Chandelle Premiére: Paix

Sunday, 28th November, 1880

Again, it begins. As in every year, it begins, it does now as well. Advent season and Christmas made Erik so bitter and sarcastic that, if someone was there with him, they could have easily agreed that Erik becomes the old monster he keeps calling himself the whole year, at this time even more so than anytime else. How he loathed this time of the year! It held nothing but sorrow and self- pity for him, isolated in his lake house since the Opera was finally finished. This season, and Christmas itself just made him remember how lonely he was. He did not have anyone to wish a Merry Christmas or to give gifts to, or just simply be with.

Christmas never meant anything to him, as it did to others. His mother celebrated it back in his childhood, but it was merely an act of tradition and religious play, not because they liked each other so much. His gift was something he needed anyway, mostly some kind of piece of clothing, but he would have appreciated a mother's kiss way more, yet he wasn't allowed to even dream of such a blasphemy. He also had unpleasant memories about childhood Christmases- his mother would be even more depressed these days than she was otherwise. She was crying for her happy past and the sad, sad present she had with this monster-devil- living dead in her house. This corpse of a child, who took away everyone from her… She would often drink and get drunk, throwing things at him, or just yelling… or oh God… crying. He was so sad to see his mother cry. It hurt him even more than the slaps or beatings he got, because he mostly deserved them. But those tears were burning his very soul, and he knew well, from a very young age that those tears were because of him and his face.

Thankfully they don't celebrate Christmas in Persia or Turkey. These countries made him forget about that sickening holiday for the years he had spent in the East.

But as he returned back to Europe, the nightmare started over and over, from every end of November to every end of damned December. He always repaid other people for the sorrow they caused him with bitterness and sarcasm. Now that he was the Opera Ghost, he could easily do it. He criticized everything, regardless if it was a good or a bad performance he saw. He wrote letters to the management to tell his not so kind, but at least very honest opinion about Carlotta, the choir, the dancers, the orchestra, and the program. The Opera was also decorated for Christmas. Ridiculous ugly tasteless Christmas ornaments and that damned tree was set up in every year. He would look at those things as they were some rats that would spread bubonic plague. He either pushed, threw or kicked down the ones he could reach, and this act, to be honest, made him happier. He would even produce that gravely – ghostly maniacal laughter of his, while doing so, scaring the little ballerinas. They ran away screaming from a fallen and broken ornament, telling everyone "The Phantom! The Phantom!" Erik always grinned to this, chuckling like a naughty child. That was the only thing he actually liked about Christmas.

Despite being a musician, he disliked Christmas carols a lot. Especially those ones about the merciful God. He often remarked sarcastically to himself that the merciful God does not exist at all, only that one who gives punishment, otherwise he either gave him some love and peace in his life, or let him die, but as neither of these did already happen, he can't agree with God being loving and merciful to humans, or at least, not to him. And to top that mess and rubbish about the lyrics, these songs had so easy and banal melodies that he could not even like them for the music. Carolers gave pain to his ears. They made him sick in the stomach. They gave him headaches. He always put his fingers in his ears while passing them.

He was grumpy, always complaining about something, and as in a very rare moment of sincerity he admitted it to the Daroga, he did not even like to be in the same room with himself and would like to put himself out to the bank of the lake so he will be able to be grumpy in peace, without going on his own nerves. Erik was sure he had gone totally crazy as he, despite of how hard he tried to avoid it throughout the year, in these winter months did cuss like a sailor for no apparent reasons, or just because of a simple "malheur" he would not have any other reaction than a sigh about. He did use many foul words, calling the whole holy family by various names, in every language he knew, then ran to his luxurious bathroom to wash his own mouth out with soap, as he couldn't bear the presence of that crazy man with a mouth like a drunken coachman. "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth, hideous monster?" – He would yell at himself, then break out in a desperate and painful sob on the bathroom floor, that slowly turned to a maniacal laughter, and finally into a nasty fit of cough, due to overstraining his voice.

