Part 1: Erik
Erik muttered to himself as he stalked through some of the passageways that were deserted. The passageways of his Opera House. O yes the shows were on again. New managers, no money though. No box 5. No nothing. He hadn't asked for them. He hadn't asked for them as there was no point. There was no point and there was no Christine. There was no Christine as she was happy with the Vimcote de Chagny. There was no Daragoa either. There was no Daragoa as Erik had almost drowned him. Erik had almost drowned him as he was with the Vimcote de Chagny whom Erik hated and hated very much. The Daragoa had been with the Vimcote de Chagny as Erik had abducted Christine. Erik had abducted Christine as he loved her like he could love no other.
"Here we go again," Erik muttered to himself.
Same old self torment. Same old self blame. Same old everything. Why could he not die? He didn't know why. He just couldn't die yet. He couldn't bring himself to kill himself. Why? Probably because he no longer had the mental strength left to even hurt himself. Why? He didn't know the answer to that one. Why? He didn't know the answer to that either. There was no Madame Giry or Meg Giry around either. He winced as he heard the song beginning. Why? Because the person singing it was a poor singer. Why? Because no one could match Christine Daae's voice.
"Why do you increase your torment by just asking yourself "why?"?" Erik asked himself.
Probably because he had nothing left to do. With Christine gone he'd lost everything. Even what little sanity he had left. He hadn't even finished his Don Juan, his lifework. He didn't have the heart for it. Slowly he slipped back to his house by the lake via the Communists Road. There he picked up his hat, and mask, and cloak. Slipping his mask on he settled the hat so that it would cast a shadow over much of his face. Then he swung his cloak round himself to hide how painfully thin he was. Then he left the Opera House to go and see a dear friend of his. The dear Daragoa.
Part 2: Daragoa.
The Daragoa, or the Persian as some called him, walked around his apartment. He couldn't understand it. Why was he suddenly so nervous? His thoughts as always drifted over to Erik. He'd never seen the man so broken. He didn't doubt that Erik would die soon; he'd probably die of love. Christine had destroyed his heart…a heart that had already been partially broken. Although in front of the Vimcote he'd called Erik a monster, and in some way he was, he was a broken monster.
After all that Erik had done, he still couldn't help but pity him. Erik was a genius, that was indeed true. No one could deny that either. But not even being a genius could keep one's sanity. Erik had always longed to be loved. His habit of bragging about his tricks no doubt gave him a feeling of being loved…for a short while. Yet not even that would last for ever.