Christine solemnly anchored her little rowboat on the shore of a
small, eerie glowing land mass, which supported a small, dark house. She
spoke not a word, a heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach, dreading what
she would find if she explored the familiar area.
She stepped ever so quietly up to the house, creaking the door open and peering around the musty room. It was silent, as if the place had been vacant for hundreds of years... but that's just the way it always was, no matter how bright Erik ever lit it.
Christine entered the house, gasping slightly at the sight of her Angel of Music's body. He was sprawled across a bare mattress, looking as if he were in deep sleep. His mask was clutched limply in one hand, which had lazily rolled off the bed and was now barely touching the floor, fingers curled lightly.
"Erik?" Christine whispered hoarsely, meekly. He did not answer. As Christine advanced on the limp body, she noticed something curled in Erik's fingers, and wondering curiously what it was, she withdrew it and uncurled it. It was a note. So she read it.
Dear Christine,
If you're reading this letter, you already know by now that I am dead. Since I will never have to face you again, I will not regret telling you a few details that may be a form of some excuse of my insanity during my Phantom days.
You knew about the simple hardship of not even being loved by my own mother - she would shriek and run away at the very sight of me! But that's not the worst of it. After I grew up, alone and defending for myself before I was merely ten years of age, I became a circus sideshow! A freak! I was the monster genius, locked in a pitiful cage and shipped around the country to be stared at like a zoo animal! That hurt me, Christine. For years I was the monkey, and everyone watched transfixed, in awe at this poisonous reflection of death! Why me?
Soon after, I was sold - SOLD to the Shah-in-Shah of Persia. Oh, he was kind - as long as I shared my architectural ability with him to torture people, and entertain him, I lived there, and he didn't kill me! Oh, I was a good man then - before I learned evil! But what choice did I have? It was death or the torture of others. I still don't know how I could have chosen to live; I was as close to death as the living could get! But I did, and I merely watched as the royal Persian girl's eyes twinkled evilly at the sounds and sights of the unfortunate men placed in my own wretched devices.
The Shah-in-Shah was delighted when I shared with him tricks and secrets so as treasures could be right under a thief's nose, and they wouldn't be able to find it! The royal family were my slave masters, though. And when finally the little girl became bored of me... she sentenced me to death. Was it death because of my abhorrent face?! It was. I, the freak, the slave, the monkey.. was to die.
I was standing, a rope around my neck, ready to be HUNG, when one man stepped up and saved my life. If it weren't for him, I would have been dead then. But now, I believe it would have been for the best, but I thought it a kind favour at the time. He saved my life, and in the process almost killed himself for it. I would never forget this man.
When I fled to Paris, France, I was paid to build an opera house, which I co-built, and designed. Once it was finished, that was my home. I lived below the opera house, below the rats where I belonged! In the darkness where nobody could shriek and gawk at my abnormality! I wrote music, and watched the operas of the theatre, wishing, dreaming, hoping.. that one day I would not be feared, so I could share my masterpieces with the world! And finally, when I heard you sing! Your crystal clear voice pierce the air like an angel from the highest of heavens! Your lovely voice, I needed it! I knew you would sing my music!
So I kidnapped you, and you feared me.. but I quickly led you to believe that I was the Angel of Music. I manipulated you, so you could share my song to the world. And as I taught you, I grew to love you! You were beautiful, you were kind - you loved me! Or so I thought.. but when you removed my mask, and returned to me after you saw my hideous defect... I loved you so much more, I was blinded by my love. I didn't know I would only hurt myself more soon afterwards.
But now.. I realise that my love for you was foolish. I know now - that I can never be loved, and below the Paris Opera House... is where I belong. I'm so sorry for all my troubles, I'm sorry for your hate for me, I'm sorry for the Vicomte de Chagny's hate for me... and I'm sorry I never thanked the Persian for saving me, and being my only friend... I'm sorry for all my mistakes. Please forgive my interuptance of your wonderful life. Forgive and forget MY life, it wasn't worth being a part of.
~Erik
Christine slowly lowered the parchment from her teary eyes, taking the pale hand which clasped the mask of the Phantom of the Opera.. and said quite strongly, her last words of a farewell to her angel; "I refuse."
