The lonely die young.

From ants to humans, all seem to be affected by the phenomenon called loneliness.

Thus, it does make one wonder how someone could survive twenty…no, thirty. No, forty. More than forty years of being mostly, if not completely, alone. No group of friends to do sports and chatter with; No father or mother to ask for new dresses or vacations away from the bustling city; No actual coworkers, or whatever the word "actual" means;

And, no romance.

Can such person actually exist? They must be living in complete darkness. A prisoner perhaps – no…they have other prisoners to talk to. Strange.

But alas, such people do exist. We don't hear about them because they choose not to be known. Sometimes though, some of them takes pride on being known, outlandish their reason for prominence may be.

Such is the case for Le Fantôme de l'Opéra, an entity rumored to haunt the Palais Garnier and all of its workers.

As his alias suggests, he is a ghost, or at least, people believe he's a ghost. You see, people are still much too superstitious, and those who are not, are possibly no better. They believe that his actions are no more than pranks from those who have no other outlet for their frustrations. He laughs at both.

The Phantom dwells below the surface, within the lower cellars of the opera house, and darkness, it sure is.

In his time living under the heart of theater arts in France, he had found many activities to keep himself, in lack of a better word, functioning. He had toured every known and unknown corners of the house, made smaller buildings within, and possibly his favorite activity, participated in the creative decision-making in operas and the like – albeit from the shadows.

Recently though, he had taken someone as a student, a first even for himself. That student was Christine Daae, a soprano in the chorus. The daughter of a renowned Swedish violinist, Gustave Daae.

He had listened to M. Daae before, and was quite delighted to hear that his daughter, who performed with him occasionally, was to join the opera house after the man died.

There was a lot of hope for the future of the opera house! That is, until he heard the girl sing.

It was quite a shame. He questioned if she learned anything at all from her time at the conservatoire. But his hope did not falter, and the longer he listened, the more her potential manifested in his ears, "rusty" her voice may be that time. And so, he had the strangest idea, or a stroke of genius, as he preferred to call it.

He will tutor Christine Daae.

He followed her for days, trying to gain as much information that he might be able to use for the absolute certainty of her acceptance.

And there it was! He had eavesdropped on her conversation with a certain Mamma Valerius that shelters the young soprano.

"Angel of music."

The poor girl believes in a promise her father made to her as a child, that when he ascends to heaven, he will send the angel of music to guide her.

The very next week of his discovery, he taught her from the walls of her dressing room as her angel of music.

For three months, the girl would appear in the opera house hours before anyone else to receive his tutelage. And in those three months, he was overjoyed by the warm company.

And there was no doubt.

There was no way he could be wrong.

It was love.

"Angel?"

"Yes, Christine?" he answered with the softest voice.

"I'm sorry I could not keep the role."

He sighed. He too had not expected her to be insistent. For her whole time in the opera house, she had been quite passive, accepting whatever is handed to her. Perhaps the grandeur of the opportunity has freed her from former restrictions.

"It is no fault of yours, Christine."

"But –"

"I shall hear no more. Rest, child. We have much to do," and so he left.

For once, the Phantom of the Opera was bothered. Hannibal was supposed to be Christine's debut. But she had to come back before the main event of his plan even took place!

He had tried the common tricks on Faivre; soaked her copy of the libretto, placed bugs on her belongings, and many more that would normally work on people much like her. Just yesterday he had ripped the costumes made for her. And yet, the damned woman seemed to be more and more eager to perform, an idea he could not fully comprehend. Was it the money? But she's rich! Was it the attention? She's the altra prima donna in a renowned opera company in Paris!

In a way, he admired her will. But there is another feeling he could not fully describe.

During the rehearsals, he watched from the usual box five, whose placement in the auditorium made him seem nothing but a part of the shadows. From there, he took note of all that is lacking in the performance. From the laziness of the actors, the single wrong note played by a member of the orchestra, and to the questionably positioned props. He is quite observant for these things, certainly more than an average customer, or even a patron.

When the scene in which the main characters are to be introduced started, he straightened up. He quickly recognized the new object of his anger, Faivre, who came into the scene with a triumphant expression on her face. She wore a red gown adorned with gold and shimmering pieces of emeralds, a different costume from what the tailors had initially designed for her, and definitely not the same one he had destroyed with his own hands. For once, he did not know where this object had come from or how it was made in the opera house without his knowledge, until…

"Clever girl," he chuckled at the realization.

And in an instant he finally understood what he felt before.

"Yes…quite the perfect description."

It's the same feeling that is evoked when one sees a lost kitten trapped within the cellars, circling around with great hope to be back to the light.

Pity.