Masquerade...tonight was the night…
Masquerade!
Paper faces on parade . . .
Masquerade!
Hide your face,
so the world will
never find you!
Hidden, beneath the depths of where no human would dare to ever venture. Hidden behind a cloak, a cape, a disguise…
A mask…
Tonight everyone was hidden behind a foolish mask, adorned with lavish and extravagant sequins, brilliants, exquisite fabrics of so many numerous looks, feels…no one would be themselves tonight. He could even not be himself tonight – not that he had ever been, anyway, not in front of them.
But tonight was a change in pace, just for a little bit. Erik dearly hoped that these fools had enjoyed their blissful sixth-month holiday from their not so beloved opera ghost, for tonight that would all change. Why not dress up for the occasion? The red death, a much feared figure, almost as terrifying as and much more dramatic than the grim reaper, was perfect, especially for the cold-blooded murderer they saw him as.
And, he realized with a bit of a stab in his heart, that was exactly what he had become. Something told him his killing spree wasn't about to end with Buquet – Christine was too sure of herself and Raoul to be spooked too much by that. He had had to figure out something else that would be more effective – his just plain murdering plan had slightly backfired.
Just slightly.
But this time, Erik was sure that this would work.
And it all began with the red death…
Masquerade!
Every face a different shade . . .
Masquerade!
Look around -
there's another
mask behind you!
He would definitely be recognizable on entrance, that much Erik determined. That meant that he had to enter at the right moment. His fearful costume prevented him from a subtle entrance anyway, but that was good. He wanted his presence to be known, wanted all burning eyes behind their masks to be on him. He had decided he needed the dramatic effect of a few gasps, possibly a scream, to get the point clear.
At least, that's what the phantom wanted. Erik would rather be out there having fun, like a normal person, or even better, hiding down below in the underground lair, ignoring his inhumane obsession for Christine entirely and letting these people who had shunned him waltz around until they were dizzy.
Too bad he just couldn't have been normal…
Flash of mauve . . .
Splash of puce . . .
Fool and king . . .
Ghoul and goose . . .
Green and black . . .
Queen and priest . . .
Trace of rouge . . .
Face of beast . . .
Faces . . .
Take your turn, take a ride
on the merry-go-round . . .
in an inhuman race . . .
The snow was falling softly, almost waltzing in perfect melody to the muffled tune playing jauntily along inside the massive ballroom. It had been such a long time since he had felt snow, felt it melt slowly on his face as he breathed real fresh air. Erik placed a pale palm to a window and felt the chill through the freezing glass. He longed desperately to venture outside, feel the winter cold for once.
The roads looked horrible, and he wished a somewhat hearty good luck to anyone that would attempt to go home that night. The sheer white of the snow pounded the dirt roads mercilessly, hiding the path as though even the very streets were celebrating the masquerade too.
Everyone was celebrating now…the party was going on and on.
Erik pulled his attention away from the window and stared discreetly through the doors to the ballroom. They were just slightly ajar, with a perfect slit to peer through and not get caught. There were so many people – some he recognized even with their masks, some he had no idea who they were. Near the middle of the ballroom's sweeping floor were a young woman and a young man seeming to be paired as a couple, wearing, respectively, a black domino mask and a white domino. The phantom felt a sinking feeling as he felt a horrible suspicion that this couple was the one that he had never wanted to see together again. He felt even worse as he noticed a ring, glimmering in the light, on a chain around the woman's neck.
This would be harder than he had originally had thought.
Eye of gold . . .
Thigh of blue . . .
True is false . . .
Who is who . . .?
Curl of lip . . .
Swirl of gown . . .
Ace of hearts . . .
Face of clown . . .
Faces . . .
Drink it in, drink it up,
till you've drowned
in the light . . .
in the sound . . .
But who can name the face . . .?
The music was swirling inside, the beautiful outfits splashing a wave of color throughout the ballroom, but Erik's eyes lingered constantly on the two, the beautiful girl in the soft rose-colored dress and the man who seemed to be her young suitor.
Why had she turned to him once again? Hadn't the falling chandelier been enough to make his point clear, that she belonged to him? The girl had obviously taken no warning from the shattered light that had smashed at her feet while everyone around her had panicked.
Then again, he had not shown himself for half a year, not sent any notes, not demanded his salary, (although he slightly missed it) not pulled anything new. Had she completely disregarded him now, forgotten what he had done for her? Was this phantom just a distant memory for them all?
The young woman removed her dark half-mask slowly from her face, and Erik's suspicion was confirmed with a horrible jolt as the soft, kind face he knew so well came clearly into view.
