Disclaimer: I DO NOT, nor will I EVER own any POTO characters, lyrics, etc... depicted here. I'm a poor person, okay. Please don't sue.
Chapter 2: Angel or Phantom?
I have managed to obtain, through the generosity of her family, the actual account of Larisa Kelley, taken from her private journal of the 16th of May.
"I waited for several more moments, afraid that the Angel would never come--or something terrible had befallen him. 'Perhaps,' I thought, 'he may have heard Nell and is afraid to appear, because I was stupid enough to tell her all.'
Then, just as I was about to drown in despair and cry, a voice came from the walls. I recognized it at once. It spoke my name in a sing-song way, gradually bringing me under its celestial power. It is difficult to describe if one has never heard it before, but let me say it was made entirely of Heaven.
I rose and went toward the voice, beaming, my face beginning to radiate with joy. He called to me again, and I followed. Before I realized what had happened to me, I was outside of the little storage room and in a passageway lit with many candelabra, and before me was a man.
He stood nearly six feet, several inches taller than myself. It was difficult to see his eyes, but I perceived they were a blue-grey. The most peculiar and singular thing about him was his mask. It was bone-white, and covered an entire half of his face. His gloved hand took me by the wrist; his black opera cape with blood-red lining covering the majority of his evening dress; all done in shades of black. By this time, I was quite outside myself, but I recalled the legend of the Phantom. Knowing one could not touch an Angel, I tried to scream, but his other gloved hand came to cover my mouth. My breath caught in my throat, and I knew no more.
When I came to, I found myself by the shores of an underground lake. Perhaps it would be better to describe it as a pool--a pool that I knew was an old-fashioned water tank, which had been built in case fire should break out. I am sure it had not been used for some time. The "man in black" sponged my forehead with a damp cloth, bent over me in a concerned manner. I remember the cold, and that it restored me back to myself. I did the first thing that came into my head; I sang.
We began a duet, this "man in black" and I. He helped me into the boat and rowed with a long pole across the "lake," which, given my situation, could not have been gloomier than the River Styx. Charon might have been silent, but the voice with which the "man in black" sang was like thunder; soft and yet with some kind of restrained power that I could not describe. As we sang together, I became inspired to higher notes than I had ever reached before. He commanded I continue to sing, and I did until the boat struck something hard.
The "man in black" leaped agilely out of the boat and to a massive pipe organ, and began to play. He turned to face me again. As I watched him, I also looked about the place in which I found myself.
What I remember the most were all of the candles. Candles everywhere! Then that massive organ, with the pipes laid in brass. Blood red curtains hung from a little alcove which I could see from the boat.
As he turned to me, he began to sing again. Oh! such a soft, sweet melody I had never heard before. It calmed my soul, carried me on Heaven's wings to the highest star! He helped me from the boat, slowly walking with me, guiding me around this strange new place beside the "lake." I finally followed him into a little alcove off the main room with the organ and down a tunnel before I finally fell into a trance-like slumber.
When I awoke, I found myself in a little bed shaped like a gigantic sea shell--that of a scallop to be more precise. Black lace curtains kept out most of the dim light around me. I tugged on the silver cord before me, and the curtains rose. Beside me was a dressing gown in a pastel pink I liked very much, and I slipped into it. Taking a breath to compose myself, I carefully made my way down the tunnel, out of the alcove and into the main room once more.
The "man in black," as I have called him, was sitting at his organ, writing what had to be music. He began to play; haunting, searing, sweet and dissonant sounds all combined. He stopped again to write. The next time he played, I began to creep quietly toward the boat, hoping I might leave the house of this madman without attracting his attention.
"Larisa," he called, turning to me, "you're awake, my dear."
I gulped, turning around to face my captor. From where I was I could not see his face clearly, but his voice told me everything that I could have wanted to know.
"Angel?"
"No, Larisa," he said gently, rising from his organ and coming over to me with surprising agility, "I am not an Angel, a fairy nor a genie, and I am not a Phantom, either. I am a man; my name is Erik."
