Disclaimer: I don't own the Phantom of the Opera, or any of it's characters. Like, as if anyone was actually wondering if I did, or something.
I was barely aware of the world outside of the Opera Populaire. I paid little attention to the politics and pretensions of the general populace. The opera was my world. What went on outside of its doors did not have any impact on my life, or so I thought. Had I been the least bit interested, or wise, I could have picked up any of the newspapers left about the building, and learned that the opera house had been sold. As it was, when the two scrap dealers, Andre and Firman came to claim their new prize, I was caught completely off guard. I sat secluded in my private box above the stage, observing the clamor of introductions below me. I rapidly assessed my predicament. The two men appeared to be out of their league. Hopefully, they would remain in the back ground, and allow LeFevre to continue in charge. LeFevre, however, had yet another surprise for me, and for the new owners, as well.
The spineless fool stood in front of everyone, and tendered his resignation! Just like that, he was leaving the opera house. The news caused the clamor and confusion to increase, and LaCarlotta, piqued at seeing someone else bethe center of attention, threw a temper tantrum. All was in chaos. In the midst of all of this, a new patron, the young Vicomte DeChagny was announced, further adding to the din. The Vicomte gave a rather predictable and pompous speech about his love of the arts, and was largely ignored save for a few admiring ballet rats. It would have all been quite amusing, if I hadn't so incensed at LeFevre's defection. LeFevre wisely announced his immediate departure. If I had gotten my hands on him, he would have retired in quite a different fashion, and he knew it. He so feared my retribution, that he left the country entirely. It is well that he did.
The chaos gradually faded, and the oh-so-fashionable Vicomte departed, virtually unnoticed. It appeared as if these two new dolts who nominally owned my opera house would at least temporarily be managing it. I groaned at the thought. I had invested so much time in training LeFevre. Now there were two of them to deal with. I was sure they'd never been told of the existence of the Opera Ghost. It would not have been a strong selling point. How was I now going to arrange Christine's first appearance?
Out of the corner of my eye, I observed two of our cleaning women surreptitiously stuffing cotton in their ears. Recognizing what that meant, I glanced over at Carlotta and saw, indeed that she'd allowed herself to be coaxed into singing. A slight smile crept onto my face, and as soon as she began, I was out of my seat, and making my way to the scaffolding above the stage. Buquet was nowhere to be seen, so I waited until the Harpy had moved into place, and then simply released a backdrop on her. It was not intended to harm her, though I cared little if it did. It crashed to the stage, pinning her to the floor. Her shrieks were indistinguishable from her singing, as far as I could discern, and when she was helped to her feet, she was livid. LaCarlotta gathered her little entourage around her, and left, promising never to return. No one seemed upset about that except for our Andre and Firman. They, of course were left with the unenviable responsibility of finding a replacement for Carlotta. As I hoped, Antoinette stepped forward, and offered Christine. They bid her to sing, and she enchanted everyone.
Since that day, I have made a point of keeping abreast of the goings on in the outside world. The newspapers have described every aspect of the following months in vivid, and often lurid detail. I do not wish to dissect those months of madness. The fiasco is still fresh in my mind, and I care not to dwell upon it in depth.
I will say that Christine did perform that night. I was unable to watch her debut, as the two idiots who took over management of my opera allowed the young DeChagny to sit in box five. I heard her, though, and our performance was an absolute triumph. I left a single, perfect red rose, bound in black ribbon for Antoinette to present to Christine from me. I was so proud of my Diva. I felt free to begin formal courtship of her, now. It is what I had been waiting for.
Who knows what might have happened if DeChagny had not recognized Christine? When he came to her dressing room after the performance, I could barely restrain myself from entering the room and strangling him to death. He touched her, and held her, and she smiled at him with such fondness and delight. How could she? I felt the sour taste of betrayal in the back of my throat. It was then that my judgment began to go awry. Anger and jealousy overpowered caution, and I knew I had to act quickly, if I was to keep Christine as my own. As soon as the boy left, I took my first steps towards the insanity that would possess me for the ensuing months. I made myself known to her. I knew she wasn't ready, but I did it anyway. At that time I could think of no other way. I had decided to make her mine entirely that night. I would possess her so completely, that no one could take her away from me. And so I led her deep beneath the cellars of the opera house.
Of course, I failed. She was not ready. I confused and frightened the poor child. What was worse, she saw my face, long before I was ready to show her. I should have warned her not to touch my mask, to leave it alone. The mask holds me together, keeps me composed and strong. Without it, in the presence of another human, I am undone. With my unmasking, the situation began to slip even farther out of my control.
I returned Christine to her world, convincing myself that I still would prevail. I contacted DeChagny, the owners, and dear Carlotta, who of course would not stay gone from the opera house. Il Muto was about to be performed, and I felt that Christine would be perfect as the star. Carlotta needed a lesson in humility, and the audience needed a respite from her screeching. I instructed Andre and Firman as such, as well as demanding my private box be returned to me. There was of course the matter of unpaid salary, and I addressed that as well. DeChagny was warned politely to stay away from Christine, and LaCarlotta was impolitely told that soon she would be without a job.
The newspapers describe quite accurately what transpired on the night that I found that my orders had been ignored. I found my box occupied by the aristocratic ninny, and Carlotta was onstage, strutting and posturing , while my Christine pantomimed at her side. Enraged, I interrupted the opera, using the quirks in its acoustics to amplify my voice. It was not enough. I had to teach them a lesson. The lesson was, of course, Joseph Buquet. I can't think of a more deserving individual to assist me in my demonstration. The man was a foul disgusting thing, who evoked no sympathy in me as I hunted him amidst the ropes and scaffolding above the stage. It was the first time I'd killed since my escape from the carnival. I found it to be quite easy, and very nearly enjoyable.
