"And that really stuck with me," the Phantom sighed, lying on a sofa with his legs draped over the arm, "Because part of me thinks that maybe this ISN'T what I want, that it was never what I wanted. I mean, I was actively the Phantom in a professional sense for three years before Elkay found me, and that was by necessity. When she brought me to her world to do her bidding, she didn't even allow me to take on a real name. I was just 'The Phantom' for hundreds of years, and eventually, I couldn't even take off my mask anymore for fear of losing that identity."

His therapist took notes.

"I'm sorry, I don't follow. Is this part of that thing? The Silliest Phantom Of The Opera FanFiction Ever Wrote?"

"Written."

"Whatever the title is, I'm having trouble following."

"Well, yeah, because the plot is a mess. Just take everything I say as truth, please."

"Alright, it's just that I'm not sure how it all fits together. Didn't you say that Love Never Dies happened?"

"It happened, but I wasn't there. Rather, part of me was, but not the core of me, just the Phantom who was involved. So I wasn't there, but I also was, a little bit."

"Is this in reference to your multiple personalities?"

"It's not multiple personalities! I told you before that Elkay put all of the different Phantoms inside of me because I'm the only Phantom that's allowed to exist, so now I'm all of them at once, but mostly what I was in my original world."

"So you have all of these Phantoms inside you?"

"Yes!"

"Even Gerard Butler?"

". . . Regrettably, yes."

She wrote a very long note. He frowned.

"I could do without the sass."

"Not being sassy, just keeping track. Would you like to explain how Love Never Dies fits into this?"

"I don't want to talk about Love Never Dies. A lot of people hated it."

"Did you?"

"What does that matter."

"Just getting a sense of where we're at."

"Well, a lot of people hate it."

"Do YOU, though?"

"I don't know why you keep asking that."

"Because you haven't answered. You don't have to, if you don't want-"

"It was badly written. So there's your answer."

"I didn't ask about the writing. I asked if you liked it."

He didn't answer. She leaned forward.

"Because based on what you've told me, it sounds like you might feel like you're owed a happy ending."

"Christine dies."

"After professing her love to the Phantom, and he ends the story with a son."

"Let's not mention Gustave."

"Is that off limits for the rest of our sessions?"

"I already told you everything there is to know. He was murdered in cold blood. It's sad, but I moved on. I only knew him for a bit anyway, and- Look, don't try to trick me into talking about it. I don't want to."

"That's okay."

"You say that, but I know you're homing in on the trauma and whatnot."

"Maybe it would help to forget this Phantom of the Opera stuff for a bit."

"Hey-"

"By which I mean that we should instead pretend that you're a normal person pretending to be the Phantom. Because I think you know that your story doesn't align with reality."

"How so?"

"Well, Andrew Lloyd Webber is still alive and well, rather than being exploded to death on a rooftop."

"I don't know what to tell you. Somehow, Andrew Lloyd Webber returned."

"Do you think it's possible that the person you saw wasn't Andrew Lloyd Webber?"

He thought about it.

"It's possible, I suppose. But I don't want to think about it. Is there anything else that isn't making sense to you?"

"You said that you grew magical wings after the incident between you two."

"Yes."

"But you don't have them now."

"If I want to fly, I can change into a dragon."

"That's not what I was getting at, but let's discuss this whole dragon thing."

"Why? Because you don't believe me? I could change right now, but I don't want to. It reminds me of her."

"I'm sensing a lot of tension between you and your grandmother."

"You mean the dragon who kidnapped and manipulated me for years on end, repeatedly pushing me to the side or abandoning me? Yeah, a bit of tension there."

"Can you describe your relationship to her?"

"She was like a mother to me. But not a good mother. She might have been worse than my actual mother, and I don't say that lightly."

"Can you describe how it felt when you were with her?"

"I suppose that I should just skip the preamble for this, since you more or less know what went down. There were red flags from the start. It always felt like we were putting on a show, not actually engaging on a meaningful level. Still, she was in my thoughts every day- mostly negatively, mind you. Sometimes, she had a heavenly presence that lifted my spirits. She'd tell me stories, stuff like that. But when it came to my identity, things got out of hand. Suddenly, the art consumed everything. And of course, the art was a lot weirder than before, hence the dragons and such. It smothered me. Our lives were consumed by the written word. She said that I was the star, but I knew better. Even so, despite my best efforts to stay strong, she played me for a fool. But we reached such heights, you wouldn't believe. Even through her constant demands, I had happiness at last, because I craved the feeling of being wanted. It was a beautiful disaster. I look back fondly on the in-between moments when we had time to breathe. But it was all concealing a darker truth. I tried to keep quiet about that fact. But then it was back to writing, always with the writing. It warped me in ways that I can't describe. I practiced being the exact kind of weird she was looking for and lost myself along the way. Yet even now, I want her to come back to me. I feel so aimless without her in my life. But there's no going back. And now I've hit my rock bottom."

