Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera in any form, nor do I own any of its characters.
My life is not one I would have chosen had I been asked. I was not asked, however, and so must be content with the one I was given. It has not been an easy life, nor an especially pleasant one. I had no control over my beginnings, or the forces and conflicts which molded me. I can say honestly and with some pride, that as soon as I gained control of my existence, I was the master of it. I made the choices, good or ill, and the sweetness and bitterness that have resulted are my sole responsibility.
Where I once decried my solitary existence, I nowrecognize it as a friend. It has given me much time for reflection, and I know myself quite well. There are parts of my soul that were twisted and stunted years ago, and I know that there is nothing in this life that will make them whole. I have been called mad, and no doubt I am to some degree. It is a refined madness, however, and it allows me brilliant creativity, and a fully lucid and analytical mind. Where I once craved love and acceptance in the human world, I now understand that I am not capable of supporting such things. Selflessness is not in my nature. I must own, possess and control, and my passions run to anger and violence when I do not get my way. My deep distrust for humanity dictates that I must not give of myself, nor accept too much from another.
As an adult, I have made no true friendships. Antoinette did me great service in the months after the fire, misleading the authorities, and keeping me apprised of the manhunt. Herold betrayal still rankles, however merited it was at the time. And while she is a staunch ally, she is not a friend. Henri is a good man. On his visits to Paris he supplied me with the story of my infancy, most of which he had gleaned from servant's gossip. Our childhood friendship has never rekindled and he remains my faithful estate manager. Pere Simon, curiously enough, is the one man I do trust. As annoying as the little man its, I would trust him with my life. I do not call him friend, however. One's friends should not make one's fingers itch to strangle them. And so, I am still very much alone. I am resigned to it, and have come to terms with my solitary existence.
It is certain that I shall die without issue. That is how it should be. I would not pass on this legacy of anger and bitterness to another generation. One of Henri's brood will inherit the LeMauvoisin title and estate, and the name, at least, shall continue.
Me, I have come to an understaning with myself. I am quite comfortable with my devils. The past still haunts me, bitterly at times, yet the past is the path that has led me to the present. I am free to create, and my music fills L'Opera Eclectique, delighting the ear of the listener. This is a dream come true for me, one that I've labored for years to realize. Five buildings now stand in Paris, all of my design. They are beautiful things, each one a song in itself. The name Julien LeMauvoisin is becoming quite well known in the city. Yet, he refuses to be seen in public.
The Phantom of the Opera Populaire is still remembered, hated and hunted, even five years after he disappeared. The Comte LeMauvoisin, however, is above reproach and is well repected by Parisian society. The fools have never met me, but it matters not. I am a Comte, and therefore a highly respectable personage. I have certainly learned to laugh in the past five years.
Pere Simon will be pleased to know that I have finally completed my writing. I wonder what excuse he will use now when he comes to bother me? I'm sure he will think of something, as I suspect that he intends to plague me for the rest of my days.
In writing these final words, it has come to me that I should take one last trip to Rouen. I will take this recounting of my life with me when I go. There is a portrait of my mother there, hanging above the drawing room fireplace. If I carefully slit its backing just a little, these papers should fit quite nicely. It will be a perfect hiding place, and hopefully it will not be found for many years. It is fitting and proper that some future LeMauvoisin find it. Our family needs to be taken down a peg or two once in awhile. Learning about me should certainly do it. I chuckle at the thought.
My writing is at an end, thank all that is merciful. Blast you Pere Simon for causing me to start.
Finis
-Erik Le Fantôme de L'Opéra, également connu sous le nom de Julien LeMauvoisin