The Music Of Night
Chapter One
Darkness… That's all it was now, and that was all it had ever been. The darkness that swallowed him and yet spit him out within seconds, the darkness that showed him how much hate really pooled within his veins. Those veins in which blood seemed to boil, and churn each time his wild eyes opened to glance at the ceiling above him. Watching as it dripped with water and old mould, in which he was sure would cause him to be ill one of these lonely nights.
She was gone, gone forever. His sweet, pure and innocent angel had grown her wings and had flown away. She was gone, and he'd never see her again. Her voice had touched his very soul, the soul which had been within the darkness for so long. Her light had dragged him from his solitude, and she had shared in his emptiness. She had not cowered before him, she had accepted him, had kissed him. She had loved him. It had been bliss, to finally feel her lips upon his own, to feel their warmth, their softness brushing against his own. He had felt free, beautiful even. But alas, it had not lasted. He had heard the thunderous voices of those above, calling out their battle cry. And what had he done? Had he killed the man who'd tried to take his angel from him and flee? No. He had let him go, and instructed his dear angel to leave him. Now she was gone, and it was his entire fault.
He too had escaped, leaving behind his world, his home…his sanctuary. Christine had showed him that he could be accepted, and so he'd left everything behind, his work, his life and his mask. But he was a wanted man, his obsession with the angel had thrown him into a world of madness, and he had killed two people. True, the world was better off without them, and he'd killed many a time before. But he'd been revealed, and now he could no longer hide. Yet here he was, once again beneath the Opera House, waiting for death to release him. He was safe here, no one went near the Opera Populaire, everyone thought it was haunted, he would have laughed at the thought if his heart weren't torn to pieces. After the fire, the two idiot managers had sold what they could and that was the last Erik had heard of them. The building had remained abandoned for almost two years now; no one wanted to buy it, in fear that 'The Phantom' may rise again. But he wouldn't. The Phantom of the Opera was gone now; he died in the fire with so many others. But at least Erik now had somewhere to hide; he hadn't had an easy time over the last two years. He'd stayed near the Opera House; he was too connected to it to truly leave it. But his life hadn't been easy; he had jumped from house to house, stealing food and rest whenever he could. He had thought of buying a permanent home and living the rest of his life in peace. But certain members of the law continued to hunt and search for him, it would've been too dangerous to expose himself like that. So he'd returned to the one place where he knew he'd be safe. And now he was just waiting for his final breath, so that he may plunge to the fires of hell and forget the pains of his life. He often laid awake, hoping and praying that he might find some salvation, that he may have a chance at the glory of heaven. But as quickly as these thoughts came, they left. What salvation would an angel of hell… a monster like him have of tasting the glory of heaven? He was bound to hell, just like Christine and Raoul were bound as husband and wife.
Though they had not known it, he had attended their wedding. From the shadows, he had watched as Christine walked down the isle, coincidently wearing the dress he'd made for her. She looked so beautiful in it, just like he remembered she had. Watching her get married in that dressed had broken his heart, but a part of him hoped she was doing it to symbolise her love for him. He had wondered how the Patron had felt about that, after all, the two had never gotten along. He'd seen the pain on his face the night Christine had kissed him. But Raoul had looked so happy, that it seemed he didn't care. It had hurt him to see them joined before the eyes of God, but he was at least happy that Christine had someone to care for her, and although he'd begged her to forget him, he was happy that she had carried one memory of him with her. But he did still hope that after this, she'd cut off all connections to him. He didn't want to be connected to her it was too painful for him. If she forgot him, then he could move on.
As a drop of water fell onto his face, Erik let out a sigh and sat up from his bed. Looking around the room, all he could see was Christine's face. Her image began to appear in his minds eye, and he watched as she wondered about his home, exploring her surroundings. "It's changed, it used to be so much more magnificent." Watching as Christine walked up to him he averted his eyes, not wishing to look at her beauty. "What happened Erik?" As he felt her soft hand on his cheek, he felt a shiver run down his spine and he put his hand on hers.
"Oh dear Christine, my sweet angel." He whispered, his voice breaking as he did so. "When you left, everything went with you. My world crumbled and every ounce of beauty I had, I gave to you."
"I'm here" Christine soothed. "I'll never leave you Angel of Music. Sing to me Angel." Erik looked up into her eyes and he felt his heart tear apart. She was so beautiful, her voice was so soft and pure, she hadn't changed at all. No. She had, she'd grown even more beautiful; she was so heavenly, so pure… she was truly an angel.
"I cannot, I'm sorry Christine. But I can no longer sing. I sung only for you. The Music of Night is over, it has died, and soon so shall I. Please, leave me in peace." Turning his head from her, he gently removed her hand from his face, this wasn't real, none of it was. Why did she have to torment him so? "Sing for me my angel, one last time will you sing for me?" He knew it wasn't real, yet he still wanted to believe it, he wanted to believe that she had left Raoul for him, he wanted to believe that she was still his salvation. But as she began to sing, he felt her voice fade away, and once again he was alone.