Angel
A/N: Writers block guys...big time D: Not my best chappie but next one should be good, promise ;D Enjoy!
Everything within the layer was quiet, not sign of movement or life whatsoever. The Phantom lay on his bed unmoving giving no indication that he was alive. His pitch black room showed lack of attention, the candles had long ago extinguished. The roses resting on his chair had withered and died, the ink he had spilled over his notes had long dried centuries ago.
The bed, on which its owner currently lay sprawled on, had its black silk sheets hanging on the side touching the ground, something that bothered the Phantom to no extent. Nevertheless there he was, still as the gargoyles perched outside of the Opera House.
The only indication that showed he was still alive was the steady rise and fall of his chest. Other than that, he would have been considered as dead.
The lair showed signs of neglect as well, the Swan room remained untouched by the Opera Ghost. He had long ago decided to avoid going in it. The passage leading to his library remained untouched.
The table with all of his music and Operas that he had written over the years was eerily empty; nothing lay on its Brazilian Rosewood surface. One of his mirrors still lay in ruin, the silver shards mixing with the haunting white from his shattered mask untouched since the day he had hurled it at the mirror.
The thing that horrified the most however was his organ; it had a thin layer of dust covering the keys. Something that would simply kill the Phantom to witness. It pipes hadn't produced any music since the day Monica had left…7 days ago.
White sheets of paper floated about on the lake, upon closer inspection one could assume that those were all of his notes, his music; his operas all scattered into the water. The ink had bled through making the sheets difficult to read, not impossible, just extremely difficult.
Several of his candle holders had been knocked about all over the lair making it impossible to see an inch in front of your face. Chairs had been tossed about along with several of his pens and ink bottles.
The door to his room lay shut hidden behind a black curtain making it even harder to find. And if one did happen to come across it and turn the ruby crystal doorknob one would find it not only locked but barricaded as well, no one was getting in.
The Phantom turned over and lay on his back; his metallic blue eyes were cold and unfeeling. His expression blank, once more the only indication that showed he was alive was his slow breathing. His hand tightened brutally on his Punjab Lasso thinking of the event s that led him to the current state in which he found himself in.
He had been foolish to think he could trust her. She had tried to take his mask and that was something that got his blood boiling. The mask wasn't there for entertainment, it had its purpose…and important on at that.
It hid his face, the sole thing that prevented him from having a normal life. It deprived him form the one thing he longed for and would never have, someone to love him. Someone to lead him, to save him from his solitude. Someone to share each day with him, each night each morning. He didn't ask for much, all he wanted was to hear someone say that they cared, that they loved him.
His mind however had already come to the conclusion that he would never have such a thing due to one factor, his face. His own mother never cared for him, never showed a scrap of compassion to him. On the contrary, she took out her anger on him any chance she got.
She drank and blamed him for his father's leaving. God he still bore the scars of her monstrous beatings, they had never left him despite the passing of time.
It was only when he had gotten older that he had the sense to run away…and run away he did. Armed only with a petty piece of cloth to shield him from the mockery of the world he had left the hellhole that had been his home. The Phantom had limped about the streets of Paris, resting when he had the chance to in dirty cold damp ally's, and eating scraps of food he happened to come across.
He had been a child back then and nothing had quite taken the pain away of being alone all of the time. It was only when a carnival of gypsies had come to town that things took a turn for the worse.
He had been foolish to wander around the grounds when the crowds were thinning to get a better look at a monkey dressed in Persian clothing playing cymbals in cage. Someone had yelled at him to get away from the monkey, he had been so frightened that he snapped around and started to run when he had made the mistake of running into the Devil himself, the ringmaster of the carnival.
The ringmaster had been so interested in the Phantom the moment his eyes had landed on the cloth that he had over his face. He had removed it forcefully after some struggle form the Phantom who just wanted to get away, the weeks of malnutrition taking effect and making him weaker as his cover was taken from him.
The moment the Gypsies eyes landed on the Phantom's face however he saw profit in his little toy, and didn't waste time in forcing him back towards the main tarps of the carnival. He had put the Phantom in a cage despite his struggle and protests and the very next morning out for display.
His hopes of being freed had been raised when he saw his mother amongst the crowd of spectators make her way to the ringmaster who stood to the side eyes on his new attraction, a sadistic smile on his face. After several tense moments and arguments the Phantom felt hot tears stream down his face as he observed the ringmaster give his mother a pouch full of money.
She had never been there to save him or to take him home; she merely wanted to be paid for having her very own flesh and blood exposed to the unforgiving crowds of Paris. His own mother had sold him for a couple of coins.
Each day was hell for the Phantom after that, he had to deal with being locked in a cage like a dog and being ridiculed as one as people spar on him and threw objects at him. He took advantage of it and often kept things they threw at him that he deemed useful, mostly food which he ate before the Gypsies checked on him and took it away. A piece of rope had found its way into his possession as well as he hid it beneath the hay of his cage should he need it in the future.
He did indeed find use for it once he had the man that made his life impossible standing before him in the cage whip in had ready to punish him for not making the money he was supposed to. He had choked the bastard and taken his time with it, despite him being a child still, the months of abuse had built up rage within him which was unleashed in that single moment, giving him strength he never knew he possessed.
Upon fulfilling his task he realized he had to get away from the scene, that is where Madame Giry came in. She had witnessed the murder, she had felt sorry for the boy the day before and had come back to check on him and had now witnessed him killing a human being. She stood frozen at the entrance of the tarp while he had turned to look at her. Upon hearing the rest of the Gypsies closing in she had acted on impulse and pulled him along towards the Opera House where she knew they would never dare look.
