Lair of the Opera: A Writing Activity Fulfilled

The soft glow of candles, so unlike the harsh glare of daylight some would say they belonged more to the darkness then not, illuminated a cavern, vast and dark. The candlelight was reflected both in the ripples of the lake and the pipes of the pipe-organ in the approximate center of the cave.

There was a moment where so something moved, so fast it was no more then a second. Then, slowly, a figure crept towards the pipe-organ. He stayed only in the crevices untouched by even the soft light of the candles, in the shadows as if he could not let anyone see him, even himself. He went unnoticed by the gentle glow of candlelight, but being only a man of the night and not a creature of one, his sight was limited in the darkness and mistakes were bound to happen.

He tripped on a stray rock, crying out either from either fear or shock, and fell to the ground ungracefully. The mask that covered the majority of his face fell too, and in the absence of the mask he drew his cloak up to his deformed face. Whether he had been born this way or had been in an accident only he could tell, and he rarely spoke. When he did, his past wasn’t his preferred topic of conversation and it would be wise to accommodate him to the best of your ability, lest he be angered.

This phantom of a man rose, placing the mask carefully over his face, (He found it better to be a phantom than a monster, and in all honesty in the general public agreed heartily)his gruesome face unnoticed by none but the legion of moths whose shadows danced upon the cave’s walls. He then continued his slow walk towards the pipe-organ. It was a monstrous thing, the pipe-organ, towering almost to the ceiling of the cavern. But it was beautiful, the golden pipes shining dimly and the white keys glowing softly. The Phantom reached it, and sat down on a lovely velvet playing stool. His fingers hovered over the keys.

He was the least beautiful thing in the room. A dark shadow in a cavernous space filled with all sorts of magnificent treasures, golden, and glowing, and wondrous, and-

The Phantom stood abruptly, a move which threw the playing stool to the ground, scratching the wood and dirtying the pillow. With an angry cry, he swept his hand across the keyboard. The noise produced was a crash of notes, dissonant and clashing. He smashed his fist on the keys, and one of them cracked slightly, the expensive instrument rendered worthless.

The Phantom was the most beautiful thing in the room now, it was sure.

He fell to his knees, and he wept.

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