DH AN: Well after a year I have a Phantom of the Opera shot to post, the prompt being "Who's reflected in the broken glass" and just screaming Erik!!! Please enjoy Broken Glass; Broken Man
Broken Glass; Broken Man
My life has been nothing except the shattering of mirrors, trying to deny what reflections I see throughout those phases. Each phase has brought me to another mirror that is only waiting to be shattered.
As I look upon the shattered glass beneath my feet. I see several shards that once again choose to reveal themselves now. My reputation as the "Angel of death" in Persia, Opera Ghost of the Palais Garnier, and of course; madman, genius, and death's head never skip an opportunity to show themselves. But the most painful, and by far the largest, shard glares at me with the most beautiful lie; one that, after realizing the gravity of what I did, possessed by lust…how I used that lie…that appalled me most.
An Angel of Music. A lie, and yet it is not. Music will always be a muse of mine; my greatest consoler as well as my greatest addiction…one has to admit that there are far worse things to be addicted to. While I was masquerading as the Angel to the beautifully naïve Christine Daaé, I was nothing like an angel. This is not to say that I regret all that I have done.
Who I see in that one shard of glass has changed throughout the years. My tasks did not cease when my earthly life was finished. I was needed still. There are those who, while not ready for any sort of afterlife described in many religions and philosophies, still find some form of duty after their earthly life is completed and all their days are lived out. Mine just happens to be matchmaker and guardian angel for a certain family; one individual of the second generation since my appointment has had me working quite a bit of over time…stupid boy.
He reminds me of myself in a way that I cannot quite pinpoint. Perhaps it is because he shall relish in his wayward behaviors, only to realize too late that he is only shattering the bonds he has with those who care about him more than he will ever realize, or care to admit while on this path of revenge…though, he should be looking at himself rather than at another. I can see him in my own reflection, and that does bother me. Not because I am selfish, and would rather let this foolish boy alone with his erroneous errand…but because I know that he shall possess inconsolable grief over the damage he will have caused. But alas, there is nothing I can do to stop him…I am only to interfere if there is no other alternative.
But while I have this duty, I am continuing to learn how I can change who I see in that reflection, how I could have changed myself, and how I can aid people just by being a pair of eyes and an unseen voice…which has always been my specialty.
DH: Well my Phantom is a tad rusty, but I finally got a POTO plunny after about a year. Thank goodness. PS: For those of you who read stories in my other genre, do not be afraid to tell me that the boy of whom The Phantom speaks is way too easy to identify.