[The Phantom of the Opera] Boundary Bridge

Eric fell into an ice cave.

He didn't dare to look at it for a while, but he had to.The mirror surface was cold and smooth, reflecting an ugly, ghostly face.He howled miserably, stumbled back a few steps, tripped over the sundries on the ground and fell to the ground, still clutching his face tightly.

"No...no!" He growled tremblingly, half roaring and screaming, "No, it's impossible!"

He crawled to the desk again, propped his elbows on the ground, and put his head on the cushion in a daze.Eric looked up slowly to see the face in the mirror, his heart throbbing with pain and tension.

He just glanced at it, then let out another howl, pushed the chair hard, and fell to the ground.

No difference at all, no difference at all.What he saw in the mirror was clearly the changed face, which was no different from the glimpse when he was insane.Trembling, Eric stroked the skin that should have been repaired as before, and he could feel the scalding of the potholes.

He took his hand away in shock, and covered it back desperately.The hidden desire in my heart overwhelms everything.

"No, this is a dream." He murmured, and then he seemed to grasp at straws, "This is a dream! This must be a dream!"

He stood up in the room, covered his face with one hand, and shook the other violently back and forth, as if trying to increase the persuasiveness of his words.He said loudly and viciously, "It's just a nightmare!"

Then he touched his own blood, salty and cold.Eric stared blankly at the bloodstains for a moment, then continued to smash without hesitation—he dragged the heavy wooden chair with his hands, and slammed the fragmented floor hard, as if to release himself This hateful room seemed to be designed to release the devil in my heart.

"It's a dream!" he roared.At the same time, the exposed wooden thorn pierced into his palm fiercely due to the beating, bringing distinct pain and blood on his hand.Eric still didn't realize it, he was still roaring——

"This is a dream!"

At the same time, he finally calmed down, put down his hands, and stood in the middle of the room like a lost soul.The room was no longer intact, and the chair he threw with all his strength at the last moment made the wooden door crumbling.Only the cold mirror stood behind him.Eric turned his back to the mirror, he felt unable to breathe and face, as if controlled by magic.

Yes, magic.He thought to himself, and then fell into a deeper panic——

If the reappearance of an ugly face is a nightmare, then shouldn't the restoration of the previous appearance be a dream?Now, when I wake up from the dream, there is nothing left.No, no, no.Eric's hands trembled redoubled.If the restored appearance is just a dream, then Enid and Ariel are also just a dream... Impossible!impossible!

"I'm awake," he said, feeling his brain buzz. "I'm sure I talked to her, sang, and we even lived together for months. She confessed to me. I—I regret it I never kissed her."

The buzzing in his head stopped, only his own voice echoed, so clear and cold.

It was as if that cold and terrifying mirror also appeared in his heart, completely reflecting this sentence.

"I want her back, I want her back," he whispered.After speaking the truth, it seemed so easy to follow.Eric was almost relieved, but at this moment, there was a sneer that rubbed against metal in his ear.

It was the voice of the witch in his memory.

"Who?!" Eric yelled in panic, stood up and looked around, "Witch? Are you there! Come out!" The shame of telling the truth before swept through his mind at this moment, and Eric raised his hand to cover his face, feeling Burning pain.He yelled in despair, almost artificially: "No, my face! My face! Get my face back on!"

Despair is real, pretense is real, love is fake, love must be real.

Eric was gasping for breath again, and the ridicule before seemed to be just his illusion.There was utter emptiness all around, except for the sawdust, which flew up and fell gently in all directions because of his fierce and painful struggle for the air.

He has infinite pain and regret in his heart, infinite struggle and confusion.

If ugliness is real, is beauty fake?If the witch is false, is his hidden song also false?Whether he did it right, or whether he did it wrong.Should he—should he make a deal with that witch?

Eric was speechless.

However, he knew that he had to face the truth at this moment, which was the crucial truth, even if it was nothing more than a disguise of a transaction.Erik, covering his face with one hand, turned slowly and stared hard at the mirror.

His heart was torn in two, one half cold and the other burning.

He took his hand down slowly, and without moving his eyes, he looked straight at the image in the mirror—his face, Eric thought.

Pink flesh was exposed on the pitted skin, and a mocking arc was hidden in the twisted lips.How could Eric not recognize this face, it was this face that brought tragedy since his birth.How strange, he thought drowsily, with a splitting headache.How come he can't even remember his original face after only a few months?

It's so ugly that even looking at it would scare me.

Love never loves such a face, and it is impossible for the one he loves to love such a face.Not Christine, not Enid, Enid she--now he was conscious again, she was gone, because she didn't have to see his greatest weakness, his deepest hatred.He knew how tenderly she would love him, and that was why he hated him all the more!More rejection!

