As the Phantom restlessly strokes the boat down the lake, his hunched down back gives off a twang of self-pity. He makes a slight gesture for Christine to walk on the boat, still concealing his body in a black, tattered cape. The Phantom’s theme starts up, weak and melancholy. He begins to sing, lip quivering, calm and sorrowful. The boat arrives at the Phantom’s lair. He gently steps out, carefully setting his rotting wooden ore on the wet dirt. Few candles are lit up in this, rejectful cave.
The walls told a thousand stories. Cavities in them, perhaps bullet holes. Scratches that made a small indent. Bones hung from string (human or otherwise).
Christine wasn’t the first human to be down here.
She stepped out of the boat quietly and watched as the Phantom swiftly walked towards his organ. He began to play his theme more confident this time. His fingers dramatically pressing down on the keys. While the Phantom was playing, Christine, walking around as blind as a bat, finds something has caught in her hair. She feels around, trying to pull it out, and touches what feels like a wing. In an instant, she has fainted.