I had not anticipated visitors on the rooftop that night. I hid in the shadows, and listened to the two of them tear my heart apart. I had just killed a man, and would have loved to kill DeChagnyas well. I could not, not with Christine there. Instead, I had to listen to her frightened description of me,horror and pity blending together in her voice. I shivered in misery as they professed their love for another, my mind reeling with disbelief. It was almost a relief when they left together. For the first time in decades I wept.
In retrospect, I believe that the sane part of my mind knew, that night on the rooftop, that there was no hope. I had lost Christine to someone who could offer her more than just music and darkness. My obsession had become such, however, that I could not see the inevitable. I was losing control, and I desperately needed it back. That is what it all became, in the end…a question of control.
For the next few months, little was seen of Christine. She appeared daily for ballet practice, avoiding any area of the opera house that might bring her in contact with me. Always, after practice, the insipid boy would be waiting for her. They would quickly leave, disappearing into his waiting coach, and out of my reach.
It was during this period that I came across an interesting item in one of the newspapers I'd begun to follow. The article announced that the Comte LeMauvoisin of Rouen, had passed away after a long illness. He had survived all of his children, the piece went on to say, and his title was likely to be settled on one Henri LeMauvoisin, a distant relative.
The swine had survived for all of these years! Old feelings swirled up from the depths of my soul, darekning my vision. He had caused the suffering and death of his wife and all but one of his children The one child who had lived had been relegated to a life of imprisonment and torture, without a twinge of conscience on the part of the Comte LeMauvoisin. I prayed with all of my heart that his last years had been painful ones.
I was about to toss the paper aside, when an idea struck me. Perhaps Christine fancied the trappings of an aristocrat! Perhaps that was the attraction she felt for the boy. If the title of Vicomtess so pleased her, how would she feel about being a Comtess? I closed my eyes, and smiled in relief. I had it in my power to make it so. I did not even have to work for it. It was mine as a birthright! I set about composing a letter to Henri, and made preparations for my journey to Rouen.
I traveled by night, and slept during the day. I had not spent so much time outside in the world in years, and I did not like it. I felt exposed and vulnerable. It was with great relief that I finally arrived at the LeMauvoisin estate. Henri himself met me at the door. He had been convinced that he was going to encounter an imposter intent on defrauding the estate. Therefore, he treated me in a most confrontational manner until I removed my mask for him. I had never been shy about my deformity with Henri, and I felt quite comfortable even now. My face was the only identification Henri required. He burst into tears, and threw his arms around me. Ah, Henri! My cousin, my teacher, my friend! How good it was to see him again.
In the next few days, Henri contacted a solicitor, and we began the process of declaring me alive once more. My father had made it known that I had drowned myself in a fit of despair over my hideous face. Henri said that the swine had made a great show of his grief, and at the time, there was great sympathy for his misfortune. He hadeventually remarried, but his wife gave him no living children, andin timewent the way of my mother.The great foolhad gambled on producing a more suitable heir, andhe'd lost.
Henri himself had married, and had sired a brood of healthy, noisy children. His wife, Eloise, was a kindly little woman, who cheerfully welcomed me, and endeavored to keep her offspring from driving me mad. Neither Henri or Eloise seemed especially concerned that they would be losing the chance of inheriting the LeMauvoisin title. It was enough, Henri explained, to know that I was indeed alive, and returned to them.
I divulged little of my life after the abduction. It was something I could not share, even with Henri. What could I tell him, anyway? Words would merely trivialize what I had experienced. There was no way to express the true horror of my past. I did speak briefly of my present life at the opera, but even then remained reticent about details. I preferred to keep to my room, and after our initial reacquaintence, I saw little of Henri and Eloise. I suppose it was churlish of me, but I am by nature reclusive, and cannot bear the companionship of others for very long. I spent the greater part of my time in Rouen in solitude, putting the finishing touches on my first opera. It was written for Christine, and it had to be perfect. I was very pleased with the finished score. Don Juan Triumphant was everything I'd intended it to be.
Eventually my existence became official. Henri vouched for me, and the local court seemed satisfied. Henri was trusted and well respected in the region, and as he had much to lose by my return, and nothing to gain, the feeling was that there could be no trickery involved. Julien LeMauvoisin was alive, and he was now a Comte. He was a very wealthy Comte, as Henri had managed the estate quite well. My father had spent the last years of his life immersed in madness, confined to his room. Henri had been the sole manager of the LeMauvoisin fortune, and it had grown enormously. I now could afford anything I wished.
Unfortunately , the only thing I truly wished for could not be purchased. I returned to Paris, intent on regaining my control of the opera house, and removing the Vicomte's influence over Christine. It was imperative that she should perform in my opera. She was the reason it existed. With that thought, I smiled wryly. It was rapidly becoming apparent to me that she had become the reason that I existed, as well. We'd put a little time and distance between us of late. No doubt she'd had a chance to think things over. Perhaps she'd be more receptive to me now, after my long silence. Had she missed me? I suddenly found myself longing to see her again.
I had returned home just in time for the Opera Populaire's traditional New Year's masquerade. I had never attended one before, but determined that this was an event that I could not miss. I had the perfect costume in mind. I would dress myself as the Red Death. Had I been thinking clearly, I would never have chosen such flamboyant attire, or made such a spectacle of myself. Of course, had I been thinking clearly, I would not have attended the masquerade at all. I had become imprudent and incautious. All of my years of self-protective anonymity had been tossed away. I was out of control. I can see that now, but at the time it seemed perfectly reasonable.