Precious Things

By Mialana

She denied me. She's gone. She'll never return to her Angel again. And I gave her the world, but what does she do with it? SHE CRUSHES IT, that's what she damn well did! The little Delilah! Have she had no idea that it was only the beginning for us? But no, when she passed the point of no return by telling me that she had decided, she didn't choose me. She chose her little Vicomte, Raoul. I bet they are basking in each other's daytime while I sit here in the doomed shell of darkness.

It is now a little over a year since she left with her Prince Charming. Three hundred and eighty six days ago to the occasion. I now sit upon the bridge that we once sang our final duet together, where I asked her to let me follow her wherever she went. I begged her to release me from my dark solitude that had consumed my life, but she merely took off my mask to reveal my grotesque face to the world. I attempted to condemn her with me for eternity in my catacombs, yet her beloved felt the need to rescue her. I made her try to save him by buying his life over her love for him. If she chosen her love for him then I would have killed him, then set her free. Yet if she chose to save his life then she would be my eternal bride while he lived above without her for all eternity. But she got both of her wishes, both of their freedom and lives to live in happiness forever. What do I get, an opera house that is now in ruins. I feel worn and distraught. I miss my beautiful Angel. I was her Angel of Music and this is how she repays me!

I don't understand that word sometimes. That "L" word, the word that is supposed to mean, "A feeling of strong attachment induced by that which delights or commands admiration." Commands admiration… I did do that of her; I felt and still feel strongly attached to her. I did not only command her admiration I demanded it from her. I am alone again…


The 387th Day

As I wandered the bright-mirrored hallways of the shelled Opera House I began to remember the song that they once sang that seemed to mock and ridicule me.

"Masquerade,

Leering satyrs,

Peering eyes…

Masquerade,

Run and hide-

But a face will still

Pursue you!"

My face! It still haunts me at every glance, although I have had the time to adjust to seeing myself in the mirror without any form of concealment, such as a mask. I have been alone for so long that I don't really need to hide from anyone like I used to. I had tried to venture out into public, but as I now have no form of any salary I had no way of taking in the luxuries that the normal do.

Every three weeks or so, Madame Giry will come here to provide me with food, news, and some new form of entertainment other than my music. Sometimes she gives me books and sometimes she gives me a canvas with some paints or pastels, she says "as a designer, you should share your images of the world with the rest of the globe." I wish that I could do that. The first three canvases that she gave me were damned with the impression of Christine on them. Followed by those I painted some horrifically graphic scenes where I was successful in murdering the Vicomte. One is of a rose, another with a woman's hand wearing the Swarovoski crystal ring that Christine gave to me as a reminder that she does not want my love for her. The rest of them are of myself as a normal person, with a normal face. Except for the one that I just started. It is of a woman of extreme beauty whom can make Christine look plain.

This woman has honeyed brown and blond hair, her hair is so brilliant it shines like the sun. Her lips are full and they pout like a heart, they are a deep rose red, almost as if she had been kissed. Her skin is a light gold, almost the color of an Indian, yet not too dark. But it's her eyes that have me captivated. Her eyes are the only things that she will ever share in common to Christine- they both have brown eyes. This woman though, has eyes that are as bright as the sun. Golden, like her hair; soft, like her slender frame; sweet like her face; yet fierce all at the same time.

The severe look in her eyes, I do not know where it comes from, but from the way that I have her immortalized on the canvas, shows that she is looking back at something that had happened to her (probably) that somewhat distresses her. This fair madden is someone whom I dream of that will accept me as the man I am inside, not the hideous gargoyle.

In time I can only hope that I can make it out into the world to find this true beauty that will make my dreams come true…


AN: Hello and thank you for reading the second chapter of my story. I hope that you all have enjoyed it thus this far.

I would like to thank Kirki and freely SPEAKING for complimenting the story. More on the way! Next chapter things start to pick up and we can finally get going!