I walk alone, in darkness, in shadow, in death. Never again will I resurface; never again will I let myself taste hope, taste light, taste life, taste happiness; never again will I trust as I have trusted and love as I have so deeply loved. All that is left for me to do is die, which I am progressing towards daily.
My heart belongs to only one forever and a day, only she, supreme beauty! Ah, such radiance! Such perfection! Such unearthly loveliness! Ah! Ah! Ah... misery is my companion now.
Forever shall I live without my heart. All of it—all of it—is hers and hers alone. She cried so much for freedom, she begged me to let her go with her tearful eyes... no words... ah... ah... my heart was torn, ripped, wrenched asunder, taken—stolen—from me... it was my last act of compassion, sacrificing my heart—the heart I have left only beats to exist. The heart I gave her was so very much alive. She so richly deserved, so deeply desired, so desperately needed it. She was so dreadfully alone--poor child!--and my heart consoled her, as poor, wretched, and undeserving it was.
Now I live without my life; I have settled for this menial existence until its final end. Death creeps around every corner, filling every rotten crevice in my lungs with each wretched intake of air, covering my eyes with shadow, afflicting my restless, grieving spirit with unending sorrow, feeding on my own pallid flesh...
For as long as I have dwelt here, I was known as a ghost. I used to laugh at them who called me thus. Now, I laugh with them, a most dreadful, joyless laugh—I have died, and yet I still haunt the face of the earth. I still have not found rest, being tortured with anguish and agony! I am mortally injured by her absence; every second she is away, my heart burns in the void, my bones ache for her vainly, and every second I spend without her is another eternity of hell, another forever of inconsolable, venomous pain... she is gone forever, alas, she is gone from me. Every day, the pain sucks away at what life is left with me... and soon, I shall be dead. My soul cleaves to my flesh, and begs to take its leave. I do not refuse its last request.
While I still draw breath, I haunt this world, detached forever from humanity, even from my own, and I will exist basely as a soulless corpse, waiting for the morbid, blessed day when I can finally rest, for on that day, she will come for me again, to bury me... her poor Erik... and then I will be, at last, asleep, and I will wait for her to join me in death. It is this fact that allows me to call my death, happy! and my life, anguish. Alas, what a curse was my life, what a curse... rejected by my mother, taken in by gypsies, banished from Persia, then banished from mankind, and then finally, banished from happiness... may God, if there even is one, let no one pity me... may He let me be erased, unmourned, ungrieved...
I am the Phantom of the Opera.