Before Act 1 began, I gazed disinterestedly out from behind my hiding place in Box Five. All the Paris elite, parading before each other their golden trinkets like spoiled children. The wealthy women in their silks, furs and jewels along with husbands in debonair evening clothes. The affluent murmur of pleasantries, jealous glances and petty gossip, once again. Oh Garnier! Garnier! Did we truly labor so long just to build a large playhouse for society? I had yet to hear a decent choral rendition on the gilded stage although the orchestra was passable. Well, the Opera was young yet and I comforted myself with pride for the magnificent possibilities in this building. Someday, there would be a gifted voice upon that stage to rend tears from the audience's eyes.
Directly across from me, I observed a couple completely absorbed in each other. The young lady was a typically beautiful, aristocratic woman with upswept, blonde curls and he the exact opposite with Parisian dark good looks. Covertly, he whispered what were no doubt declarations of undying love to her. She responded by gazing deeply into his adoring eyes. At one point, her gloved hand caressed his cheek in awe as though he were a young god. Fiercely ashamed at myself for gawking into the private affairs of these young people, I simultaneously warred with the inexcusable rage tightening my chest. Never in this life would I know the intimacy of such intense feelings between two people. Doomed to merely observe stonily - like a lifeless gargoyle. Yet just to experience once how it felt; to know the touch of a woman's hand lovingly upon my face, her eyes looking into mine. Just once. No, I reminded myself sternly. I had accepted my solitary existence decades ago. Gratefully, I brought my attention to the stage as the orchestra began the Overture but not before I enviously glanced across the theatre towards the couple once more.
At times, I would trudge the never-ending stairs to the roof of the Opera. Every so often, even the Phantom required fresh air. As I unlatched the door to the roof this evening, I realized with pleasure that it was raining. Rain meant an almost assured solitude. Wrapping my cloak around my body for warmth against the cold, I pulled my fedora lower upon my forehead. Thus prepared, I stepped out into the elements. There was an appropriately ghostly mist hovering above the roof which made the dim lights of Paris soft.
After investigating the perimeter of the rooftop to be positive I was completely alone, I impulsively removed my mask and slipped it inside my cloak. Emboldened, I closed my eyes as I lifted my chin to the Heavens and felt the delicious sensation of raindrops upon my naked face. All in my life which I have had seen and learned, this was an utterly new experience for me. Never before had I felt rain on my face. The exhilaration of pleasure overtook me and impulsively I spread my arms wide to embrace it.
The fire crackled in the hearth before me as I read. Absently stroking Ayesha who purred on my lap, I lifted my head listening to the silence. So quiet, almost like a tomb. Quite accustomed to seclusion, in fact preferring it - I wondered at my sudden inquietude. Since burying myself underneath the Opera House, I had seldom permitted introspection. It was all too tiresome and would not change my circumstances. It had not before bothered me to remain left to myself - with my experiments, music and the occasional prank as the Phantom of the Opera.
Yet all of a sudden, I felt stifled in this room.
Assuming it to be lack of exercise, I stood and stretched luxuriously. Ayesha meowed in annoyance at this disturbance of her nap and in apology I scratched her behind her ear. "Well, my love, I do believe I shall have a walk." It had been over a fortnight since my antics with the corps de ballet in Box Five. In all truth, the ballerinas had come looking for me and I had merely obliged their wishes. "No gentlemen ever denies a lady, now does he?" I smiled wryly. Simply to disrupt the monotony, I really should investigate what terrible tales were being circulated about the mysterious Opera Ghost. After all, I had my reputation to uphold.
My salary was due regardless and I would request another meeting with Poligny in Box Five to discuss the situation with my reluctant, frightened benefactor. A cursory glance toward the clock on the mantle revealed that it was still very early morning so I should not meet any undesired company in the hallways. Musing as I dressed, I wondered when people would realize that time was a mere illusion. Illusion was an art at which I had always excelled. Unbidden came a long ago recollection, "I can make anything disappear, if I want to..."
Taking my hat and cloak off the rack, I suddenly stopped at the door with a sense of foreboding. This exasperating uneasiness that harried my thoughts lately was increasing with sense of dread. Time with the gypsies had given me a partial belief in superstition and omen. The odd hesitation was new to me because I had never felt threatened here in my haven below ground. I fully knew that I was aptly prepared to defend myself and my home against intruders if necessary. So why this uncertainty and indecision to leave the house? "Stay here where you are safe.", the Siren whispered.
My hand remained upon the stone yet I could not exert the pressure to open it. I must have stood there for many long minutes examining this unusual doubt which made me powerless in its grip. So strong was this emotion that I realized my hands had begun to shake.
Disgusted by my weakness, I defiantly opened the door and stepped into the passage. Really, I was getting maudlin in my old age. After all, what was there to fear?