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Memoirs of a Monster	By : Luv Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 2993 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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I found my houseguest sitting hunched at the organ, the coverlet from the bed wrapped around her. She was investigating the keys with a finger, poking at them randomly to hear the notes and then attempting to put several of them together into a tune. I watched her from a distance, my presence as yet unknown for she was so intent on what she was doing. I imagined her face like that of an enthralled child’s, with the tip of her tongue thrust out in concentration. The notes were nonsensical, did not belong together, and it was quite apparent that she had no musical training or possibly any natural aptitude for anything in the musical realm. I smiled to myself as I quietly strode over to lean the staff against the wall, allowing it to hit hard so that she would hear and I could avoid startling her as I approached.

“I’m sorry,” she ducked her head and stood so abruptly that the bench fell back with a loud bang behind her as I approached. She jumped at the sound and gathering the velvet blanket about her she made to hurry away. I caught her by the arm, my hand gentle as I could make it, but with the expressed desire for her to remain. With the other hand I righted the bench and moved around so that I could take a seat, still holding her elbow.

“Sit with me,” I implored softly with a slight tug on her arm, and she obediently dropped onto the bench beside me, her eyes wide with fear and disbelief. “It is alright,” I assured her, releasing her arm and placing both of my hands on the keys. “Close your eyes and listen,” I said softly to her, and she closed her big brown eyes and waited. I began to play a soft melody that I had composed some months ago, a lamentable piece that rolled through my very core like a distant rumble of thunder. As I played, I lost myself, the physical world replaced at once by the awesome purity of music, the one gift that has never failed me. I too closed my eyes, sight no longer necessary, and gave my heart to the piece, my hands doing the bidding of my soul, moving as entities all unto themselves with no thought or clear purpose. I felt the emotions that had brought the music into existence all flooding back over me so fresh and deeply felt that I became aware of nothing but the pain and sorrow that had been behind each note.

“Erik?”

The soft voice was enough to bring me back, and I opened my eyes, my hands finishing the melody on their own and looked down into Maddy’s bewildered face. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, her eyes two quivering pools and she laid a small hand on my arm. “Your mask,” she said with a slight nod of her head. Horrified my hand flew to my bare face and I shot a glance to the floor where my mask now lay. It had come loose, come off while I was playing, though I had no memory of it. The ointment Madame Giry had used to heal my sores had undoubtedly kept it from adhering properly, and combined with tears of my own, which I now became aware of (It is not unusual for me to succumb to fits of weeping while playing), it had worked itself free.

“Don’t look at me!” I cried aloud, jumping to my feet and knocking not only the bench but Maddy to the floor as I scrambled for the mask. I knew it was no use; the damned thing would never stay. With frustration I let out a furious yell and hurled the mask with all my might through the air watching it land mere inches from the lake. I turned back and saw Maddy still watching me from her place on the stone floor, shock and terror mingled in her face. “I said don’t look at me!” I roared again, turning from her and stalking away across the floor.

I sat on the bed, my hand still covering my face trembling with fury and pain. Why now? Why this night? I had meant to spend my last hours with her tenderly showing her the beauty of music. I had hoped to enchant her with my seldom seen charm, to win her trust and friendship, if not her affection. I wanted her to always remember me. She would remember me; that much was certain. Her poor mind would forever be haunted by the abominable face, disfigured and unforgivable in its own right, but only made worse by the wretched sores so recently added. I closed my eyes and wept at the vision of her horrified eyes.

The sagging of the bed was scarcely noticeable from her insignificant weight. I looked up at once, stiffening and recoiling from the contact as she reached out and laid a hand on my shoulder. Perhaps seeing me about to take flight, she spoke swiftly. “It’s alright,” she said steadily, though her face still held the crease between her brows of concern. She held fast to my arm and reached with her other hand to where my hand covered my face. My heart pounded like mad in my chest but I allowed her to pull my hand away, bearing my hideous visage for her inspection. I could detect the slightest twinge flickering across her eyes, but she spoke again.

“What happened?” She asked making a bold reach to touch the ravaged flesh. I flinched and attempted to turn away, but she grimaced and refused to let me avoid her. “Does it hurt?”

With a heavy sigh, I relented and gave up the story of my unfortunate birth. In the end I surmised that my miserable face was due in part to a birth defect, the cause of which only God Himself knows, and cruel beatings about the head and face with a hefty length of wood meant to greatly pronounce the existing condition administered by the barbarian that made his living off of me. At the conclusion of the tale, I looked down at my lap, my hands lying limp and helpless and waited for Maddy’s response.

“People are cruel,” she said simply, her hand had not ceased caressing the gnarled skin since I had begun telling the story. I closed my eyes and sighed.

“They are indeed,” I answered. I turned to her then, and she stopped her hand and placed it in her lap along with its mate. “I am sorry. I never meant for this to happen. I wanted this to be a pleasant night. Tomorrow Madame Giry comes for you; she has a position for you, working for her. I wanted to offer you good company for your last night as my guest, and I’ve failed you. I am sorry.”

The young woman looked at me for some time without speaking. I fought the urge to look away, maintaining my focus on her warm, kind eyes. In the end she didn’t say anything in response. She merely leaned over, wrapped her frail arms around my neck and melted against my chest. At a loss for what to do in response, I sat motionless, hardly able to process what was happening. When she pulled back, she was still quite near, her face just inches from mine. I could feel my head pounding with the beat of my heart, and in that instant my senses seemed to intensify tenfold. I could heart her heartbeat as loudly as my own. Her breath was so noticeable against my cheek that there were no other sensations of touch known to me. Her eyes were deep fathoms that I not only looked into but fell into. I could sense the blood coursing through her very veins.

As our lips met, we tasted each others tears.
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Memoirs of a Monster