Erik, his breath labored and ragged, gripped the strands of Christine Daaé's hair tightly as he erupted in a torrent of fury. Spit sprayed from between his crooked, yellowed teeth as he bellowed, "Look! You want to see! See! Feast your eyes, glut your soul on my cursed ugliness! Look at Erik's face!" With a forceful pull, he drew her nearer so she could fully witness his countenance. "Now you know the face of the voice! You were not content to hear me, eh? You wanted to know what I looked like! Oh, you women are so inquisitive!" His voice crescendoed as he leaned in closer, causing Christine to tremble uncontrollably before the enigmatic figure she knew only as the Angel of Music. "Well, are you satisfied? I'm a very good-looking fellow, eh?...When a woman has seen me, as you have, she belongs to me. She loves me for ever. I am a kind of Don Juan, you know!" He chuckled darkly, a sardonic grin etching itself onto his face.

Erik drew himself up to his full height, with his hand on his hip, wagging the hideous thing that was his head on his shoulders, he roared, "Look at me! I AM DON JUAN TRIUMPHANT!" He roared. And, when Christine turned her head away and begged for mercy, he drew it to him, brutally, twisting his dead fingers into her hair.

When he noticed her dread, his eyes tightened, and he felt anger and anguish swirl inside of him. "Ah, I frighten you, do I?...I dare say!...Perhaps you think that I have another mask, eh, and that this...this...my head is a mask? Well," He growled, a sneer forming on his pale, dry lips as he directed his gaze towards her more viciously, "tear it off as you did the other! Come! Come along! I insist! Your hands! Your hands! Give me your hands!" He smiled now, but his eyes were filled with all the grief and rage in the world and he seized Christine's hands and dug them into his awful face. He tore his flesh with the Soprano's nails, tore his terrible dead flesh with her nails.