"oh to see you again.. a miracle it would be.. wait for me, for i shall return to you! the days we spent, the moments we shared, we'll be able to do it all again! we'll be reunited, dearest."
based on the novel, musical & movie.
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The music that played throughout The Phantom's lair was an orchestra of rage, agony, desperation and sadness. It could be heard even throughout the entrance passageway of the lair despite the distance.
"This damned face..."
"Oh, Christine.... This face.. This loathsome face that poisons your love for me and turn your affections to fear..." He cried out like a wounded wolf, as he clutched on the mask that he worn, his fingers trembling angrily as he does so. "This damned face! If only i weren't born with this face... This hideous figure! she wouldn't have screamed!"
"Oh.. Christine... Forgive me..." The phantom cried in agony, his voice painfully shaking.
A man of his virtue would never allow himself to look vulnerable, as pathetic as he was now. Not when his face had already made him a hideous, pathetic, horrible creature in his eyes that even Christine, his beloved angel, his muse feared him.. despised him.. was repulsed by him..
T'was a sad melody that came out of the poor monster's mouth. Thoughts of self-loathing & insecurity running through his clever mind.
The once prepossessing lair that contrasted the phantom's ugly now looks like him, hideous and monstrous. As if a monster came and desecrated the place. (He was the monster in his eyes.)
The man grieved and grieved like it was his first day on Earth, weeping for Christine, weeping for his mother that despised him, weeping for his father that never met him, weeping for himself.
But then... a familiar voice echoed throughout the lair.
His daughter was singing a melody that he had written for her from her bedchambers, the clarity of her voice reverberating from below, where The Phantom hid in.
The man's instantly grew softer the moment he heard his daughter's bright voice. The light of his dark and cruel life. His angel of music, his opposite, his beautiful creature.
She was his, all his.
The first thing he ever owned, his most important possession, the most beautiful song of all, The second thing that made him feel normal. (The first one, his mask.)
Just hearing her voice made him forget of all the problems that troubled him. Her voice that HE made for her, that HE perfected for her.
For he was her voice and she, his face.
He's there The Phantom Of The Opera, Beware The Phantom Of The Opera..
As he rowed the boat, voices from atop were screaming, scaring one another about telling tales of the infamous Opera Ghost, it irritated the man because it was interrupting his child's beautiful aria.
The irritation grew even more when Joseph Buquet joined the already unbearable screams of the tone-deaf chorus girls.
"Like yellow parchment is his skin! A great black hole serves as the nose that never grew!" Joseph Buquet mocked causing the young girls to scream more, unaware of the already raging Opera Ghost that was listening to him down below.