It was a different instinct than trying to put on the best side of myself when it came to Kristen.When facing Enid, Eric always has an indescribable anxiety and anxiety about losing all the time.Therefore, he is doubly ruthless, harsh and even vicious, full of sharp stings and desire to attack, causing the other party to be covered in cuts and bruises.As if in this way he could get some kind of compensation.Eric knew it wasn't right, it was abnormal—but he indulged his uncontrollable desires as much as he indulged his own ignorance.

He sighed deeply again.

There were tears in the eyes of the Phantom of the Opera. He stared at the ugly self in the mirror for a long time, as if he saw his own stinky soul.He paced the room, to and fro, with restless steps like the drumbeat of fate.

He is mad, he is dead.

But... face?And what about his own countenance?

Eric's consciousness gradually turned from lucidity to bewildered madness. He was talking to himself like a dream, and occasionally chanted the name of the witch uneasily.He didn't know what he wanted, and he didn't know why there was a hint of joy in the blank pain in his heart.He just kept shouting, not knowing whether he should take the opportunity to get his face back or his singing voice.

No, no, a handsome face is already something he has obtained, it is his long-awaited passport to the world, how can he give it up easily?But the singing, the singing... Eric was terrified, his heart was in a mess, and he sat down on the cold ground.

"By the way." He whispered, "I don't know if this face is real or not. Find out. Yes, I have to find out."

He stood up again staggeringly, feeling a hot spot on his forehead.

His fever was getting worse.

------------

"Why is it so easy to be blinded by love, because everything is a lie.

Hope is naive and vague, which makes me desperate.

I can no longer write this sentence, close the singing and start singing.

When I suddenly look back at the past, in the long forgotten and abandoned time,

Something is still burning hopelessly.

what is trueWhat is fake?What is true!what a fake!

When I open my eyes I cannot see, when I close my eyes I am plunged into the night.

Your innocence was entrusted to the brightest dreams, but now my mouth is full of gilded art.

In the cynicism of the mirror, I think I know what I have become.

Ugly or beautiful?beautiful or ugly?What is the difference between the two?

But it determines how I go to die.

......"

On this day, many residents in the suburbs of Paris witnessed a spectacle: a handsome, luxuriously dressed man rushed into the street in a state of embarrassment, talking nonsense in his mouth.He grabbed everyone on the road, crying and laughing, telling them to look at his face, look at his face.Although the man is indeed very handsome, this kind of crazy behavior is really frightening.The citizens of Paris ran away one after another, and later someone vaguely recognized that this was Eric, the playwright of the newly famous opera "Daughter of the Sea", but the man disappeared soon afterwards, and there is no way to verify it.

……

Eric returned to the basement of the opera house like a wandering spirit.

Yes, his long-lost palace.A desolate and lonely underground palace that has never returned since the revelation that day.The damp steam rose, and Eric couldn't help shivering.

After living on the ground for a period of time, he was not so used to the underground climate.Eric's lips moved into a distorted smile, and he walked on the muddy path in a trance, his clothes were stained, his hair was disheveled, and he was in a mess.

He didn't want to get close to it, he knew that there were countless mirrors standing in the deepest palace, the most terrifying mirror in his eyes now.But Eric had to go there, and a strange self-abuse mentality forced him to do so, as if he was seeking relief from a quick death, and it seemed that he was just looking forward to seeing the truth through the eyes of a mirror.

No one saw the failure of the magic except himself.This was the conclusion Eric had to come to after wandering the streets like crazy for hours.Maybe he is really crazy?Maybe everyone went crazy together?In the eyes of everyone, he is still a rare handsome man, but he himself knows how ugly a ghost is under this beautiful face.Just like the talented composer Eric in the eyes of everyone, he is actually just a ghost wandering underground, the saddest dark creature.

Hoaxes, pretense, what is real?Eric didn't know.

However, from this day on, like the actress Enid who disappeared immediately after the premiere, the composer Eric also disappeared in the suburbs of Paris.No one can find him, no matter how much the succeeding soprano Christine sheds tears and fears and begs her lover Shani to help find him, Eric is still missing for a long time.

In the dark underworld, the Phantom of the Opera returns.

……

Eric was still ill, and his fitful fever convinced him that everything around him was just a dream.

He can't return to that suburban villa full of sunshine and hope, just as he can no longer pretend to be his best self.He curled up in the dark underground, lying on the piano trembling all day long, and continued to write "Don Juan's Triumph" with blood.He couldn't go back and get the part of the manuscript that was finished, and anything good would stab him and force him to reveal the whole truth.

