Silence and darkness reigned. The Opera Ghost was falling. Falling hard. Nothing to stop him. No one to care. He took his black mask off. He looked at it with disgusted. He didn't know why he pick this one to wear instead of another mask will a less gruesome pass. To wear it in front of Christine of all people. Was he trying to give her a sudden hit of his past actions that cause guilt to this day.

Assassin he once was. A good one indeed. Never let his victims live. Never had witnesses. He didn't ask questions. He obeyed blindly. Having this mask be the last thing they saw as a noose blocked their airways. He has seen every color a man can turn. Most would call him sick, but he felt as if this was a outlet for his rage. Occasionally enjoying his line of work at times. Never being caught.

He thought of the souls that scarred his conscious. He was a Reaper, a grim one at that. He tried to justify his actions by remembering these men weren't innocent. They were politicians, corrupt scum but they had one thing that this lone Ghost lacked. Family. Wives, sons, daughters all alone without a ounce of justice.

Many times the Opera Ghost contemplated on a suicide. But he was contempt to make Hell wait. He couldn't repent. No, for he had a too many sins for any just God to forgive. Yes, he believed he was doomed from the start to be devil on earth.

His mother never even bestowed a name upon such a deformity. His father refused to meet him. To lay eyes on him even as a newborn. To be the black sheep of his family was a understatement. To forever be marked a monster.

"A monster I was. A monster I'll be. A monster Christine does not deserve to see."

Words he repeated over and over again. But were always forgotten in her presence.
He stood in front of a mirror looking at his own curse."To corrupt my Angel? Do I not possess any compassion for her?" He smashed the mirror with his fist.

Not caring it was the same hand that Miss Daaé so carefully stitched up. He didn't consider if he broke his hand, how he would fail to play the melodies that wooed such a lovely young woman. Maybe it was for the best. His hand was a mess once again.

Blood stained the bandages. He however could not feel the pain. Pain was something he learned to deal with. Beat, whipped, carved like a pumpkin by his mother, brother, captures, and masters. He stared at the glass that lined his feet blood drops falling.

He knew that he had to clean his bandages or at least sweep the glass away. Maybe finish his work. Not letting past emotions consume him. But was he past the point of no return. Past compassion, past love, past tears, past happiness. All the things he prayed for Christine. Christine one of the only people that depended on him. He cared for her and hoped that she would do the same out of love not courtesy.

Courtesy a little girl gave. At the Circus, the ghost once lived. Traveling. Caged like an animal. He was twenty held against his will and labeled as the 'Living dead' this of course was before his assassin career

Many lined up to see him his deformity. "Daddy, I wanna see." A little girl about four years of age asked. Signs read Children Beware! But even the cautions wouldn't sway her choice. The man sighed and followed his eagered daughter. She ran threw the crowd only to be face by the man in the cage.

"Hi." She greeted. It shocked him. Usually children her age ran away or threw stones at him. She however wanted a reply but his Master's told him not to take to the guests. "Hello." He responded. He wanted to talk just for a moment, speak.It seemed a waste of his talents if he could not speak or sing.

"Do you have a name?" She asked and all he did was nodded a no. "Well then, how bout Erik? It's my monkey's name." She said as she showed him a tattered toy monkey she held in her hands. "Erik?" he questioned. The name foreign to his tongue yet felt as if he was meant to have such a name.

She was a small fragile little girl. Brown hair sticky out all over the place, big brown eyes, freckles, and a big smile that she directed at him. "He likes music. And mud. He doesn't like baths just like me." She was so thrilled to tell someone about her monkey. He couldn't have listen more if he tried.

People stared in awe as he just sat there barley responding with head nods to this brave little girl. She didn't think she was brave, not at all. She had her monkey nothing could stop her. "He likes sandwiches but he can never finish. Daddy says that I'm a monkey sometimes because I climb on things. But it's what monkeys do."

"Little Lotte, there you are. I've been worried." Her father said as he knelt down to her eye level. "Daddy, I made a friend." She said pointing to the man in the cage. "Friend?" He questioned. Not with fear just concern. But the man in the cage shook as if he was expecting to be spat on or to be order to be whipped.

"His name is Erik. I named him." She remarked proudly. "Little Lotte, you can't name people,." her father replied. "Why not? He said he didn't have a name." She stated. "But after your monkey?" He replied not sure whether to take her seriously or not.

"Erik is strong and brave and can withstand anything!" She stated wanting it to be known that the man can indeed withstand anything like her tattered monkey. "Wait here." Her father ordered. He did not know what suddenly changed in the girl's father. Was it guilt or his daughter's revolutionary words.

The girl's father returned with a key much to the crowds dismay. Her words moved her father to buy the deformed man's freedom. He unlocked the chains and picked up his daughter. They nor the crowd said anything about them releasing the monster. The Ghost kept questioning how much did this man pay to shut the Circus up. Especially when they were walking away with the main attraction.