The Phantom of the Opera stood at the doors of the Majestic Theatre, gazing up at the sign that displayed his shattered title. People bustled around him, knocking him aside every now and then, but he remained fixed in place. Nobody really stopped to pay him any mind. It wasn't unusual to every once in a while see someone dressed like him in that location, and especially now, on closing day, he was basically unremarkable.
He wondered if they'd be more keen to interact with him if they knew who he really was. It wouldn't mean much if they did, he supposed, because frankly, they didn't care about him now, which meant that any change of heart would be tied to his celebrity, rather than any compassion they felt toward him as a person.
Not that he needed their compassion, of course.
No, the closing was not of particular note to him. The production always came back in some form or another, even if it was truncated or otherwise reduced in grandeur. This wasn't forever. The show's return was inevitable, always guaranteed to happen, like the arrival of winter, or one's dragon grandmother constantly leaving to focus on Jurassic Park instead.
Right, that requires a bit of context.
The Phantom of the Opera's grandmother was a dragon.
Actually, let's take a step back and explain this further.
The Phantom of the Opera was a fictional character, but also real and alive, because his dragon grandmother had hundreds of years ago brought him to the world of Fiction to rule over it.
He wasn't there now.
He hadn't been to any Fiction since mid July, in fact. The last time he'd set foot in a fictional world was when he'd once again gone to that Jurassic Park universe his grandmother loved so much. He had been invited to a costume party- Well, he'd been told that it was a costume party, but it wasn't. Classic mistake, though he'd incorrectly assumed that the dragon's stooge, Moonwatcher- his aunt by way of magic, he supposed- was at least a little kinder than she. Not so.
After the incident at the Gala, he'd sort of hung around the place, as he wasn't keen to return home. He then had another encounter with the Jurassic people, except they were the ones from the new movie, and-
God, he was so tired of being overshadowed by them. And they got a musical fanfiction, no less. Not that it was a great choice, given the silent medium, but still. Regardless of whether or not it was his grandmother or Moonwatcher in charge of the story, knowing about the music hurt him greatly, because they hadn't even thought to ask him to participate, despite his grandmother's promise that he'd be included in her adventures every now and then. And Moonwatcher was at least mostly a copy of her- the situation was complicated- so there was absolutely no excuse.
What a horrible life.
Anyway, he'd left in a bad mood because Moonwatcher had brought up his show's cancellation- which he wasn't upset about, to be clear- and he then decided to sulk away with his flying, talking horse, who was perhaps his only remaining friend.
Right, this bit requires some context too- Actually, nevermind, if I explain everything, we'll be here for hours. The Phantom has a flying, talking horse friend. That's all you need to know.
Anyway.
On closing day, as the sunlight faded away, he snuck into the theatre, then perched himself high above the crowd where no one could see him. After so many years of being out in the open, it felt strange to hide in a theatre again. As he settled into place, he spoke an affirmation which he knew to be true without a doubt.
"She's not coming."
He knew this very well, and yet-
"She's not coming. I shouldn't get my hopes up."
He said these words, but did not mean them truly. In fact, he was waiting to be proven wrong at the last minute, against all odds. As the lights dimmed, he waited for his grandmother to bustle in clumsily, or fall through the roof in her magic way, and say something along the lines of, "Sorry I'm late," or, "You didn't think I'd leave you, did you, Phanny-Boy? You know me better than that!"
And he did. He knew that despite her many flaws, she was always there when it mattered most. Every time he expected her to disappear for good, she'd return. Always.
The crack of a gavel snapped him out of his trance, and a voice rang onstage.
"Sold!"
He retreated into the shadows.
"She's not coming."
. . .
Back at his rented apartment, the Phantom swirled his drink in its mug (he had run out of clean glasses) and shouted at the television.
"FUCK OFF, WICKED! YOU'RE NOT BETTER THAN ME! I HAD A MOVIE TOO! . . . kind of."
The door clicked, and César the flying, talking horse entered on two legs, ducking a bit as his wings grazed the door.
