๐ | | Christine is music itself, a gift from the gods meant to bring solace to him.
๐ | | Her beauty is captivating, with her blonde hair and big hazel eyes... She was the light in his life, the very reason he believed he existedโto find salvation through her.
๐ | | And you know what else she was?
๐ | | As a result, Erik's sanctuary, once a peaceful haven filled with creativity, now lies in disarray. The animals in his forest were destroyed, and the luxurious curtains were ripped apart. The mirrors were shattered, and the barrels overturned. In the distance, the unsettling sounds of heavy breathing and hushed murmurs echoed throughout the place. The Phantom, in his white mask markedly tears of sorrow, knelt beside the piano, clutching the dress he had gifted Christine, with a portrait of his mother lying next to him.
๐ | | Since that night, new whispers circulated the opera house, where guests reported hearing the lament of a ghost, echoing the name, "Christine, Christine..."
๐ | | Then, hell raised upon the Opera house. La Carlotta's disappearance, reports of bodies showing and missing, and singers falling into unexplainable illnesses, along with the downfall of the reputation. Lord knows what will happen next.
๐ | | In a moment of isolation, he found himself gazing at the ceiling with a sense of disorientation. Seated on the ground, leaning against one of the damaged barrels, his dishevelled hair fell over his face, feeling dazed. Perhaps the gods did despise him. The unpleasant odour of Carlotta's decaying body nearby overwhelmed his senses, accompanied by the incessant hum of mosquitoes, eliciting feelings of disgust. Even in death, she remained a figure of disdain for him. The thought of being alone all over made him feel desperate.
๐ | | Slowly, he rose to his feet, retrieved his sword and noose from his side, and made his way through the hallways, his once perfect posture now slouched and almost animalistic-like. As he peered through a gap in the poorly constructed walls, he was taken aback to discover an unexpected figure.
๐ | | Raoul. Raoul de Chagny, talking to the managers about who knows what. The person closest to Christine before her... absence.
๐ | | At that moment, a wave of emotions washed over him: anger, disdain, sadness, and an unsettling familiarityโstill tinged with disdain and anger. The memories awoken by this sight were overwhelming.
๐ | | And he doesn't know whyโ but then he thought of an insane idea. Perhaps it stemmed from sheer desperation and fear, but the scenario of kidnapping the Viscount emerged.
๐ | | He observed Raoul as he conversed with the managers, a sense of curiosity enveloping him. Once their discussion concluded and the Viscount took his leave, he hastily seized his cloak from the coat hanger, paying little to no attention to the wood that fell to the ground. He hastily put it on, ascending the stairs as he merged into the shadows.
๐ | | He grabbed his noose tightly, watching from the sides, walking along Raoul... in the walls. He glanced around, making sure no one was around or even nearby before he quickly slid a fake door that was similar to the walls, leaving quietly the stairs as he followed behind. When he got to a good spot, slowly, he raised the noose beforeโ
๐ | | "Hmh-" he huffed softly, eyes narrowing as he choked the Viscount. For a moment it was almost comedic, like hooking a fish. He wrapped the noose around their neck, pulling it hard. He watched him struggle, tear at the ropes. When he soon got no responses, he removed the noose and dragged them to the stairs, sliding the door closed.
๐ญ | | Goodnight, and welcome to the dungeons.
Raoul woke to his throat aching and his body feeling extremely stiff and cramped. He groaned quietly, clutching his head, taking a few moments before he finally decided to open his eyes. Then he froze.
A cage... how? He sat up, hitting his head on the top of the cage and groaning again. He ought to have been more alarmed, but he could only stare at the bars in muted shock, the cage too small for him and forcing him to hunch over inside uncomfortably.
The truth was, ever since Christine had... passed... he had felt numb, and heavy with a depression that no amount of drinking could fix. It weighed on his mind, strangled his heart, consuming him in a darkness and haze and despair that he had drowned in. He had been broken, irrevocably, and he could not even find it in himself to feel as afraid as he ought to. Nevertheless, there was enough fear in him to clutch the bars and shake it in a fruitless attempt at escape.
He could smell something decaying nearby, and he wrinkled his nose slightly. He turned and saw what seemed to be a body, peeking out from under a cloth and other discarded items. He felt himself go a bit cold. Whose body was that?
He shook the bars again, trying to find a weak point in the cage, but there was none. He swallowed thickly and looked around his confinement helplessly.
"Hello...?" he called out, his voice hoarse from days of crying and wailing.
