1Title: Blinded by Darkness

Series: The Phantom of the Opera

Author: PhantomErik-007

Disclaimer: I don't own these guys. They belong (originally) to Gaston Leroux. I just like to abuse them.

Daylight is non-existent in this world. Only the lights from hundreds of burning candles illuminate the endless hours. As the dark figure sits there at his elegant desk, his eyes settled upon the flames flickering up from the candles that were so varied in length, due to the endless burning of them. Candles on the desk…candles hanging from the walls…candles on freestanding holders littered throughout the room. He made his home in the darkness, and it was in the darkness that he thrived. Without the sight that light provides the senses…everything else comes to life. The sounds…the smells…the taste…the very feel of life was different.

Tired fingers dropped the quill they had been holding for far too long, and mix-matched brown and blue eyes dropped to the parchment lying before him. Black ink, still fresh and wet, etched notes and words across the page in an elegant script. His hand and head moved in a gentle swaying motion as the music on the page came alive in his imagination, his uneven lips silently murmuring words to the music only he could hear. It was here that he was in his element. No man was his equal. But even he knew that his work was doomed to be known only by few, if any. It was the price he paid. His life was one of loneliness…of solitude. But perhaps for the cost…the music he created might out live him and be discovered by others.

Pulling himself away from the desk, he put out the candles and stood making his way to a bookshelf on the far wall of the room. Uncorking a bottle of red wine, he poured himself a glass then settled into the extravagant couch that graced the room. One hand lifted to his face, pulling off the stiff leather mask that hid him and protected him from the world. It fell to the cushion next to him as he took a sip of the wine, letting the bittersweet flavor fill his senses. It was a good vintage…only the best of course. With the salary he "earned" from the opera house, he could afford the best. The best wines for his home…the best furnishings. The finest silks and satins and linens for his clothes. The finest leather that he had handcrafted by one of the best leather workers in France. A man paid well for his work and his discretion. But even the prettiest petals could not make this flower lovely.

Before he knew it, the whole bottle of the fine red wine was gone, but it left him none the worse for wear. Setting the glass down he took up his mask again, slipping it over his face as he turned towards the door of his home. A cape of fine black velvet settled over his shoulders as he made his way out the door. It was time to haunt the lonely halls of his home.

Author's Note: This is kind of a prologue piece to a longer story I'm currently working on.