The Phantom's African Rose

Prologue

Paris, France, 1870

Erik's POV

I finally had my Christine in my grasp. She had promised that she would stay with me as my living bride and had kissed me. ME, a deformed demon from hell! And not only once, but twice! It was at that moment that I couldn't keep an angel of light in a realm of darkness. So, I allowed her to return to the world above with that fop. As I watched the couple row away on my gondola, I hear the two of them sing, their voices mocking my sorrow as they had when they got engaged on the roof of the now-burning Opera Populaire.

CHRISTINE
Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime

RAOUL
Say the word and I will follow you

CHRISTINE
Share each day with me
Each night, each morning

ERIK
You alone, can make my song take flight
It's over now, the music of the night!

The angry mob was coming closer to where I was, so I had to think fast and hide, leaving my mask behind me as I hid in a secret room. The room around me echoed with the sound of the crowd destroying my lair, leaving no room unsearched, save for the one that I hid in. After an hour of them ransacking my home and trying to find me, there was silence. The mob was gone and I was alone. I looked out and began to assess the damage, starting with the Louis-Phillipe Room.

When I stepped into the room, I immediately smelled the stench of charred wood and saw that my chaise lounge was in flames (probably on purpose by the mob's torches) and all of my paintings that I had created of Christine were in shreds.

After putting out the fire with water from my newly demolished kitchen,I checked my room. My room was in shambles. Curtains that I had placed were full of holes and discarded on the floor. My clothes, which had been either specifically tailored or were from my time in Persia were torn to the point where all that was left were threads of fabric and buttons. The only things that were still in tact, surprisingly, were my masks, my coffin bed, and my secret stash of opium and morphine. I slipped one on as I noticed that the crowd had taken the one I lost.

I began to check the other rooms and got the same results. The bathrooms had their mirrors smashed and their sinks were broken, My food cellars and pantries were raided, leaving me no scrap of food. Not that I cared, I never really eat anyways. Even Christine's room wasn't safe! I stepped into her room to find the head of her swan's bed had been decapitated and her sheets were scorched. The wooden dressers were burned to the ground and the dresses and undergarments that were in them were stolen. Even the vase of roses was destroyed, leaving nothing but broken glass, trampled roses and a drenched, wooden table that I knew was officially ruined by the big water mark it left behind.

I finally check my music room and my heart clenched in sorrow over what I saw. My music room was utterly demolished. All of my music, many of which were of my own composition, were either ripped apart or were littered with burn marks. Don Juan Triumphant, my Magnus Opus, my masterpiece, my life's work, terminated as if it was only an old piece of scrap paper! My violin was broken in two. But that didn't prepare me for the sight to come. I turned to see my organ completely and utterly destroyed beyond recognition.

That was 'the straw that broke the camel's back' as they say and I soon stumbled back into my room, grabbing my stash of drugs. Normally, I would not be in the mood for such things, especially not now, but tonight was different. Tonight would be my final night here.

I, Erik Gaston Destler, will kill myself.

I soon began to inject the full vials of morphine into my blood and then, in my haste to end it all, ingested some opium instead of smoking it. Finally, with all of the drugs in my system, I crawled to my "bed" and opened the lid. I got in, closed the lid, and waited as I began to experience a drug overdose. My body wasn't handling all of this in my system at once. My heart rate sped up to the point where I thought it was going to fly out of my chest. I began to see hallucinations of all the people I killed, starting with Javert, my owner that I killed when I was nine to Ubaldo Piangi, who was performing my very opera before I disposed of him to sing with Christine.

Christine.

My thoughts turned to the angel that could have been mine if I wasn't cursed with this face. Oh, why did I let her leave? Why didn't God create me with a normal face?! If He had, maybe I would've been loved by my mother, maybe I would've won Christine, maybe I would be mourned after I died.

This is all God's FAULT! I thought to myself, my anger mixed in with the drugs causing my head to start spinning. No matter, I heard another voice say, You will be dead in a couple of minutes.

As I lay dying, I thought of all that happened because of my face. Finally, the Living Corpse will die at last.

With that, I knew no more.

A/N: Hey guys! So, this is something that has been floating in my head for a few weeks or so. Expect some new chapters soon. M'kay, bye! 😘