The Untold Story of the Phantom of the Opera

The Face Of An Angel

How could people be scared of him?

I saw a beautiful face with a terrible scar on his right side. The rumours of the missing nose which were replaced by a dark hole were not entirely wrong and yet again. His nose was there but a deform appearing it made. The scar was sort of light pink and made it look like a reddish scull. But people were wrong about him, he wasn’t terrible view; he was beautiful. Who could have thought there would be so much beauty underneath that white mask of his? His visage gave his writing more power from all the terror he had been passing by in his life. All the pain he had felt. Every time he had wished for sympathy from someone, and people had denied him that single thing.

I reached out to feel his face, where his pain lived, and what felt like. He shivered all over his body when I touched him. The scarred skin was soft, yet rough. I also noticed how thin his upper lip was.

“So much beauty underneath…” I whispered the words quietly, but I think he heard them clearly enough to shed a tear.

“This isn’t beauty. This is living hell. Everybody fears me and runs away. They listen to my music, but fear me when I approach. They talk and speak my name in fright.” He said and removed my hand slowly and asked once more for the mask; because of his sadness I gave it to him. “I’m a monster, living beneath Paris’ greatest opera. I’m living here because I build it. I was here first; I build every corridor, every hallway, everything is by my design. The only one who could look at me and see the terrors I have seen was a Persian man, Aram, who travelled with me as a companion.” He shivered when he talked about the companion. “He once saved me from death. I was sentenced when the Indian princess grew bored of killing all the prisoners in the maze of mirrors, also by my design. I felt terrible, looking at all the men and woman who ended up as senseless people who found no way out but the Punjab lasso, and when I told I wouldn’t make a new death maze for her entertaining she sentenced me to the death and the night before my execution Aram helped me out and was on the run for 14 years.”

He made a short break to collect his thoughts.

“He still runs jobs for me, like leaving messages, observing the crew and cast from the opera, and fetch me food and such.”

“I’d never seen anyone who wasn’t a part of the Opera. If he walks around the corridors and hallways how can he be unnoticed?”

“He uses my hidden corridors.”

“What happened before you went to India?”

“I ran away, from home – “

“Why –?“

“–fire… I was caught in a fire as a boy, my father died for my sake when he tried to save me from the hellfire… he was the only one who attempted to save me, but the village were cruel, they didn’t help my father, looked at me like I was the devil who caused it, none of them help us and they called my mother a witch. Most I’ve been told, but I do remember some of it. I was scared, scared of myself and I ran away when my mother showed my face in the mirror… Someone say that I ran away with a freak show, but it’s not true. I ran away to Germany and became an apprentice as a magician and later on a constructor.”

He remained silent and I understood he really didn’t want to talk about it.

“No more talk of darkness,” I sang with a whisper. 

     “Forget these wide-eyed fears

       I'm here, nothing can harm you

       my words will warm and calm you

       let me be your freedom,

       let daylight dry your tears.

       I'm here with you, beside you,

       to guard you and to guide you...”

He looked at me with gratitude, as I sang the words my dear father had learned me, when I was a little girl.

It was late and we went back to bed. He held me to my sleep, and when I’d woken up I found myself at the dormitory and no Angel of Music at my side.