Once again we return to the drama of Phantom Memories…
Btw…anyone out there a fanfiction artist? I'd love to see your renderings of my characters!
"We will attend the ball, as you requested."
"And?" she waited.
"We will reveal ourselves at unmasking at midnight, as is custom. You will go dressed lovely as usual, but I will return as the Phantom."
Christine pulled away in surprise. "The Phantom? Erik, I thought that was finished after we said goodbye to the house on the lake? Surely we don't want to bring that back to light!"
"No, my dear, it is perfect." The very idea was filling me with a sense of empowerment. "What would be more fitting than for the Phantom to return to his opera with his bride to claim what is theirs?"
"But it is not ours, Erik," she protested. "This here, this house, this is ours. I only wanted to reveal our marriage so we could finally live in peace with no worries for our future."
"No, this whole situation is wrong. I helped build that opera house, I cannot let it be run in tribute to the arrogant fool who hurt you. It was meant to hold all the beautiful music in the world. You alone should grace its stage with your divine presence."
"But you said I shouldn't sing at the gala," Christine responded.
"No, not at the gala, but you will sing again. You will sing for me alone. All of Paris will weep from the sound of your voice, but they will leave unfulfilled. Your song shall soar to the heavens but always fly safely back to my hand." My voice whispered tremulously to her, my tone soothing, controlling her. It had been a long time since I had used my voice to command her, and I marveled at how easy it was.
Growing drunk with power, I sung my dove to sleep and then retreated to the cellars of our home. I quickly found what I was looking for in a box hidden neatly in a cupboard. Opening it with unsteady fingers, I pulled out the black cape, fedora hat, and the white mask.
"It's been too long," I whispered to myself as I donned the clothing. I changed the flesh-colored mask I wore nowadays to the more mysterious ivory one and topped it with the hat. I had never felt more comfortable in my own skin than I did then.
I sat down at the desk and began a note to my old friends, the managers of the opera.
My esteemed Messieurs Richard and Moncharmin,
I cannot begin to express how saddened I was not to receive a personal invitation to your little gala, let alone the fact that you are rechristening my opera with the name of a criminal and pathological liar. I really find these items unforgiveable.
I will be attending your party, much to my chagrin, but hope that my presence will be convincing enough for you to see the errors of your ways.
As for the incomparable Mademoiselle Daae, she is well and will be present for your event. Should anyone attempt to touch a hair of her beautiful head, he will regret it for eternity. I have chosen her as my bride, and her song is mine alone.
Yours most truly,
The Phantom of the Opera
I smiled and sat back in my chair indulgently. I enjoyed a glass of brandy as I prepared the letter for the post. This gala event was going to be much more interesting than I had originally thought, that was for sure.
I lovingly put away my cloak, mask, and hat and went back upstairs. The LeFevres had since returned home, I could hear them bustling about in their wing of the house. I put my letter to the opera on the desk in my study to mail in the morning and then decided to go to bed beside my already sleeping wife.
When I arose the next day, Christine had already awakened and was brushing her lovely dark hair at her dressing table. She was quieter than usual, but perhaps she was merely excited about attending the masquerade. I kissed her quickly and then hurried with my preparations for the day.
Today the nursery furniture had begun to arrive from Paris, and Louis was instructing the delivery men on its proper placement according to the two ladies of the house. It was a perfect day to escape to the music room and bury myself in pure sound. I had neglected my music for far too long, and now it spewed out of my fingers like lightning across the keyboard of the piano.
I had once thought that love unfulfilled created the most heartwrenchingly beautiful music, but now I was propelled by a new force of love complete. All the beauty of my passion for Christine now echoed with hers in return. Fresh melodies came flowing forth, soothing and inexplicably tender, only to be later harmonized with the fearful tide of possession and control.
Many hours later I collapsed in my chair, exhausted from the cacophony of sound that had poured out of my soul. I felt exhausted and drained, all my resources pulled from me to create the music I had never known existed within. Papers fluttered around me in disarray, tribute to the haste I used to capture the notes that flew from my hands. My eyes closed, and as I was just drifting into a dark, dreamless slumber a terrifying shriek snapped me back to the world.