When you ripped off my mask in front of the crowd, all calm leaves me, a growl escaping my lips as I grab you roughly. I dragged you with me as the police stationed by the doors aimed their weapons at me. Fortunately, your “fiance”, Raoul, calls them off, seeing that trying to kill me when you are in my grip is foolish. With your arm still firmly in my grip, I untie the cord holding up the chandelier, before making a mad dash down, screams starting as the chandelier crashes into the audience. I’m too out of it to care, simply tugging you down the stairs harshly.

Even as we arrive in my lair I keep hold of you. Not allowing you a moment to run away, I quickly retrieve the wedding dress I made for you. Raoul cannot have you. In record time, I force you into the dress, before bringing you to the middle of my lair, fluffing out your dress as you sing to me. I continue to freshen you up, fanning out your hair as I tend to your dress, replying in song.

“That fate which condemns me to wallow in blood has also denied me the joys of the flesh. This face… the infection, which poisons our love.” I sing back to you, gruffly, but the conflict I feel bleeds into my words.

“This face, which earned a mother’s fear and loathing.” Coming up to you and looking you in the eyes, I see my own face reflected in your gaze. A poor facsimile of a face. I avert my gaze, walk to my throne, where your veil is.

“A mask. My first unfeeling scrap of clothing.” My throat seems to close up as I recall my first mask. Just a sack, thrown over my head by my mother, who couldn’t bear to look at me. I turn on my heel, shoving the sorrow downwards as the unfiltered rage I feel towards you, towards Raoul, towards the world, finally spills over, and I rush towards you, more growling than singing.

“Pity comes too late, turn around and face your fate, an eternity of this before your eyes!” Placing the veil firmly atop your head, I turn you roughly to face me, to emphasize my point.