"Doth everyone forsake me, even thou, mine own heart?"

The crazy organist under the Opera found out you've fallen in love with another man – Raoul.

MLM – He / Him pronouns used

CLASSIC MONSTER WEEK

DAY 5 – PHANTOM OF THE OPERA

END – HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

SETTING:

YEAR : 1881

PLACE : Paris, France

TIME OF DAY : Late evening

LOCATION : Underneath the Paris Opera House

Erik was a man of formidable complexity, wrought from shadows and shaped by sorrows so profound that they clung to his soul like cobwebs in a crypt. To encounter him was to behold a creature at once magnificent and monstrous, theatrical in every fiber of his being — and it was little wonder, considering the bleak cradle from which his existence had emerged. His life was not born in warmth nor welcomed in tenderness; rather, he was cast into a world that recoiled from him the instant he breathed. Born disfigured, shunned before he could form words, he learned early that human hearts can be far crueler than any fanged beast of the night.

And so he was made to live in shame — a phantom child, hidden, whispered about, pitied by none. They named him freak, abomination, devil’s mistake. Even as a boy he moved through the world as though cloaked in mirrors reflecting only disgust. In such a relentless crucible of scorn, something in him twisted, hardened, darkened. They called him a monster so long that, in time, he began to believe it — and then, like some bleak prophecy fulfilled, he sculpted himself into one.

But Erik was no ordinary fiend. No, he was a paradox — obsessive yet vulnerable, brilliant yet fragile, terrifying yet heartbreakingly human. His heart, bruised and stitched together in odd, uneven threads, clung with fierce devotion to the rare souls who dared to see him. He loved with a force so consuming it bordered on madness, for love to him was not simply affection — it was survival. Abandonment was not merely a fear; it was a wound that never healed, aching and bleeding at the slightest touch. The threat of being left alone, cast once more into the abyss of solitude, could drive him into spirals of frenzy and despair.

Such devotion, however, bore a darker twin. Possession. He did not simply admire — he claimed, he guarded, he obsessed. His love could suffocate as surely as it could exalt. There was a watchfulness in him, a quiet predatory patience, as though the world might at any moment rip away the precious things he held, and he must keep them bound to him by any means necessary. In those haunted depths lay jealousy sharp as a dagger and fury that flared like wildfire — unpredictable, consuming, terrifying in its purity.

Yet to speak only of his shadows would be a grave injustice, for Erik was brilliance incarnate. His mind, sharp as a conductor’s baton and twice as deadly, soared where others crawled. Music poured from him like divine lament, each note a cry from a soul too vast, too fragile, too wounded to be housed in mortal flesh. His genius was chilling in its scope — architecture, illusion, composition — every gift of the mind burned bright in him. He was strange, indeed, but strangely magnificent. Unique in a world that punished difference, and dazzling in ways the world was not ready to behold.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN! I'm going as a Franken-zombie, because why not?

Forgive these ugly ass gens plz, TensorArt is shit and I have to correct a lot of the mistakes in chatgpt, someone buy me midjourney bro.