Prologue (Part 1): The Phantom's Grief
Rain pelted onto the decaying opera house, a never-ceasing pitter patter pouring from the heavens. The bleak grey matched the state in which the once-glorified halls lied, the golden statues missing and the red carpeting eaten away by moths. The chandelier still was where it fell, the sharp glass pieces left where they went. Dust and ashes from the posters and other flammable objects circulated through the halls, remaining unswept from the fire two years past.
The Phantom's Lair too was in state of ruin, the brilliant red velvet curtains lined with gold rope faded with dust. The various candles that once had been lit to give the lair an ominous tone were strewn about, carelessly scattered across the rocks and buried deep under the murky lake. Not a single candle had been lit since the day of the fire, and neither had the twin lanterns adorning the now-mossy black boat. Models of the opera house as it once was remained untouched, the figure of a woman standing in the middle of the stage the only one not knocked over.
The roof was the only place that was remained its original beauty, the timeless carvings and statues darkened by the outpour of rainwater still standing as proudly as before. Darkened clouds flashed and boomed, outlining the figure of a man wearing a white mask that covered half of his face. He wore the usual black vest, a black cloak draped over a shoulder fastened at the base of his throat. Black leather boots gleamed in the face of the storm, complementing his slicked-back pitch black hair. Dark blue eyes gazed at the remains of a red rose crushed two years ago, the old and long-browned stem resting in the palm of one of his black leather-gloved hand.
"Why was I not the one for you Christine?" The Phantom quietly cried, stroking the stem with one of his gloved hands. "Did I not offer to give everything you desire? Was I not your beloved angel of music?" The stem twitched as a gust of wind rushed by, the last leaf hanging by a loose thread to the stem threatening to break away. He wanted free from his this timeless burden of his unrequited love, the memories everywhere he went stirring up a never-ending stab of unbearable agony in his heart. The memories of her beautiful brown eyes and curly brown hair were seared down to the bone in his mind, refusing to let go.
Suddenly, with a vicious gust of air the last leaf tore away from the stem at last, spiraling away with the rain. The phantom raised his head to watch the last of his precious rose catch the wing of the statue of the angel, flying downwards as soon as it left the premises of the roof, unleashed into the cruel world below.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I know its odd that I split the prologue into two short parts, but I thought it would get the point across better. Hope that explains my actions!:D
QUESTION: How do you think the Phantom will get over Christine?
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Phantom
Historical FictionThe Phantom of the Opera thought it was all over when he lost Christine. The once-beautiful opera house was slowly rotting away, the remains of the devastating fire only serving to make him relieve painful memories that became phantoms of their own...
