One lone candle illuminated the vast darkness, the darkness that brings sorrow-not fear. There is no red dripping from the walls, but the Phantom is red with anger and green with envy. “How is it I am the one who is shunned, why must I pay for sins that are not my own?” The Phantom sits alone pondering this very thought, for he has no other distractions, he has no companions. Beyond the empty lake, black with despair. Beyond the throne for a king ruling a land of one. Lies The Phantom’s only consolation:

His organ, where he composes his beautiful creations. Pages and pages, more and more pages, filled with music that has the composers full attention. The phantom can pour his heart into “The Music of The Night,” the music the words of which he believes with all his might.

The Phantom is no angel though. As he paces in his lair he is plotting revenge, revenge so bitter one would rather visit his lair. His lair…

The light is so scarce coming from only one source, one candle, one ruby red candle, the flame flickering, dancing, then suddenly leaping into the air. Shadows move across the room with minds of their own. Follow one and it may lead you out to the lake. The Phantom’s lair is separated from the outside world by the inky unfathomable lake. Dare to cross the lake and you will eventually reach the throne, although it isn’t built on bones there is an aura around the throne that ensures no one gets near.

Take my advice and run, run, run out of the lair while you still can. Run past the shattered mirror, and the collapsed stairs. Run away before The Phantom puts you in a musically administered trance. The Phantom may be alone, but, “the true distortion lies in his soul.”

Photo Credit: Riccardo Cuppini via Compfight

Photo Credit: Marco Musso via Compfight

I was coming down off my adrenaline rush after my big performance. People walked up to me, congratulating me, telling me how amazing I was, but my only thought was what will my Angel of Music think about my performance? He, my new tutor, was exactly what my Dad had told me about when I was younger, more… carefree, I guess. Before my world came crashing down around me. When my Dad died, and my best friend deserted me.

When I saw him again, I almost didn’t recognize him, with almost being key. When he came to ask me to dinner, when I was in my changing room, I almost growled at his audacity. How dare he, after he broke my heart after dropping me like a piece of… of… garbage! How dare he just come waltzing back into my life, pretending nothing’s happened, like he hadn’t left me alone, hanging, after he told me we’d be friends forever. I then calmed. My Angel wouldn’t ever do that to me. He would never abandon me. ” Christine! Christine!” Oh. It was Meg, my only visible friend. “Christine! Why didn’t you tell me how good of a singer you are?” “I wasn’t that good. I made plenty of mistakes. I only hope my Angel won’t be to mad.” “Angel? What Angel?” Great. Now I’d let slip to Meg. She went on and on about how amazing I was, and I listened in a daze, not really hearing anything she was saying. “Christine? Are you okay?” She asked worriedly, finally falling silent. “I’m fine,” I said dismissively. My angel would be coming soon! I didn’t have time for the silly praises for a performance full of mistakes!

As I started to sing, Meg started panicking. “Christine! Christine!” She’d cried. “This isn’t like you Christine! What’s happening to you?” “Christine, you’re ice-cold! Christine, can you even hear me?!” I couldn’t, actually. All I could hear now were commands: “Look into the mirror, Cristine.” I sighed, feeling safe and at home once more, hearing my Angel’s voice sent me back to when my Mom, Dad, and I were a happy family. Before Raoul left, before Mom left, before dad died. Suddenly, I felt my head clear as I heard the voices of Meg and Raoul, enough to realize I was floating in front of the mirror with Meg’s and Raoul’s frightened faces looking up at me. Suddenly Raoul caught sight of a masked demon in the mirror behind me. “Demon!” He’d cried, “Let Christine go at once!” As I turned, I saw my angel. “Christine… Cristine…” He had mumbled, before smiling at me, “Christine…. Christine, please…”

I was shaking. Suddenly, my Angel’s face was mask-like, almost violent. He swept forward, gathered me in his arms, and stepped through the mirror. I realized, once again, that I was shaking. I was in shock. My Angel, My Angel of Music, had kidnapped me! I felt sorrow, for believing that I could ever have a happy ending, anger, anger toward My Angel for taking me away, and sadness to Raoul and Meg, who I’d most likely never see again. As I had been internally contemplating, the… Monster that’d been impersonating My Angel had taken me to a dungeon, an underground lair, a secret chamber, like the one that was rumored to house the Phantom of the Opera… wait… could My Angel actually be the Phantom? He was certainly fit for it, always wearing a mask and black and red robes like the Phantom was rumored to. I turned to him, half speaking to him, half to myself: “You’re the Phantom of the Opera, aren’t you?” He smirked. “So, darling Christine, you’ve finally discovered who I am? No matter, that foolish boy trying to take control of my hard work, trying to take credit for our hard hours of work will soon be gone, and our focus will be rehearsing for the opera…. All our work, that insolent boy trying to ruin it!” Finally stopping his whining, Phantom sat down at the rotting pipe organ and began to play a haunting tune; Angel of Music, Guide and Guardian… As the tune went on, my voice swelled, going his in perfect harmony, but all I could think about were the rumors about hit abhorrent face. Were they true? I was curious, and, as they say, curiosity killed the cat. Pretending to dance, I slowly snuck up on him, and pulled his mask off. As I screamed in terror, he leapt to his feet, screaming that he would never bring me here again, that I would be stuck with the light for the rest of my natural life. As he sent me up with the promise of orders delivered in notes, I felt free. I felt like I could fly. I felt… safe.

The next time I was forcefully taken to that desperate lair of darkness, I paid more attention to detail. The slimy, filthy walls, glowing with some ancient, devilish light, the lake with what sounded suspiciously like screams floating to the surface, trapped in bubbles from the wretched creature in the dark, dark crevices of the screaming, bubbling, poison-filled lake. I paid attention to the bones floating to the surface of the lake, the walls that looked like bone, the classic throne, shrouded in cobwebs and dust, what once was a throne fit for a king and queen. I listened, and heard the pain-filled, dreadful, drawn-out screams of humans, of people. I felt. I felt the cold, marble-and-granite floors, sparkling in the dim, damp dungeons with what looked suspiciously like blood. I saw the drink, blood red, and wondered if the Phantom truly was a devil, sent up from Hades to deal with the punishing of the unworthy. I wondered if his, no, its victims prayed for sweet Nyx to come and save them from their personal Hell. I wondered, what kind of person could do that kind of thing, and most of all, I prayed, I prayed for whoever Raoul sent for me, I prayed he wouldn’t be so foolish as to come get me himself. And then he did, and he looked so angry that the Phantom couldn’t harm him. And then, I was saved, and I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the creature that lived in that dungeon of black despair.

Photo Credit: Romain Donato via Compfight

No light. No happiness. No sounds. Only the crickets living in the blood filled cracks, rubbing there little sound-makers together. There are no sights of fun filled happiness throughout the room of dark despair, just loneliness.

The blood-painted ceiling rules the lair, with the damp air filling it. Torches fill all four corners, but fog only inches off the water line makes it almost impossible to even see the light of that torch. So much fog that you can’t even see the floor that you’re walking on.

There’s just one, only one creepy part, a creature, appearing from the pitch black tunnels of death, walking slowly towards the organ, the organ hidden in a dark, lonely place. It was laying there, just as dark as the phantoms soul. The person walks up to the organ, sits down on the old, screechy chair, and starts to play.