She stepped ever so quietly up to the house, creaking the door open and peering around the musty room. It was silent, as if the place had been vacant for hundreds of years... but that's just the way it always was, no matter how bright Erik ever lit it.
Christine entered the house, gasping slightly at the sight of her Angel of Music's body. He was sprawled across a bare mattress, looking as if he were in deep sleep. His mask was clutched limply in one hand, which had lazily rolled off the bed and was now barely touching the floor, fingers curled lightly.
"Erik?" Christine whispered hoarsely, meekly. He did not answer. As Christine advanced on the limp body, she noticed something curled in Erik's fingers, and wondering curiously what it was, she withdrew it and uncurled it. It was a note. So she read it.
Dear Christine,
If you're reading this letter, you already know by now that I am dead. Since I will never have to face you again, I will not regret telling you a few details that may be a form of some excuse of my insanity during my Phantom days.
You knew about the simple hardship of not even being loved by my own mother - she would shriek and run away at the very sight of me! But that's not the worst of it. After I grew up, alone and defending for myself before I was merely ten years of age, I became a circus sideshow! A freak! I was the monster genius, locked in a pitiful cage and shipped around the country to be stared at like a zoo animal! That hurt me, Christine. For years I was the monkey, and everyone watched transfixed, in awe at this poisonous reflection of death! Why me?
Soon after, I was sold - SOLD to the Shah-in-Shah of Persia. Oh, he was kind - as long as I shared my architectural ability with him to torture people, and entertain him, I lived there, and he didn't kill me! Oh, I was a good man then - before I learned evil! But what choice did I have? It was death or the torture of others. I still don't know how I could have chosen to live; I was as close to death as the living could get! But I did, and I merely watched as the royal Persian girl's eyes twinkled evilly at the sounds and sights of the unfortunate men placed in my own wretched devices.
The Shah-in-Shah was delighted when I shared with him tricks and secrets so as treasures could be right under a thief's nose, and they wouldn't be able to find it! The royal family were my slave masters, though. And when finally the little girl became bored of me... she sentenced me to death. Was it death because of my abhorrent face?! It was. I, the freak, the slave, the monkey.. was to die.
I was standing, a rope around my neck, ready to be HUNG, when one man stepped up and saved my life. If it weren't for him, I would have been dead then. But now, I believe it would have been for the best, but I thought it a kind favour at the time. He saved my life, and in the process almost killed himself for it. I would never forget this man.
When I fled to Paris, France, I was paid to build an opera house, which I co-built, and designed. Once it was finished, that was my home. I lived below the opera house, below the rats where I belonged! In the darkness where nobody could shriek and gawk at my abnormality! I wrote music, and watched the operas of the theatre, wishing, dreaming, hoping.. that one day I would not be feared, so I could share my masterpieces with the world! And finally, when I heard you sing! Your crystal clear voice pierce the air like an angel from the highest of heavens! Your lovely voice, I needed it! I knew you would sing my music!
So I kidnapped you, and you feared me.. but I quickly led you to believe that I was the Angel of Music. I manipulated you, so you could share my song to the world. And as I taught you, I grew to love you! You were beautiful, you were kind - you loved me! Or so I thought.. but when you removed my mask, and returned to me after you saw my hideous defect... I loved you so much more, I was blinded by my love. I didn't know I would only hurt myself more soon afterwards.
But now.. I realise that my love for you was foolish. I know now - that I can never be loved, and below the Paris Opera House... is where I belong. I'm so sorry for all my troubles, I'm sorry for your hate for me, I'm sorry for the Vicomte de Chagny's hate for me... and I'm sorry I never thanked the Persian for saving me, and being my only friend... I'm sorry for all my mistakes. Please forgive my interuptance of your wonderful life. Forgive and forget MY life, it wasn't worth being a part of.
~Erik
Christine slowly lowered the parchment from her teary eyes, taking the pale hand which clasped the mask of the Phantom of the Opera.. and said quite strongly, her last words of a farewell to her angel; "I refuse."