On the streets of Paris, if he had to go out for shopping sometimes, he saw people bursting with happiness and love for each other, or to be honest, so they played a well – directed play of humanity, wishing each other Happy Holidays step by step. He was so extraordinary in the middle of the happy crowd with his pale and mournful expression and skeletal form, in all black clothes, and his black hat pulled in his eyes, with a nearly transparent fake nose and mustache, that people couldn't help, but either laugh at, or whisper about him. His strange, pale face and sunken eyes reminded people of Grim Reaper, and they would remark it, of course. This fact, and the mere thought of having to walk on the streets made Erik even more upset, causing him to make a face he could kill with, and that made people laugh even more. Especially he hated those "damned and ill- mannered kids who are just sent out by their parents to commit mischief all day long", as children loved to throw snowballs or even bits of ice at him, calling him a bag of bones, Grim Reaper, bier Fugitive or ugly old corpse. They would chant various satires about him when they noticed him on the streets, to that Erik often promised to beat them up if he catches them. These encounters ended by a bunch of screaming and laughing children running on the snowy streets of Paris with an enraged Opera Ghost in their heels, who either could not or did not want to keep up their pace, and after a time, he would stop, wheezing in the middle of the road. He would go minding his business after, promising half- loud that he will once catch them all and teach them to their morals.

This year, however, was different. At first, only a little bit different, not much. After he met Mlle Daaé, he found himself smiling more and more often. He thought it was just because the lessons that they went well, and he was a successful tutor… but after some thinking he had to realize that it was Christine herself that made him smile. That young woman was such a pleasant companion, she was mostly cheerful, polite and intelligent. She was way more educated than other girls in the choir or in the whole Opera. They were able to chat about music, operas, books, history and even a bit of science. Erik never met a woman who understood anything about science, other than Mlle Daaé. No one else had been so kind to him in his whole life before. Christine accepted him to be an angel, and since that she spoke to him as he was a very dear friend. She would tell him everything she was happy or sad about, often apologizing, as so earthly matters sure did not interest him, but Erik always thanked her for that in his mind – a human being finally found him worthy of talking to. Christine thought him as an angel, but to be honest, she was the real angel, herself. Such an angel she was, she really deserved to be happy… and receive a gift for this Christmas from her angel of music!

This was the first time he actually had pleasant thoughts regarding Christmas- as she thought of the smiling young woman who, without doubt, loved this time of the year. He witnessed her comforting little Jammes and another ballet girl after he scared them away by kicking off another ornament. She told them there was no Opera Ghost, and that ornament sure just fell because it wasn't put there properly, and after she led them to a sofa in the hall and told them the story of the Nutcracker. He was so enchanted by the beautiful young girl, telling a story to the minors that he couldn't help but imagine what a great mother she would be. Thinking back at this scene still made his eyes blur with tears, but they were not tears of sadness, hopelessness or rage- they were tears of joy. That was something he never experienced before.

Maybe the time for happiness is finally coming to him? What if this beautiful girl, this angel is finally a sign of luck and hope for him? Could she love him for himself? She seems to love his personality, and sure, she adores his beautiful voice. He knew well that she can only love him if he finally makes peace.

Peace – with himself, with the world, and at first – with Christmas. That is the only way he can give her a merry and blessed Christmas as she deserves- if he finally makes peace with Christmas. And the best way to do it is to finally celebrate it- just as everyone else.

He slowly fought back his disgust and went to his storage room and climbed up on the ladder to reach the highest shelf there. On the very top and back of the shelf, nearly tossed to the wall, he found the cardboard box he took from his mother's house, covered in years of dust. He blew most of it off of the box, and he had to sneeze instantly as it flew right into the hole where his nose should have been. The box was labelled with his childish handwriting as "nasty Xmas rubbish". With the protest of every ounce of his being, he carried it outside to the drawing room, and placed it on the table. He frowned with his twisted lips, then leaned closer to the box, opening it with the suspicion if he would try to catch a scorpion.

As the lid opened he saw those stomach turning things in it, but he did not pay much attention to the boas or glass globes yet. He was searching for the first thing needed for the spiritual attunement- the advent wreath. He finally found it, it even contained the colored candles, but they were in rather bad shape- they were half melted and dusty. He was even more disgusted now than before. Even if he cleans them, they are still melted. He sighed and thought to himself "They aren't perfect – just as I am not either. " He put the wreath on the table, with those candles and he lit the first one and was staring at the candlelight for a long time- let's try to focus on that damned Christmas… for Christine… for us!