"You back?" the horse asked, dropping his keys on the counter.
"Yeah."
"Did she come?"
"No."
"Ah."
He trotted over to the fridge and cracked a beer.
"You want anything?"
"Bring me a new mug. This one's full of spit."
"Why?"
"The lip thing makes it hard to drink lying down."
The horse blinked.
"You seem upset."
"How do you figure?" the Phantom muttered.
"You're lying drunk on the couch, surrounded by dirty laundry and empty pizza boxes."
"Not entirely empty. I sat on a slice earlier, and now I need a new Margherita."
"Oh. Well, maybe you wanna talk about it?"
"Not with you. I'm going to the gym tomorrow anyway."
"You mean therapy?"
He sat up and peeked over the couch.
". . . How'd you figure it out?"
"You don't have a gym body, no offense."
"I'm VERY offended."
"That, and you keep saving all of your sad stories for Mondays. It's obvious that you've been seeing someone, and it's definitely not romantic, so it's most likely a therapist."
The Phantom sat up a little.
"What do you mean, 'it's definitely not romantic'?"
The horse stared at him, tight-lipped.
". . . Ouch."
"Anyway, it's none of my business what you do in your spare time, but you should know, I'm moving out soon."
"Why?"
"I met a nice stallion."
"Who?"
"You wouldn't know him."
"Is he from here?"
Receiving no response, he stood and pointed.
"He's from that awful dinosaur place, isn't he?"
"Yes, and you should give it a chance. You have family there. They can help you."
"No, they can't."
"Well, your uncle has had a similar experience-"
The Phantom kicked over a pile of clothes.
"It's NOT the same, it's NOT! She spent HUNDREDS of years tormenting me, manipulating me, moulding me into what I am now! He knew her for, what, a month or two? It doesn't even compare!"
"I'm not trying to compare the effects of what you've been through. I'm simply stating that she hurt you both."
"So?"
"So, you have that in common. Maybe you should take him up on his offer to reconnect."
"Why?"
"Because it might be good for you."
"He's her son. It would only make things worse."
"Well, I can't say for sure, but he's your family, and-"
"SO WAS SHE!"
The horse withdrew a bit. Calming himself, the Phantom ran his fingers over his wig.
"Anyway, who would have me now? She made me complicit in her crimes. Even my closest friends hate me. I have no one left."
"That's not true."
"Like you can talk! You're leaving me."
César reached out and placed his hoof over his heart.
"Listen, things haven't been great. I'll admit that much. But me and the others, we still care about you. We're worried. We want you to pull yourself out of this rut, sincerely . . . But the thing is, we all have lives to live, and if it looks like you're not willing to help yourself-"
"That's what the therapy is for."
César shrugged.
"It seems to me like you think you're too smart for it. How'd you even sign up, anyway?"
"I handed the practice a wad of cash and said that I would rather they pretend that I'm the Phantom of the Opera during sessions."
The horse laughed, grinning with long teeth, but received a scowl in return.
"Stop it! They'd never believe me, otherwise! Just one of her many safeguards, I guess . . ."
The horse sighed sadly.
"Listen, I hope you find peace. If you think that you're ready to restart on healthier terms, I'll be waiting in the other world."
"You know that I hate Jurassic Park."
"In my opinion, you need to work through that too."
He huffed.
"Fine. Go. Enjoy your new horse boyfriend. I'll be staying far away from the dinosaurs . . . and locusts, which I HATE as a plot point, by the way."
The horse stared at him.
"You are a deeply sad man. Goodbye, for now."
"Whatever."
As the horse exited, the Phantom splashed his drink pointedly.
"You forget that despite everything, I am still the Phantom of the Opera. Nobody can take that away from me! I am the Phantom, and that, I will remain."
The horse's ears flattened.
"If that's what you choose to be, that's your business. But are you sure that you even WANT to be the Phantom?"
"I'M SURE!"
But actually, he wasn't, and he was deeply upset about the cancellation, as you might have guessed.
So.
