Drip, drip, drip. The icy cold water drips from the stalactites hanging in the darkness above. This dark, damp, place s where the phantom of the opera lives. The pipe organ, looming above everything, the lake rarely moving, besides the little ripples from drops. And lastly, the phantom, composing his music of the night.
Dark, damp, dreary. The blackness inside the cave reflects the darkness within. As he site, composing his maniacal music . You see shadows elongating and moving around the caver. The cave, so far away from the surface that anything trapped inside may never see the light of day. As for the phantom, he may never see the light if it were staring him right in the face, so consumed is he in the night.