Think of me,
Think of me fondly
When we've said goodbye
Remember me,
Once in a while,
Please promise me you'll try
When you find that once again
You long to take your heart back and be free
If you ever find a moment
Spare a thought for me
I'm thinking of you, Christine. It is all I can do.
The church clock chimed midnight and yet a figure still set in the graveyard, cloaked in the swirling mist. Dressed entirely in black he was illuminated by only two burning torches bracketed to a crypt a little behind him. A gem glinted, clasped in his leather clad gloves. A blue diamond ring, held to the stem of a single blood red rose by a piece of black ribbon.
The phantom stared at the gravestone, his trademark ivory mask now replaced by a black on. A mask of mourning for the women he loved. It was too late to tell her now, how much he loved her, she was gone, the truth revealed to late. Christine was dead, killed by her own hand. Her longing for what she had let go of so long ago.
The Phantom's appearance had stayed the same despite the forty years it had been since that last parting kiss and yet inside he had changed. His heart had changed. Christine's love had transformed him, no more did he have a lust for flesh and blood, no longer was his heart cold, made of ice. Now instead of killing he let a salty tear squeeze from his eye, a silent prayer that God would look after Christine up in heaven.
He stood up, his black cloak whipping around him in the wind, his oiled back hair unmoving as it always had been. He saddled his horse sprightly, digging his foot into its side making it trot off at a good speed. The horse's shoes clattered across the cobbles as he headed back towards the opera house. After the fire he had moved back to his old haunt, his home for most of his life. No-one had bothered to look hard for him, assuming that he had been killed in the fire that had swept through the entire theatre, or had killed himself out of a longing for Christine. They did not realise that the flames had not reached the underground caverns where the phantom lived; they had been saved until now.
The opera house had been brought by two gentlemen wishing to renovate it and start the opera once more. They were foolish, didn't believe all that people said about the Phantom that had killed so many when the theatre had been used previously. They had come in removing the rubble and dust from the place and had plans to redo the gold-leafing, plans which would cost millions to put into action, but they were determined. Even when they received an envelope sealed with red wax in the shape of a skull they did not believe the rumours. That would change very soon though, the phantoms lust for blood was growing once more.