of his death. And that his murderer is still on the loose." Another officer remarked, joining in the initial body inspection.
"I don't think he had any, there might be someone we could ask about..."
"Hold it!" The first man said, bending to retrieve a scrap of paper clutched in the victim's palm. "I don't think there's a murderer on the loose. And there's really no one left to question, mon ami. Look at this." Handing over the slip of paper, Maurice shook his head gravely. A pity really, to see life wasted like this.
~Dear World,
I am so very sorry to leave you as such, but there is nothing left for me any more. She didn't love me, she told me so last night after the Opera. I had only one choice left, can you blame me? I shall miss life, but death is all that welcomes me now.
Adieu...~ But the note was cut off, torn at the last word. Maurice bent down to examine the face, cringing at the look of intense anguish that creased it. He wondered who the nameless soul was, and why one woman could have driven him to such horrible heights of grief. The inquest could tell who he was, and that was set for the afternoon. Until then, there was nothing left to do.