A Prologue and a Return
Dust spots danced in the thin beam of lantern light as he made the old, familiar way to his house. Six years of wandering, of mourning and self imposed torture across Europe, to the near East and Far East, and now Paris once more. His house across the lake once more. His long, icy fingers knew where to touch in the crevices of the rock wall, triggering the door to release with a shudder. Erik was grateful to hear it working despite years of abandonment.
The thick layer of dust triggered what remained of his nose, erupting in a sonorous sneeze, his voice echoing off the cavern walls and skittering across the dark waters behind him. As his old habit, he hurried within his sanctuary of old. Forlorn light from his lantern ricocheted off the furnishings of his past life, luxuries he had not known for years. Even the hush of deep carpet beneath his feet gave him a forgotten sense of pride. Of arrogance. Of control, and art and intimidation. Of hours behind mirrors and trap doors. Of bitter love and fear and jealousy. No, he had grieved that, let her go, accepted that his heart was not his anymore and had swallowed that pain. He would not love like that again. But his music, he needed to purge that from his soul in his home again.
He had returned to his kingdom, coming again in the morning light like Christ himself. A resurrected Phantom. Now, he had but to wait and watch to see what the years had brought in his absence.