He had hid there until they had given up the search, Madame Giry had then offered him a place down in the Opera House for him to stay, she knew nobody ever went down there so he would be safe and away from the unforgiving world above. He had taken that offer and had fashioned a mask out of the various props that had been left out on stage after everyone was gone. After a while he had perfected his half mask which he wore all the time.
Several people had caught a sight of his mask which seemed to appear and disappear suddenly during operas up on the rafters and after on the stage when no one was present. They all thought it was the ghost of a singer who had died in the Opera Populair and it was out of that that his legend was born.
The Phantom of the Opera, that's what they called him. They had spotted him several times up in Box 5 and therefore classified it as haunted. No one bought tickets for it fearing to upset the Opera Ghost who seemed to take a liking to that spot, therefore it had become his own personal place to watch everything that went on in the Opera House.
All of these events and the ones that followed leading to the present where linked to the mask that lay shattered outside. People had made him a legend, but he never wished to be one. All the flashbacks and thoughts however screeched to a halt when his keen hearing picked up a crash that came from the staircase leading down to his lair.
One more fool looking for the famous Phantom no doubt. His lips curled into a sneer as a deep snarl escaped his throat. He sat up painfully on his bed, the lack of food and sleep taking its toll on him and only enraging him further as he took to the shadows, Punjab lasso in hand.
He moved quietly and stealthily thought the labyrinth of tunnels trying to find the source of the disturbance ready to snap the neck of the bastard who dared to wander into his home as soon as he laid eyes on him. He was feeling slightly dizzy; perhaps he should have eaten instead of locking himself in his room for a straight week. He felt like he was he was about to fall over from malnutrition and exhaustion, he couldn't allow himself however to do that with and intruder down in the lair with him.
He hid using the shadows and his dark clothing to his advantage as he heard approaching footsteps, he could feel the anxiousness throughout him begging to feel the constricting force that he used to choke people, begging to snap their necks, begging to hear the pleasing crack that followed.
He waited for the intruder to pass by him, clearly not noticing him as he followed behind, quiet as a ghost…a Phantom. He allowed his hand to shoot out throwing the rope after the intruder satisfied when it wrapped around their neck, a choked gasp reached his ears as he pulled them back towards him wanting to feel the fear running through their veins.
His other hand wrapped around their neck as he spun them around and slammed them up against a nearby wall. His sadistic grin dropping immediately once he saw the face of his latest intrusion. His breath halted slightly and he faltered loosening the Punjab lasso, his metallic blue eyes widening in pure and genuine surprise.
The Phantom could never forget her face, nor would he forget what happened after that. Upon seeing her he knew she was no threat and allowed his body to give in to the needs he had neglected as he swayed in his spot trying to maintain himself standing.
Monica could feel the tears clouding her vision…what had she done to him? He was paler than usual, his beautiful black hair was a mess and she could tell he had lost weight, the bags under his eyes let her know he had been neglecting his sleep as well as she saw him lose control over himself finally.
He swayed one last time before falling forward into her arms as she caught him and struggled to hold him up as she slid down the wall of the tunnel and held him in her hands allowing herself to finally cry upon seeing him in this state holding him close wishing she had never left.
"Angel my soul was weak…forgive me," she sang to him horrified thinking of what would have happened had she taken longer in showing up. She noticed however despite everything that had happened he still wore his damn mask, this time however it was a full one, not his normal half mask. She sighed tightening her grip on him as she beat herself up inside, she was sure of one thing however, she had to get him back to the lair and quick.
She wiped her tears away and prepared herself to drag him back, there was no way she could carry him, hell he was well built and heavy compared to her small frame. She took a hold of him and started to drag him back making sure he didn't slip from her grip.
After a couple of minutes of struggle she finally managed to get him back into the lair and dragged him all the way to the Swan bed and pulled him up on it. She sat next to him and ran a hand through his hair but stopping once his eyes shot open to look over at her.
She pulled her hand back in fear and tensed as his hand reached out to her neck, fearing the worst she closed her eyes thinking he was going to finish the job. Much to her surprise she felt him pull the Punjab lasso off of her; she hadn't even noticed she still had it around her neck.
She slowly opened her eyes and saw him toss the lasso aside with much struggle, she knew why she had been so worried in that brief second that she looked at him, she knew why she had come back when anyone else would have abandoned him. She knew why she had been so worried over him, she knew why she felt nothing towards Jack anymore, she was slowly falling for the Phantom, she just didn't want to admit it to herself.
In turn he stared up at her amazed that she was here, perhaps this was all just a dream…yes that had to be it. Fate was being cruel to him, he didn't deserve to be messed with at the moment and seeing her there caused him to doubt himself…was she real or simply his mind playing tricks on him?
He knew it couldn't be true, no one had ever come back, Christine had fled and never showed her face again. So why should she? Despite this he couldn't help but feel somewhat hopeful that she was real, he wanted to know if this was true or simply and illusion.
He reached out to her, his gloved hand brushing against her cheek as his heart skipped a beat, she was real, he couldn't believe it.
"Why did you come back?" he asked her coldly, his expression blank as her own hand reached up to his and held it.
"Because the Phantom of the Opera never left my mind," she replied with a shy smile as she looked down, he sighed his eyes closing once more as sleep took over his body once more. She smiled knowing he would be alright as she got up and started to leave, the lair needed cleaning…as for the Phantom, she had no idea on how he would react to her coming back once he was back in his full senses…that would have to wait, for now she had her hands full.
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