She hates me. I'm ugly. No, I'm grotesque. If I was ugly, I might stand a chance. But even my mother hates me. He is good looking – no denying that, and rich. What am I? I have no money, I don't look good, where as he is the Victome de Chagny. Why should she; a stunningly beautiful, highly talented soprano even look at me, a lowly deformed gyspy?
Pity
I don't want to be pitied.
All I want is to be treated as an equal – treated as a human.
To be loved… by her
But that will never happen.
Yet…
Yes she still kissed me. Is that love?
No, of course it's not. How can anyone love me? It's impossible.
But I still hoped.
Only to have my hoped shattered.
Her kiss was as sweet as I imagined.
Yet it had a sour edge to it.
She did not mean it.
She only did it because it would save her beloved boyfriend's life.
I should have killed him anyway.
But she was trusting me.
I couldn't do it if she was trusting me, no matter how much I hate him, and they hate me.
The love of my life – the only woman I have ever loved, hates me.
But I love her.
It's more than love.
Infatuation, obsession.
I didn't love her…
I was obsessed with her.
Wax figures, little models.
To a stranger – to someone normal, it would be terrifying.
But not for me.
But…
I'm not normal.
I'm a monster.