Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera House, or any of its characters.
The masquerade was a fiasco. For what purpose did I even attend? To intimidate? To threaten? Aside from the submission of my opera, which could have been done more effectively and discretely, I accomplished nothing. The fleeting sense of power I felt over the proceedings faded quickly when I saw the ring nestled between Christine's breasts. I reacted rashly, in a fury, snatching the loathsome thing from her, and frightening her once more, in the process. She gasped, and shrank from me. There was nothing left to do but flee, and even the effect of that was ruined, for the idiot Vicomte was right behind me. Obscured in smoke, we both dropped through the trap door. I still regret my rope missed its mark that night. I detest the Vicomte DeChagny to this day. If Christine had never existed, I would still hate him to the very depths of my being. Alas, Antoinette intervened before I could make another attempt, and she led the young fool to safety.
If Antoinette had allied herself with DeChagny, then my situation was desperate. While she knew little about me, she knew enough to cause me great difficulty. It must have been a difficult choice for her to make. Nonetheless, I have never forgiven her for her betrayal. I had no idea what she had told him, and the uncertainty was excruciating. I must act quickly, I felt, while there was still a chance for Christine and myself. Self-delusion is a pitiful thing.
Christine had returned to the dormitories during my absence, no doubt convinced that I was gone for good. Since my grand comeback at the Masquerade, it was impossible to see her in private, as she was never alone. A protective Vicomte even guarded the dormitory entrance as she slept. It was maddening. The days wore on, and I was no closer to my goal. Clearly, I could not go on waiting for an opportunity to meet with her. I would have to orchestrate one for myself. The plan I came up with was cruel, and insidious. It did not matter to me. I would have Christine. It did not matter what it cost either one of us.
And so, when the dolt fell asleep in his chair outside of the dormitory, the Angel came to Christine in her sleep. "You have not come to see me in a long time, Daughter", I whispered. Christine stirred. "Father?" She murmured. "Come to me, Christine, do not forget me. Come to me", I sang softly to her. Satisfied she'd heard the song, I slipped away before she awakened.
The trip to the cemetery was a long, tense one for me. I was grateful that she did not wish to talk to the driver, for I feared she would recognize my voice. We finally arrived, and as she began her progress to Gustav's tomb, I left the carriage, and made ready. What were my intentions? I wonder now. My judgment was clouded, and I'd ceased to reason out my actions. I meant to have Christine, and to my thinking, any means justified the end. It did not matter anymore about my title, or our music, not even my love for her. I was quite used to having my own way in every matter that pertained to my life. Yet, of late I had been repeatedly thwarted and rebuffed by Christine, her dear little Comte, and even by those petty junk dealers who now managed my opera. It was not to be borne, and I meant to take the situation back into my own hands. Starting that day. Starting with Christine. That day I meant to speak with her, uninterrupted. I would speak to her, and she would listen with her mind and with her soul. I would bend her, sway her, and she would understand that she belonged only to me. I cared not who she perceived me to be. I would have her on any terms.
It almost came to pass. I was a hair's breadth from realizing my desire. It began with me in complete control, so sure of the outcome of my plan. It ended with me pinned to the ground like a trapped animal, praying that DeChagny would have the nerve and the decency to kill me. To his credit, he would have ended it, save for Christine's intervention. "No", she had said, "Not this way." In what way, then, Christine, for God's sake, in what way would you finish it? I almost shouted the words to her in frustration and rage, but held my tongue, as they rode off together, leaving me beaten and humiliated. They would both pay, I vowed.
It appeared that Piangi would not be playing Don Juan, after all. I smiled in anticipation, already planning ahead.
There is no point in describing the disaster of Don Juan Triumphant. The mere thought of writing it here sickens me. The images have played themselves over and over again in my head, mercilessly clear and precise. I soared as an angel as I performed with Christine, tasting triumph, so sure that the prize was within my grasp. Unmasked, I descended into hell, a maddened beast, an animal bent on destroying all he held dear.
And in the end, when I had truly burned all my bridges, it only took one kiss to bring me to my senses. I looked into Christine's eyes, and they reflected back the thing I had become. Clarity washed over me then, and I knew that it was over. I could not bear to look at her, I could not bear to have her near me. How could I, when I knew that all she would ever feel for me was pity? The very thought was an agony. And so, I let them go. They wasted no time in leaving me, Christine and the Vicomte, eager to be rid of the monster, and eager to start their lives together. The monster, and that is truly what I had become, felt as if his life was ending. In a sense, it was. Tears coursed down my face, as I looked around my home for the last time.
I knew that I was being hunted, but there was something that the blood thirsty mob could not suspect. In the years I'd spent under the opera house, I'd had ample time to find escape routes, and to prepare other living quarters. I had always suspected that someday I might be forced to flee my home, and one does not take chances in the underground. My life here was finished. It was time to move on. Everything I'd aspired to now lie in ruins, and it was of my own doing. The bitterness of it burned in my throat.
The mob sounded closer, and I knew I could linger no longer. I shattered the mirror which blocked my escape route, took a deep breath and stepped over the thresh hold. It was over.
A/N: I'm rather glad this portion of the piece is done. I felt as if I was just recounting the story, toward the end. It had been my intention to fill in the blanks left in the movie, but it was getting tedious, even for me. I'm continuing on for awhile. Erik does exist post-opera house.