A/N: Now, I'm pretty sure that with that dramatic a climax I would've gotten more reviews than just one (Thank you L.M)! I have less reviews than the number of chapters I've written, and I would really appreciate it if I got more. You don't have to say much, just nice job, thanks, or even hey this sucks. It would be nice to hear from people. Also, I just thought that maybe some of you would get confused with the last chapter and think I was trying to make it a Meg/Erik. Nope. Like it said, she's just doing a favor for a friend.
I was wrong about something that night on the roof of the Opera. My music had not deserted me. It was to be my lifeline for the next months. Without it, I surely would've killed myself. It stayed with me, and provided me with the companionship and comfort that only music can bring. It surrounded me, and made me forget the outside world.

But this music also did things to me. It was as though the price for this comfort was it lodging a bit in my soul everyday. This would not have been a bad thing if it had been nice music. It was not. It was music of darkness, betrayal and passion. Of men and women. Of lust and need. Of doom and destruction. It filled my head and soul. I thought of little else, and hardly ate, drank or slept. It did not seem to be necessary.

Each passing day, new hate built up inside of me for Christine and the Vicomte. Unfortunately, I still loved her. I say unfortunately, because it was the only thing that held me back. Without that love I would've been free to wallow in my hatred, and live a contented life. Even if I was wallowing in hate, I would not have acted on it. It would have been easier than the constant struggle that seemed to always be raging in my head. That small bit of good was just barely less powerful than the large quantities of darkness. It slowly began tearing me apart.

I spent my days and nights writing and playing, except for an hour, in which I normally just got up and walked around, or read the newspaper. Even I could not compose that dark music every hour of everyday. It was just too tiring. I wanted to sleep, but I couldn't make myself. My thoughts would drift back to the unfinished phrase, or a new melody would right itself in my head. It was a never ending process. It seemed as though I would never end it. But suddenly one day, it ended itself. Just as I was ready to go on my break on December second, it struck me. I was done with my supposed life's work. I had always told myself I would die once I finished this piece of work, but now that I had finished it, it was absolutely not a possibility.

First of all, there was no question in my mind I would present it to the manager's and make the company perform it. It would be my revenge on everyone. Who had the smallest part? Carlotta of course. The largest? Christine. That may not sound like I was upset at all, but it was not the honor it sounded at first. It would be a role she would not like performing one bit. I made absolutely sure of it.

But what you ask was I going to do about the Vicomte? I had accepted it was probably not Christine's idea to kill me. All though sometimes Christine could be strong and almost bullheaded, there would be other times when you could talk her into anything. The Vicomte had taken advantage of one of these low moments to act on his plan. Fortunately I had interfered. In all honesty, I had no idea what to do with the Vicomte. I would have to think hard about it. He deserved a fate ten times worse than anyone. Of all the people to think of such a punishment, I was the one person who would plan it to perfection, and carry it out seamlessly as well. When it came to revenge, no one could do it as well as I. I had just begun. Who could predict what horrors would fall upon Paris? Not even I.