"Like yellow parchment
is his skin . . .
A great black hole served as the
nose that never grew . . ."
Christine and I have just left the boat and stepped out on to the dock. She tells me she is cold, and I hand her my cloak which I wrap around her. She thanks me, and we head towards the trap door I installed, just behind the stage. Bravely, I take her hand, and step up towards the door. It opens with a creak, and I am rather surprised to discover that it has been barely used. After all, I should know. I built this place.
The chief of the flies, Joseph Buquet, is standing on the stage, telling tales about the Opera Ghost. If only he knew a single thing about me. I was scarier than any of his stories. A death's head? He had know idea! And now he speaks of my Punjab lasso. This I do not approve of! I can not have those tiresome little ballet girls telling all my secrets! Perhaps if I am to shut him up, it shall have to be permanent! Aaah . . . he has seen my shadow now. That should make him be quiet, at least for now. And now look! The ballet mistress, Madame Giry has appeared. Sometimes she can appear much more of a ghost than I. Sleaking through the shadows like that. She certainly is . . . loud. But I do respect her. And little Meg Giry, she is very different to her mother. Energetic little child, and she knows that if I wanted to, I could command her career. That is one of the reasons she has not been so talkative about me. The ballet mistress is telling Buquet off quite a bit. I'll do a lot more than burn him Madame . . .
Christine and I have just left the boat and stepped out on to the dock. She tells me she is cold, and I hand her my cloak which I wrap around her. She thanks me, and we head towards the trap door I installed, just behind the stage. Bravely, I take her hand, and step up towards the door. It opens with a creak, and I am rather surprised to discover that it has been barely used. After all, I should know. I built this place.
The chief of the flies, Joseph Buquet, is standing on the stage, telling tales about the Opera Ghost. If only he knew a single thing about me. I was scarier than any of his stories. A death's head? He had know idea! And now he speaks of my Punjab lasso. This I do not approve of! I can not have those tiresome little ballet girls telling all my secrets! Perhaps if I am to shut him up, it shall have to be permanent! Aaah . . . he has seen my shadow now. That should make him be quiet, at least for now. And now look! The ballet mistress, Madame Giry has appeared. Sometimes she can appear much more of a ghost than I. Sleaking through the shadows like that. She certainly is . . . loud. But I do respect her. And little Meg Giry, she is very different to her mother. Energetic little child, and she knows that if I wanted to, I could command her career. That is one of the reasons she has not been so talkative about me. The ballet mistress is telling Buquet off quite a bit. I'll do a lot more than burn him Madame . . .