Point of no return

Untitled Part 1

As you walked through the dark and wet tunnels under the Opera house, you could hear all the rats crawling around in the old walls and holes. You could hear the water droplets dripping from the cold stone roof down to the muddy and moist wood floor. Barely wood, more stone and old dead grass. You could see the faint torches of fire in the distance. You walked carefully, looking down at the ground and looking out for any traps, though most traps had already been used when the police raided the place nearly a year ago, when the infamous phantom of the opera incident happened. It was a sad incident, though you mostly felt bad for the phantom, who lost his "love". If he now really existed, there was no actual proof. Only rumors from the people who watched the Don Juan Triumphant and saw the chandelier drop. After the chandelier crash, the police had found four dead bodies and two people who were badly injured, thankfully no children were harmed.

Living near the Garnier Opera house in Paris, of course you heard the rumors only minutes after it happened. Your slightly younger sister, Meg Giry, was good friends with Christine Daaé who was 'kidnapped' by the phantom.

Now you were on your way to his lair. When the torches came closer you could see a bigger opening further away, you were guessing it was the phantom's lair.

The closer you got the warmer and brighter the light became. When you reached the opening you gasped. "Ohh..." you breathed. Before you was a big underground lake, almost. It was clear but dark and there was fog and mist upon it. It looked magical with the lightly lit torches. To your right was a big organ that was surprisingly clean for being in a cave. You guessed that someone had been down there quite recently. There were candles everywhere but not all of them were lit. You understood why though, there were easily over two hundred candles in there. It looked quite cozy and warm but in reality it was cold as ice from where you stood. Of course it would be much warmer where the candles are.

You could see that there was a small staircase up to the large organ and a pretty dirty red carpet around a bunch of desks full of messily written letters. On most of the walls there were mirrors, nearly all of them were broken, except the ones that were really high up. It was clear that someone was still living down there since the mirrors and the organ was not dusty and obviously, the candles.

You ducked under the curtain and walked through the opening which you saw was a broken mirror.

Walking through you were careful not to step on any of the glass shatters, you were regretting putting on these shoes. It was a rather dumb thing to do, honestly.

As you walked towards the organ, you were once again, careful not to step on any shattered glass. When you walked by one of the many desks, you shot a glance at the spread out papers and letters. Not to your surprise there were many letters that mentioned the name Christine or Miss. Daaé. The Vicomte de Change and Christine had moved away from Paris, or maybe even France, in fear that the Opera ghost might still haunt them, or that's at least what you've heard from your sister Meg.

Though, both your mother, Madame Giry and Meg both believed that the Phantom of the Opera existed, you were still skeptical, since you had only been to the opera house a couple of times in your life and had seen no proof. Though, the place really did give off creepy energy, at least in the dark.

When you came up to the very large and classy organ, a hand suddenly grabbed your shoulder. You jumped slightly and gasped. The clothed hand turned you around forcefully and you nearly stumbled onto the organ keys. As you turned your gaze to the tall shadow that had its tight grip on your shoulder you were met with a white mask that covered about a third of its face and a pair of angry blue eyes. Blue eyes were known for being soft and gentle, but not these, not at all. You were frozen, not being able to utter a single word or even a loud breath. You were so scared, who was this, who was this man, this thing, this shadow- then it hit you. This was the phantom of the opera, the Opera ghost. Your face went pale as tears formed in your eyes. The grip is not loosening at all, only getting tighter by the moment. Only you getting more scared by the second.