He had to have said them aloud. That was the only explanation for the eerie silence following his thought. The only explanation in his opinion that is. He never believed that some things just happen. It was taught to him in painful slow lesson. Things don't happen just so something is happening. There is always reason behind people's behaviour. You probably won't understand it, but the reason is always there. Always.
It seemed he managed to scare them. Again. How surprising his talent to fear was. The most common thing in the world. A monster scaring the good and honest citizens of whatever city he lives at the moment. I am no monster. I'm a... a what? What was it he always wanted to be? He couldn't think straight. Strange, but understandable. He got hit in the head pretty hard. A human would have died. He was a human. An extremely ugly human, but a human nonetheless. At least he hoped he was. He wasn't that sure anymore.
He remembered Christine. Beautiful, naïve, perfect Christine. His Angel. His Princess. His one and only love of a lifetime. Quite sentimental today, old boy. She was so afraid of him. Always fear. Never something other than fear. Never something that ran a bit deeper. Though he knew it was there. He believed it was a form of hero worship in the beginning. She was afraid of him, but she looked into his eyes with that kind of admiration little children have for their storytellers. She looked at him and saw one of her fairytales. It hurt to know she would never overcome that state. She may fear him. She may also perhaps love a tiny, little bit with all of her heart, but he would always be only a dream for her. Unreachable. Her knight in shining armor. Her monster in a black cloak.
She found his feathers. Why she insisted on cleaning his room was beyond him. He just couldn't understand her. Maybe he didn't want to. Anyway, she was cleaning his walk-in closet and found a feather. Shiny black, like a raven's wing it was. Like the color of his hair. She understood. The moment she saw it she understood. Not his face was keeping him from going outside in the sun but something majestically beautiful. Christine didn't know what it was but she understood. She understood that an angel has to hide from humanity. Humans would put him on display. Humans would give him to scientists who wanted to cut him open to see what's inside. Humans will kill her fragile angel. Humans were a danger for her beloved, mighty, fallen angel. She couldn't have been more wrong.
He was no angel. Never was. Never will be. He was something other than her fairytale hero with wings. He was not Christine's Angel of Music her father promised to send for her. But he wanted nothing more than to pretend he has this Angel. Though he always denied his being a monster, he knew for sure he was neither an angel nor a human. What he was, he didn't know. He was nothing Christine expected him to be. Nothing.
Reality came back at that moment. Groaning he was now really awake. Not that half wake state he was in before. He saw faces. Strange faces in strange colors. Did he really see a tall man with lavender skin and wings? He mentally pinched himself. Yes, he was awake. This was not a dream. His always active imagination wasn't working on overdrive. So it was real. What he saw was reality. Perhaps I'm dead. What a comforting thought. First he does everything in his power to escape certain death at the hands of an angry mob. Now he was at the mercy of creatures he never dreamed of seeing alive. There was also a man in this room. Expensive suit, bearded face, an aura of power. This man screamed at his senses. They were too much alike. They treated the same ways with their thought. He had the feeling he couldn't trust that man. Instead he smiled behind his mask. Only to learn that his mask was not where is was supposed to be. Namely on his face, hiding his monstrosity. A tiny pang of panic arose in his soul. Would they be the same as the others? Would they put him on display for the masses entertainment?
His mask was on the table beside him. He now saw it. They had to take it away to care for his wounds. He could feel the bandages around his head. That is why I have a headache. His right eye was swollen shut. To put the mask back on would only hurt than it was worth it. Let them see the freak for a wile. Looks can't kill.
His voice was rough but he spoke anyway. He had to know. "Am I right to assume that you know who I am?" he took the silent nod of the man as a yes. "Than I have to tell you to let me go. I am no danger you. I merely wish to go back..."
"...home." He heard a giggle. Who dared to laugh at the Phantom? Did that someone has a death wish? "No death wish, little one. It is just that you always say that the first time in new surroundings. It is quite amusing." He knew that voice. Its user was to his knowledge an imagination of his. Only a little friend he created to survive his solitude in his mother's cellar. Obviously he was wrong to assume that he was free of that one.
Floating one meter above the floor was...
Of all the monsters in my mind, does it have to be Puck.