A/N: Hello, everyone. This is the first fic that I've uploaded in a long time, and the first one that I've uploaded that's not for Wicked. I wrote this after watching the 2004 film version of Phantom of the Opera for about the twentieth time in one week, and it's been sitting on my computer for a few months since then while I've been debating whether or not to post it. Due to urging from a couple of friends, I finally decided that this fic was worth posting, so here it is.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

I am a monster. I may have been human once, but it was so long ago that I cannot remember. I do not remember much anymore to start with, my memory is a haze with only a few memories still remaining vivid in my mind. All I know is that I have no one in the world to claim me, to look on me with love or compassion, to extend a hand in kindness or friendship. I have no one to turn to, no one to go to. I am alone, and what human being could survive such loneliness?

One of the few things I remember is that there was once hope of redemption for me. That hope, however, was in the form of a woman who abandoned me. I had been so close, she wanted to love me, I know that, but my hopes were dashed in what was the worst tragedy of my hellish life. The irony of this being one of the only things I remember distinctly is that this is the very thing that I have tried so hard to forget. As long as I remember her, the love she inspired in me remains. It is this love that is the last shred of humanity that remains in me. I can't help but think that if this last trace of humanity were extinguished for good, I would not be pained by the realization that I am an inhuman monster, incapable of being an object of affection for anyone.

I have fallen into vices I swore to myself I would never indulge in, all in the name of forgetting, and still I remember. Absinthe and opium, praised the world over for their ability to bring bliss and forgetfulness. But no matter how strong the absinthe, or how pure the opium, nothing makes me forget. I may dwell in a half-awake state of, if not forgetfulness, indifference, for a short time, but the minute the intoxicating effects wear off, I am once again painfully aware of the tragedy of my past and the shameful sordidness of my present. Because of this, I do my best to dwell as much as possible in that half-awake world of dreamy indifference.

I love the half-awake state that I get from the combination of strong, undiluted absinthe and opium. In this state, I remember her, I remember Christine… but the memories don't cause me pain. There is no regret. In this state, I can relive the moments when we were together, I can relive our first and last kiss, and due to the intoxicating effects of my vices, these memories bring pleasure instead of pain. In these waking dreams, I think of my Christine and know only joy, because in these dreams I am in my own world where she is mine, and I am completely indifferent to everything around me and every intervening moment that has swept across my life since then to create an impassable gulf that separates me from those few happy times.

When the dreams fade and I am left with reality, every trace of happiness and joy I have ever felt vanishes. The ecstasy of love turns to the anguish of regret. Memories that should be pleasant turn into evils which I cannot bear to think of. When these waking dreams wear off, I am left alone once again in my living hell, and I turn once again to my vices to renew that temporary happiness that is now the only substance and meaning to my life.

When I am sober, I am tormented by the thoughts of how sordid and shameful my existence is. I cannot help but think of how horrified and repulsed Christine would be to see the state I am in. Where once I lived for my music, and for my angel, now I live only for my vices. My piano, where I composed the music of the night for my beautiful angel of music so long ago, stands forgotten and untouched. I have not written a single note, nor even played one, since the day she left. Every once in a while, either in my drug-induced dreams or in my hellish wakefulness, a bittersweet melody will work its way from my neglected and underused vocal chords, but this is only a sad, empty ghost of the music that I used to live for. Christine turned from me almost unwillingly before, if she saw me now she would not hesitate to turn from me in disgust. She would despise the very thought of me, she would curse my name and the day I came into existence.

I have tried to stop this, to give up these vices, but I can't. Every time I try to, the pain is too much. The moment I wake up from those blessed dreams, and reality comes crashing down, the pain constricts my chest so that I cannot breathe. I never thought that grief and remorse could be so crushing and all-consuming that they would make it physically impossible to move or breathe, but this pain is more intense than anything I have ever felt before. Desperate for relief from this unimaginable pain, I turn once again to my vices. It is an inescapable part of my life now.

I welcome the inevitable ending that comes along with these vices. I know I am doomed to an early death, and I wish for it and wait impatiently for it every hellish day that passes. All the fires and torments of hell hold no terror for me now, no pain could be worse than this. Shame, remorse, regret, all of these consume every waking thought. And through it all, I still love her. I still hold on to that one innocent, pure feeling that I still possess. My angel was the one pure thing in my life. It is no wonder that such untainted, unspoiled, immaculate beauty and purity would turn in horror from a soul as doomed and wretched as mine.

As I slip once more into my drug-induced dreams, I feel different. It is as if my body is slowly shutting down, closing off more and more awareness of the world. I smile as I think of it. I am dying this time, I know it. Ten years of these vices, a single decade, and they have killed me. Christine crosses my mind once more, and as I die, I relive my last kiss with her. I see once more the love shining in her eyes, I feel her lips on mine. I am glad that this love, this true, pure, beautiful, everlasting love, is the last thing I will feel on this earth. It makes all thoughts of pain and torment disappear, and at least at the end, my life doesn't seem so tragic.

I close my eyes, and I see Christine. I could not ask for a better image to see in my last moments. As the blackness of death consumes me in these lonely catacombs that will soon become my forgotten and fitting tomb, I find the strength to whisper four final words to the empty air. "I love you, Christine."