The therapist was taking notes. The Phantom sighed.

"I think this might be too much for one therapist to handle."

"Not at all."

"You're only saying that because you don't believe that it's real."

"I can't deny that it doesn't align with my beliefs, but I'm here to help you regardless."

"You're still operating under the assumption that I'm lying or mistaken, so how can you truly help?"

"Because I've noticed something."

"And what's that?"

"I think I may understand why you've latched onto The Phantom of the Opera."

"Do you."

"Is it possible that you find the story relatable?"

"Yes, because I'm him!"

"That's not what I mean. The story is about a young woman who's deceived by someone who occupies a familial role- purportedly- while remaining distant and omnipresent. She is then forced to act out a story onstage that reflects her current situation. It sounds similar to what you've been through, by your own account."

The Phantom became noticeably withdrawn.

"Did that hit too close to home?"

He gulped.

"I never really thought about it that way. I always felt bad about what I did to Christine, but now . . . I feel even worse for putting her through that. I think I've been avoiding this for a while. I mean, I knew that she was there, in the same world as me, but I never spoke to her after we crossed paths that one time. I was too focused on my own problems. I've been selfish."

"It's not selfish to want to heal."

"But I never apologized. I never made it right. I kept telling myself that she'd be better off without me, but what if that was just me avoiding the problem?"

"It's possible, but you haven't given me enough information. I'm going to be honest for a moment. This Phantom of the Opera identity you've taken on is getting in the way of our progress. If you want help, you're going to have to be honest with me."

"You want honesty? Fine."

He suddenly changed into a dragon, neck outstretched across the room as he spat in her face.

"IT'S TRUE, ALL OF IT!"

His therapist cowered. He puffed smoke.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be on my way permanently, and I'm taking one of the pens from reception!"

"Why?"

"I LIKE THE FEEL OF THEM, THE INK COMES OUT NICELY!"

"Oh."

He tapped his claws together shyly.

"Can I take two, actually?"

She was shaking.

"Go right ahead."

He nodded, then burst through the door, leaving a dragon-shaped hole. He grabbed two pens, then smashed through the window in the lobby, flying into the clouds.

. . .

Tormented by the events of the day, the Phantom returned to his apartment and scribbled out a note. He balled it up and threw it out, then started again.

And then he did the same thing five more times.

As he scribbled, the line became dotted. The pen was out of ink. He threw it aside and put his head in his hands, breathing erratically. After steadying himself, he lifted the second pen.

"I can do this. I can do this."

He placed it on the paper, and it shattered in his hand. He stared at the blotted page for a moment, then started weeping. He cried into his arms on the counter, then slipped down to the floor and curled up in a ball.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god."

After a few minutes of shaking, he slowly got to his feet and reached up to grab a banana from the counter.

"Please, for the love of all that's holy, let me have enough magic left to make this work."

He held the banana to his ear.

"Hello?"

A voice came from inside.

"Hi, who is this?"

"Thfnmfthpra."

"Who?"

"The Phantom of the Opera."

"Oh. I see. How did you get this number?"

"I, uh . . . I turned my banana into a phone. Don't worry about it."

"Okay . . ."

"Listen, can we talk in person?"

"Yeah. I've actually been trying to get in touch with you-"

"WHA- Sorry, that was loud. I'm just a little surprised."

He felt his hand vibrate.

"Listen, my banana's dying. We don't have much time. Meet me by the Majestic Theatre tomorrow at dawn . . . Oh, I'm in the Overworld. Can you make it here?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Alright, so I'll see you then?"

"Yes."

He breathed a sigh of relief.

"Okay. I think my banana's about out of juice- not actual juice, you know what I mean. There's a lot I have to say, and . . . Well, I hope that I can make things right- Ah, shit, the banana's dying!"

"Alright, I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you. And . . . thank you for doing this."

"Not at all, it's been too long. See you soon!"

"Okay. Bye, Christine."