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Night arose as Erik paced to and fro in his lair. He felt the seething rage boil through his decayed veins--he could hear the undead rhythm of his heart beat in his ears. His mind deep in thought taunted him. He heard voices shrill; endless cruelty, which pulsed intensively. Fool, deranged, lunatic, half-faced, unloved, animal! His hands muffled his ears, but the voices hadn't reached their climax. His blood pumped faster and louder. It ached the spirits inside of him. Where was Christine? He needed her so...
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Christine awoke early and found Raoul still slumbering. She breathed slowly, admiring her fiancé's sleepy state. His lips parted slightly, his hands wrapped affectionately around a pillow. Christine was envious of the pillow, ridiculously envious. His eyelids were a tint darker than the rest of his face--clearly, he struggled to gather some sleep. He moved his head, in order to settle it deeper into the pillow. Christine smiled at Raoul and caressed his face. Unconsciously, one of his hands touched her's and pulled it away. She gasped at the suddenness and sighed--Raoul still slept.
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"Erik?" Antoinette descended once again down the Phantom's lair.
"Erik? Where are you?"
She reached the final step and gasped. Erik's body was eerily posed onto the throne. His head hung backwards, his entire body crouched like a small child who clung against harsh winter's veil. His face was so deathly pale and his orbs were concealed behind lightly shut stretches of skin. The grey circles under his eyes contrasted his flesh.
"Oh, Erik..." she sighed sorrowfully.
Antoinette sat on the chair facing the numerous works illustrated by the Phantom. Her eyes caught a small scrap of thickly waxed paper. She read the words and sobbed loudly. Each word which hung through ink was a reflection of Erik.
This nightmare began at birth, I felt pain on my first breath, and days went by not because I rejoiced for life--rather I rejoiced for death.