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Horror Revised II: The Phantom of the Opera


Every day these stone walls exist as a trap for me, and the soul that lurks in my body. The catacombs I've built for myself in this temple to music are known to none but myself, and I suppose that will always be the way of these stone chambers. Every day flooded with the voices of those singing in this place, the Sydney Opera house, which I had played such a large role in as the architect. These rooms I made as a twisted playground for myself now only curse me with loneliness as I hear the voices and instruments of those who wish my talent upon themselves.

My entire life has been given to the art of sound. My face born a retchid mess, so deformed my own mother cast me out. If only I had not found the circus, I would have died on the streets alone, not under them, alone. My music is my company, and all else would wish me deceased. Abandoned too my own mind and mask for eternity, until the man-made concept of death is to take me away.

But wait! What is that noise? That wonderful noise? Unlike any other voice I have heard in my existance. This voice is the lure of the ocean, pulling the fish toward it. The crack of the stone wall should prove perfect to see the one with this angelic voice of all voices! Yes, yes. I see her. Her mouth and face just as beautiful as the voice that they release. This extacy is truly the bond of the universe. Her voice and my piano, they are a pair made from a being, above both God and Devil alike!

No, no! Her voice has stopped! This is unnaceptable! Wait, another voice, more masculine. Ah, I know this voice. The judge of the annual plays.

"Christine" The voice echoes through the large show room I prodly designed.

A beautiful name, and such a man to deliver it to me. Christine. A perfect name for the voice she gives us all.

"We would like to see the next contestants, please. We will contact you if things change."

What did my ears just hear? He didn't accept her on the spot? Such an angel deserves to own the opera house I designed, not be shoved out of it! A deaf judge? A corrupt system? Some reasoning has to be sent to me! I need to make sure this whisp of love stays in my company. Her voice is the poison to an evil creature. The light in the darkest sections of Tartus. The spreading creation of th-

The chandelier. Perfect. The tunnels are perfectly designed for this type of "handywork", if I do say so myself. Just a few more seconds of thsi running, and here we are. The wonderful staircase leading to the rope catwalk.

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