Christine, no…
His heart dropped a million miles at an impossible speed as he watched her lean over and kiss the man she was with gently, unknowingly tearing her observer's heart into a thousand pieces, each horribly lamenting to its own sorrow.
Shocked and feeling betrayed, Erik resisted the terrible urge to sink to his knees and sob, forget his plan and flee back to the depths of the opera house, never to be seen again.
Christine…why? Why did you do this?
It was just his type of fate that the woman he loved would be attracted to someone else. It was bound to be that she would fall in love with this man, this Raoul person. He had known her for so long, he had always been there to comfort her, he hadn't hurt her or anyone else unless Erik counted himself.
He detested Raoul. How dare this naïve man allow himself to become attracted to his Christine? How dare he?
But Christine loved him that much was clear. Him, not Erik. Not the phantom.
The urge to hide once again washed over him like a horrible tidal wave, and it was all he could do to stay upright.
Soon enough…she would be his. He couldn't grow weak now, not when the first part of his plan was drawing so near.
Just some more time, he feverishly reassured himself. Just wait a bit longer. Soon enough she will be yours…
Masquerade!
Grinning yellows,
spinning reds . . .
Masquerade!
Take your fill -
let the spectacle
astound you!
His broken heart seemed to freeze up again, repiece with ice, as a cold fury raced through him. They shunned him, mocked him, and now they took away the only thing he wanted out of this world anymore?
Erik didn't even bother to waste his time damning fate anymore. Lady Fate didn't deserve to have a single thought spent on her, not after she had tormented him that way. He felt his hand clench into a fist, and, no matter how hard he tried to stop it, felt a single tear streak down his cheek, hidden from anyone besides himself under his masks.
His hand clenched at the worn manuscript he held, and Erik slightly tore at the soft pages. Quickly he caught himself before he entirely mangled the script. He couldn't destroy that now. He might as well been shredding his ticket to win Christine back.
Which, in a sense, the manuscript was. All of Erik's last hope lay embedded within the opera that lay scrawled within the severely weathered pages. If this last chance was rejected, then he had no idea what to do next.
This idea – the product of months of heavy thinking while vigorously pounding on his organ, it was a masterpiece, both in what it contained and what effect it would have on the opera house and even all of Paris…what effect it would have on both him and Christine…
If this last attempt failed, this desperate final plea was rejected, his opera not performed, he might as well give up and return to dwelling under the earth, in his own personal little hell that would be even more tainted with thoughts of what could have been. It wasn't just that the opera needed to go on and that would be all. Erik had spent much time writing and rewriting to make sure that this one piece of his intricate puzzle would match exactly with every single other part, and if this simple event was pulled off correctly and everything went well, this one little opera would start a chain reaction of events that would clamber and cling over each other like dominos and hopefully result with Christine.
Christine…dear god, he loved her. Ever since that one moment he had heard her song, seen her face, he had loved her. A voice that extravagant simply couldn't remain in a simple chorus, and even though it had its slight flaws, it outmatched all others.
For some time after he had taken her under his wing, Erik had been fully convinced that she loved him back. He had never realized that he had been so wrong.
But right now, she didn't need to love him. His moment was almost here, the moment he would announce himself.
Masquerade!
Burning glances,
turning heads . . .
Masquerade!
Stop and stare
at the sea of smiles
around you!
The snow began to fall harder, as if it was leading up to Erik's dramatic entrance. He could feel the music in his blood, could sense that the perfect time for his enterance - it was coming! Soon, he would be on stage in front of a group of terrified masqueraders, performing the part that needed to be perfect in order to work….
Masquerade!
Seething shadows
breathing lies . . .
Masquerade!
You can fool
any friend who
ever knew you!
The moment was coming…he breathed harder, clutching his treasured manuscript in his sweating palm as he tried to swallow his fear and let the phantom everyone knew take over…
Masquerade!
Leering satyrs,
peering eyes . . .
Masquerade!
Run and hide -
but a face will
still pursue you!
No turning back now… He thought, and slowly shoved open the doors, letting them swing open with a bang and allow him access to the stairs of the ballroom.
As Erik had predicted, all eyes were on him, staring in shock. He saw his sweet Christine's eyes widen in terror as her gloved hand instinctively reached for the ring around her neck, and he could see it was all she could do to stop from fleeing the scene.
Erik breathed one last time and quickly searched out his targets, the managers of the opera house, before letting the cool, suaveness of the phantom behind his mask take over.
"Why so silent, good messurs?"