I could hear distant cries. As I softly stepped closer, those echoing cries became louder and louder. I then recognised them as the broken-hearted sobs of an angel; my angel of music. Tears welled up in my own eyes as I spotted a crumpled figure on the floor. A figure that was, as always, impeccably dressed- in a smart black suit. A figure that was uncharacteristically lying in a crumpled heap; its body wracked with shaking, broken sobs.
'Chris-tine...' cried the achingly beautiful voice.
'Why Christine, why?'
Such a smooth, unmarred, angelic voice seemed uncharacteristic for the broken man who crumbled on the floor. But such a voice was distinctly him. He was the voice who commanded and alarmed. He was the voice who laughed in the face of death. He was the voice who chilled many to the bone. But, he was also the voice who warmed my heart; who made my soul take flight. He was the voice who softly sang me to sleep, yet also seductively haunted my dreams.
My Erik. A kaleidoscope of bitter-sweet memories; the irresistible mixture of heaven and hell. I could never see him as a man. No, he was more of a strange, spectacular Godly creature whom I worshipped with every ounce of my being. But now he seemed to be so... so incredibly human. I soon realised that Erik was only a mere mortal; a man who worshipped me. It was all a façade. How ironic, that his entire persona was so similar to the mask he wears.
Only letting us see what he wants us to see.
He was an illusionist, a magician. He could make things disappear; marvellous acts of magic which truly enraptured me. Although, he could never make his face disappear. He could never hide his vulnerability either; you see, his desperation to be loved was far too potent. A mask was the only fitting solution to conceal his curse; and likewise, his persona as 'The Phantom of the Opera' helped him to detach himself so easily from humanity.
I knew that he did not wish to feel human, for then he could not feel the excruciatingly irrepressible pain. But he still did. I saw such torturous pain in his beautiful golden eyes that my heart threatened to break. If only I had the strength to heal his broken heart myself.
For there he was, stripped bare in front of me. He was maskless, and was no longer the strong, dangerous, invincible Phantom. He was simply Erik, and he was crying my name.
'Christine! I-I love you Christine...' he pitifully wept.
'Oh Christine, I love you so! P-please... please know that Erik loves you with his whole heart!'
I could not leave my angel in such a state of despair. I had to let him know that I had returned.