Ann: He was gone! I raced all over the Opera, searching in dusty rooms and even closets. I ran through the first four cellars until I was out of breath, and then came to the edge of the lake. I noticed that Ceaser was gone too and I screamed his name. Clutching my side in agony I dredged through the water.
His gondola was standing halfway there, as if he had jumped out in a hurry. I rowed myself along to the gate and opened it with my skeleton key. He was not there either, in fact, he was nowhere within the Opera! His lair was crowed with papers and trash, and I realized the true extent of his obsession with Christine.
I had not been in his home for over eleven years, and so I set to work cleaning up. It was all I could think of doing until he returned from where ever it was he had went.
He did not return however, until three months later.
Erik: I left. I just left. I couldn't stay behind and watch Christine with that bastard. She was all doe-eyed and happy, and here I was drowning in misery. I packed only my necessary belongings; my Don Juan, some clothes and money, paper, ink and pencils.
I took Ceaser and headed south. I didn't know where I was going and it was hard to see through my tear soaked eyes. I ended up in some sleazy tavern with a pint of cheap beer and my Opera. I began to write, write as I had never had inspiration to write before. I wrote about how Don Juan fell in love, and was betrayed by that love.
I wrote an intricate plot about changing identities, and then was forced to leave the tavern at closing time. I slept that night under the stars, and wondered why, of all the millions of cooing girls that Raoul could have, why did he want the only woman I had ever loved, and who had, at one time, loved me.
I knew that love had been misguided, and I couldn't blame Christine for her fear, but she had never given me a chance. I wanted to explain myself, to tell her all the things that now weighed heavily upon my mind. I still loved her, but I knew that I could not force love on her. If she wanted to be with that nitwit, it was her choice.
But Dammit, I wanted her so bad! It was a fitful night, and I awoke unrested. I took Ceaser down to the local market, and bought some better tasting alcohol and some wine, and then found a soft spot on a grassy hill.
I let my horse wander as I wrote more, and drank. Soon I fell asleep, and dreamed of Christine. I dreamed that she came to me, dressed as Amnita, and we danced. It was a sultry, soft dance and she confessed her love, and then I awoke. I drowned my sorrows in more alcohol, and then led Ceaser north, or south, I can't really remember which way we went.
I came to the border that led into Slovenia, and as I crossed that small country I composed my Opera and began to think about life. It was the first time I'd ever been outside France, and I enjoyed it. I toured the ancient castles, I wondered through foreign villages. It amazed me how beautiful the world was, and then I came to Italy.
Italy had the finest architecture, the most beautiful scenery, and the tastiest pasta. I spent weeks going from one museum to the next, from each cathedral to every building. I even drew a few pictures, but mostly I wrote. I wrote about love, and losing love, and consummating love, and I wrote about Don Juan being Triumphant. Instead of losing his love and being sent to hell for his violent sins, I wrote that he and Amnita shared love, and he changed his wanton ways to become a respectful man.
I often sat for hours by the shores of Italy and watched the young couples. They say France is the empire of love, the place for lovers, but truly Italy is the capital of romance. A person will fall in love in Italy and marry in France. I had realized through my journey that not many people stared at me. I moved along as any other, and I was not ridiculed save for a few times.
I felt as if I could be free, not bound and chained like back at the Opera Populaire. I enjoyed my time, but alas, one bright and calm day as I was enjoying my brunch, I wrote the last few notes of Don Juan. It was over, I was finished. I felt a sudden dead drop in my heart as I realized the masterpiece I had been working on for so many decades, was complete.
Don Juan was Triumphant, and now his story was ready for the stage. To be honest I didn't want to leave, I wanted to travel further, to visit more buildings, but my home beckoned in my heart, and I wanted to know what had happened those few months I was gone.
My tired horse and I traveled solemnly towards that prison, and I found myself once again lost within bottles of alcohol. I returned two weeks before the grand New Year's Bal Masque, and in a drunken haze I bought several yards of red fabric and began to sew a costume. I'd show them who the boss really was, and I'd let them see me for the first time.
I wanted to get Christine back, she belonged to me and no one else. Most of all I wanted them to see Don Juan, and I'd make them perform my play even if I had to shove my sword up those Managers asses. It was going to be grand, a real Bal Masque complete with entertainment in the form of
... Red Death...