Only occasionally, when he peeped at the youthful and beautiful face of Kristen Daye through the ubiquitous secret passages and tiny cracks in the walls of the theater, could Eric feel a painful and joyful redemption.This love and sunshine healed him and destroyed him, and made him drink poison to quench his thirst.

He was sicker and sicker than before, not only physically, but also with a dry mind.He regards her as the support and symbol of his life, dedicates his more passionate love, and sings to her all night long.The disappearance of the voice made him more painful, but also made him more daring.Christine couldn't detect his presence, which was just right, so he could sing about her and love her without restraint.If one day he dies here, no one will find out.It would be nice if he could actually die.

The kind-hearted brown-haired girl was very worried about the disappearing musician, and looked around despite her lover's objection, and even almost had a big fight with Charney because of it.She was afraid that the bright Eric would be killed by the dark phantom, and even endured the fear and tried to push away the mirror in the dressing room—the only passage she walked through to the underground world.Eric was standing behind the mirror at that time, leaning against the mirror with his hot and exhausted body, without saying a word.She thought that the mechanism had abolished this passage, so she stopped struggling and stood there for a while, with tears rolling out of her eyes, and then sighed.

Eric kissed the mirror wearily, feeling that he loved her even more.

Love, in his feverish, drowsy world, was all that was left of this deranged, absurd emotion.what is love?what is love?Who is he going to love?All he knew was that since his imprisonment here, he had fallen in love with Christine again, more than ever.The secluded world helps him to relive the desire for the only light, and also helps him suppress the heart that is about to break out... No, no, he shook his head in a panic again, what else? ?He never left here at all, he loved Christine, from beginning to end.

He still cared about his face, but now he couldn't trust those magic mirrors anymore.Yes, magic mirror.In his eyes, it seems that all the mirrors around him have become magic mirrors, mocking him and hurting him.Sometimes he saw that he was handsome and flawless, but in a blink of an eye he was forced to face his ugly self.He was too tired and too crazy, and those scenes were sometimes reversed, making him crazy and unable to distinguish between real and fake.However, without exception, he never showed his true colors in the eyes of others.

Eric tried to bring in a set man.At that time, he was like a ghost, standing silently below, his handsome face was surprisingly thin.The scene worker saw him scream, and then he calmed down and asked suspiciously: "Sir, who are you and why are you here?"

He stunned the opponent, threw it back to the ground, and locked the passage.Let the set man go around and say that he saw a princely figure in the ground.Oh, prince, how ridiculous.

Finally one day, Eric could no longer bear this kind of life.He saw the soul with one eye, and the reality with the other. The torn world almost drove him crazy, and he wished to gouge out one of his eyes.He yelled from under the ground, "Witch! Come out! Witch! Come out!" trying to get her to put everything back the way it was.

Of course the witch didn't show up, but Eric became even more insane.Don Juan was almost finished writing, and his whole body became a drunken flame, bumping back and forth in the dark underground.Some illusory visions floated in his mind, and he couldn't tell the truth from the false, which made his head throb.Eric just yelled, "Witch! Witch!"

"Tell me why . . . why!" he said drunkenly, weeping.

Finally, the witch's icy voice appeared in his mind, and for a moment it seemed like a dream and reality, splitting all his clarity and chaos.Eric suddenly woke up, and he seemed to hear the voice of the metal hoarse old woman saying coldly:

"It's just a trick of magic."

The voice is so ethereal, as if it never existed.Or maybe the witch didn't show up at all, and he figured it out for himself.Eric suddenly hugged his head and laughed out loud, tears streaming down his face.He shouted, fake, fake, all fake!

Everything is false - only Eric himself is real.

He sat down on the ground again, whimpering and crying.This time, it took Eric a long time to stop the blow of weakness.But the blow he suffered was not over yet.

"Do you think no one can see through this magic? Do you think there is no antidote to this magic?"

He heard the witch say again.Unlike the previous trance, this time it was real.Although he had never seen the other party, he was sure that the witch, or some part of the witch's incarnation, was in this place.

"Come out!" he roared hoarsely. "Come out and tell me what's going on!"

What he heard was the eerie, hoarse laughter of the old woman.

The author has something to say: *Magic is not so easy to break~ The witch sneered.

*Estimate failed, update is late... Bow.I'll try to squeeze in another chapter on the weekend.

*By the way, I would like to recommend "[Phantom of the Opera] Fairy Tales" to everyone.A mentally handicapped friend gave me a wife for the heroine of a few phantom novels?

Hang her hang her: Chinese Pastoral Su.Everyone is welcome to step on her column, um.