A/N: I think it's terribly obvious that I do not own the Phantom of the Opera or any of it's original characters, but for those of you that didn't know... There. Now you know.
Poor I had to delete this story twice before I finally figured out what I was doing. This is my first fanfiction published on the site, so if anyone has some formatting tips feel free to let me know.
The music echoed through the catacombs; spiraling up the dripping walls and filling the silence. The sweet sounds of a violin played in private. Erik closed his eyes and focused on the music. He played to drown out his thoughts, to keep away his nightmares.
He had proved himself to be the monster he had always imagined he was. The ruins of the opera sat above him, silent and charred. He had burned the place he called home. He had murdered. A thing he had promised himself he would never do again. He had gained his freedom from his master, why should anymore blood stain his hands?
But passion was a vicious mistress. The things she had demanded had taken a toll on him. Had it only been three years past? Only a scarce few years since the madness had torn through his mind and his soul.
The music died away. He left the violin on his desk and leaned against it for support. He was ailing and weak. He looked down the corridor that led into the alleys of Paris where he had fled those years ago. He had deserved to lose Christine. After the things he had done. He had deserved to lose it all. He deserved to live in loneliness.