I do not Own The Phantom of the Opera
00000000 From the diary of the famous Blake, Executioner 0000000
They call me Blake.
No last name; simply Blake.
It's not a lie.
My name, to be honest, is Blake. Alivia Blake.
They know me as a monster hunter—the best in my field.
This, too, is a truth, the whole truth.
But they think I am a man.
No.
But I never claimed it. I merely… gave the impression, and did not correct their conclusions.
Why would I do this?
Well, these are the 1800s, a time when men hold the power.
Most women here are content with that, but in my life it wasn't always so.
I was born in the year 2087.
Impossible, you're thinking, and I did too, at first, but I didn't have time for incredulity. I had to adapt, to survive.
Well, seven years ago, I was walking home from work—I was a junior detective at a supernatural; investigative firm in an age when the things that go bump in the night were legal. Funny, they all got so tame when they went mainstream, but it wasn't always so. The job of the firm I was in researched supernatural cases, providing lawyers for when the supernaturals were being persecuted, hunting down the evil ones and… exterminating them when they turned evil.
Yeah, I did that too.
I was a regular Anita Blake, but without all the messy sex.
Whatever.
I was a seventeen-year-old who read too much and fought the bad guys.
'Course, Anita Blake was just fiction, even in my world, in the time when the old legends came out.
I loved the fact that I had the same last name as the trigger-happy superhero, and hoped I'd be as good an Executioner.
That would be my codename, I thought, one day.
Yeah.
Well, whatever.
The year was 2104.
Times were good.
I was second in my class at the Academy, the bosses thought I had real potential in the field, and the only thing I lacked was love.
Not that I even understood the concept.
It's not that I'm not a feeling person.
Boss said my one failing was feeling compassion for the monsters I fought.
It's just… I never really had family to show me those things.
Ma was a space pioneer; went down when something went wrong up in the deep dark.
Dad was a Physicist—blew himself up.
Mom died when I was seven, dad, when I was four.
I'd been with my crazy aunt ever since, and she preferred talking to the dead.
Probably the only way she'd noticed me is if I got shot and my ghost decided to pay a visit.
Well, then it happened. I think I got hit by a car, at least, with the signs, that's what should have been happening.
Pressure, pain, bright lights… darkness.
Then suddenly I'm in this strange place.
My hometown, Monteville New York circa 1874.
I had to learn.
My language courses down at the Academy helped out, and I didn't want to be some ignored little doormat like the other women of this time. So I cut short my long, curly auburn hair, stole some men's clothes and bound my already disappointingly small chest, and applied a few special makeup tricks.
In the town, I came upon a massacre.
Turns out the supernatural didn't always just "want to live in peace".
Vamps had killed everyone.
Positive. I acquired money, clothes, things I could sell, and gave the dead a proper burial.
And it was then I found my calling.
To humans, I'd be Blake; back home, people at work usually called me by my last name anyway.
But to the evil ones, I was simply… Executioner.
I had the training.
I had the firepower.
And now, I'm the best.
Not to brag—it's jut the truth.
The year now is 1880, and I have been called to Paris, France on a rather strange case of haunting.
The Garnier Opera House, it appears they are plagued by a Phantom of sorts.
I am twenty-seven years old this year; still a virgin.
I'm unmarried; well, I can't let my secret get out.
No family.
No husband.
No children or lovers.
Nothing to show for my life except hollow wealth and a reputation.
After all this time, I feel old, though I know I'm relatively young.
No, it's just my heart that's old.
I find, after all this time… I'm lonely.
And I've decided to keep a log.
Maybe after this case I can settle down, maybe… be Alivia again.
Maybe this can be my last.
I've been less careful lately, missing my softer side.
In all this time my thick hair has grown back, and on working days I work it up in a tight weave, wrap it, and hide it under a hat.
It's become one of the eccentricities of the Executioner.
Only my enemies know the truth, those with such advanced senses. But I've been able to hide it from most of them, with men's cologne.
Sometimes on days off, I let down my hair, put on a dress, and transform.
I am no longer the harsh, cold, aloof, hardened Executioner on these days.
I am Aliviana Murphy, wide-eyed, innocent younger sister.
It's nicer than I thought.
Maybe I'll retire after this one—it's big money.
Tomorrow, I leave my nice little Parisian apartment and go investigate the case.
After all, the managers paid for the best.
Tell me what you think.