ThePhantomsAria

  Erik staggered around his vandalized lair, his music tossed and ripped, beloved organ smashed, no knowledge of where his opera, Don Juan Triumphant was now. Possibly sold to another composer, or trashed as he was, forgotten. Now he had gone into a comatose state; breathing but barely alive, he had no care in the world, he was empty, gone. He walked around now in his lair in a living dead pace; shuffling through puddles, not minding that it soaked his once best shoes, in his long boned arms he held tightly to his chest, was Christine's wedding veil. The one he had specially made for only her, now the fabric laid limp in his arms, draped over