A final warning to my dear readers: This is a tale of madness, and this is where it begins to get a bit untidy. If you've found it too dark so far, you may wish to depart now, before it gets darker still. The rest of you, grab your cuddlies and hang on.
love, Weez.
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Christine brightens as she realizes that I will keep to my word and not press her; eventually, she permits me to kiss her again. Life is delightful; our home is full of her song and laughter. She smiles and praises me, tells me how kind I am to her.
I return to former expedients to relieve my desire, but they quickly become insufficient. The ache is removed temporarily, but the longing increases daily. It is the touching of tender flesh, her sighs, her fragrance that I hunger for. Before I knew a woman's touch, it was easy to pretend I was not human, but now I know that I am a man. At first, I tell myself that it is enough for me to have her happy with me, and in many ways, it is true. But lying next to Christine in the middle of the night, I sink to unparalleled depths of loneliness.
My sleep becomes more tormented, so I return to prowling the opera house and roaming the shadowy streets. Inevitably, a little blonde girl studying for the ballet attracts my attention. Aside from the blonde curls and the glowing blue eyes, she bears no resemblance to Christine, but the longer I watch her, the less it matters. I cannot make my beloved wife suffer for my animal nature; I have sworn to her. But someone must bear it. I am hungry for a girl–any girl.
I bring the girl down below the opera house. She pleads with me to set her free, promising that she will say nothing. I tell her that I have no wish to hurt her, but sadly, I know that I will. I apologize, and tell her as gently as I can what I want from her. She falls to her knees, screaming and crying. She is most unattractive this way, and I find myself losing patience. I hiss at her to compose herself, or I will not trouble so much over her comfort. It is sufficient to stifle her wailing; I can tolerate the odd snuffle.
I spread my cape on the floor for her comfort and tell her to remove her clothes. She falls once again to pleading for her release. Remove your clothing or I will do it for you, I warn. The child trembles so violently that she can scarcely remove her clothes; again my patience wanes, and I rip her undergarments away. No shrieking, I remind her; lie down and be silent.
As I cover her body with my own, she stifles her sobs. She is so much tinier than Christine. Feeling some sympathy for the terrified child, I relent somewhat.
"Listen, child, if you must squeal at the outset, it is alright."
"Please no, please no, please no." She repeats it as if in prayer. It is difficult to accomplish the connection; she emits horrific screams, swearing that I am killing her. The screaming puts me off my game a bit. My anger flares and I scream back at her to be silent.
She settles; it becomes easier. She is soft and warm; her fragrance is not Christine's, but it is the fragrance of a living girl. It is enough. I finish with her and press her close, catching my breath.
Finally, she whispers "Will you let me go now?" Originally, I intended to, but I cannot after all. She has seen the Opera Ghost; there can be no doubt that it was the Opera Ghost that violated her.
"I am sorry, child. I thought I could, but–"
"I'll tell no one, as God is my witness! I beg of you!" Her eyes are wild with terror as she tries to scramble away. I trap her against me and snap her neck effortlessly. I dress her as best I can, and bear her stealthily up to the furnaces. I do not want her found; I do not know why, but this crime is different.
As I set her into the furnace, I realize that I did not learn her name.