[The Phantom of the Opera] The Beast and the Canary

That night, I had a dream, dreaming of a dimly lit hut.

The tables and chairs in the house are all made of wood, and there are a few scribbled staves scattered on the floor. The lights are not lit, and the skylight is opened a crack, and the indifferent moonlight like water ripples fills the whole room.In the center of the cabin, there is a black grand piano.A man sat at the piano with his back to me.He seemed a little sleepy, propping his forehead with one hand, and pressing the keys slowly with the other.

Such a style of music, such a playing technique... Almost instantly, I knew who the man in front of me was.

Eric.

I don't know if it's because the moonlight is too bright, his temples are a little white, and his shoulders are not as straight as usual. The only thing that hasn't changed is his gloomy and cold temperament.

I couldn't help but feel a little dazed. Is this really a dream?

Why do I have such a dream?

At this time, there was a knock on the door suddenly: "Master." It turned out to be the voice of the punting boy.

Eric said lightly: "Come in."

The footman opened the door and came in, respectfully handing him a piece of parchment.They didn't notice my presence.Realizing that I was just a bystander, I ventured up behind Eric and bent over the parchment.

It stands to reason that everything in the dream should be blurred, whether it is a human face or the text on the page... This dream is very different. I can clearly see every detail, even Eric's sideburns. The white hair and the stubble on the chin are all clearly visible.

This is a list of transactions for the auction.Judging from the names of the items recorded above, it seems that they are all Eric’s personal collections, including gold and silver jewelry, porcelain antiques, and some musical instruments made of rare wood... I just don’t know why he sold these things .

At the end of the list, I saw the name of Viscount Charny, who had photographed several opera posters, and a Persian-style monkey cymbal music box.My heart suddenly reached my throat, as if I had a premonition, I held my breath unconsciously.Finally, I found my name in front of Viscount Shani.Meg Geary, photographed a dress from the opera "Hannibal".

I'm a little confused, I don't know if this is a real thing that happened in my previous life, or a dream I made up for myself.

The servant asked softly, "What do you plan to do with the money?"

Eric didn't answer immediately, as if this huge sum of money was insignificant to him, and after a while, he said, "What do you think?"

The male servant was stunned for a moment: "This... how can I make a decision for you."

Eric smiled slightly and shook his head.Even in such a dilapidated hut, he still has a powerful aura that cannot be refuted: "It doesn't matter who decides, I can't take this money with me anyway. You can figure it out."

For some reason, this sentence actually made the servant shed tears: "Master..."

Eric ignored him, took a blank staff, took out a pen and wrote a line: "Do you remember what I said before?"

"……Remember."

"Then do as I say."

The servant hesitated to speak, but Eric waved his hand and threw him out.Soon, the house became quiet again.I saw him take a basin of water, wash his hair and face casually, dry it with a towel, and then find a razor and shave off the excess stubble under the moonlight.When he was doing these things, I was always by his side, tilting my head to watch his movements.Of course, he didn't know.

I have a special feeling that the Eric who put me in the cage in reality is different from the Eric in the dream.Not that they are not the same person.I can't tell myself what the difference between them is.

After shaving, he put on his overcoat, scarf and leather gloves, and walked out of the hut.I quickly followed up.

He seemed aimless, just wandering around.Unknowingly, the sky has become bright, and it is a lake-blue canvas, framing the resurrected morning light and dying tree branches.

He stayed by the lake for a little while.

The morning light is faint, and the birds are skimming the water.

He watched the birds flying to the sky quietly, without any emotion in his eyes, as if the rising sun and the recovery of all things had nothing to do with him.

I finally discovered the difference between them: Although Eric in reality is indifferent and extreme, his inner feelings are turbulent and strong.Although the appearance of him in the dream is the same as in reality, it gives people a feeling of dying... like a dying person who knows the date of death in advance. From then on, the beauty and ugliness of the world, life and death, can no longer be affected His emotions.

Thinking of this, I actually started to miss him in reality... Although he has a violent personality and is unreasonable at all, at least when he looks at me, the love in his eyes is hot, hot, and full of vitality.Not as lifeless and lifeless as in the dream.

Generally speaking, when the dreamer knows that everything in front of him is a dream, he will wake up with a start, but I have never woken up.

I saw him go back to the wooden house after his walk, hang his coat on the hanger, sit down and start writing a song, and he didn't think of eating until late at night.Sometimes, he would carve some small wooden sculptures, all of which were Christine.Every time at this time, I would feel sullen for a while, and the reason for it was because even if it took a long time, he couldn't see it, so I just stopped.

The time span in the dream was very large, and it was another early morning, when I walked into the wooden house, I suddenly stopped in my tracks.

He is gone.

The tables and chairs were overturned to the ground, only a grand piano remained intact.

My heart beat twice, and I saw several unfinished music scores spread out on the floor, one of the notes was soaked with a pen, and a large ink stain appeared. It seemed that the composer was suddenly exhausted and out of control. The pen in the hand, the nib stays on the paper for a long time.

As if to confirm my conjecture, the door was suddenly pushed open, and two people came in, one was the servant I had seen before, and the other was wearing a dark brown leather cap and a Persian robe, his appearance should be Persian .

The Persian looked at the furnishings in the house, and seemed a little surprised that it was so simple here.He asked, "Did Eric explain anything?"

The male servant said in a low voice: "He only explained...the place where he was buried."

After a long silence, the Persian lowered his head and sighed: "I hope God bless him to be an ordinary person in his next life."

If it is an ordinary person, even if he is not handsome or amazingly talented, at least he will not be like this now, he can only hide and live in seclusion until he dies.

I can't describe the complicated feelings in my heart at this moment... I actually dreamed about the scene when Eric died.I just don't know if it's true or not.But regardless of whether it is true or not, it is difficult for me to recover from it for a moment.

At the end of the dream, I saw a newspaper.

In the corner of the newspaper, a small obituary was published:

Philanthropist Eric dies. (Note)

I woke up with a start.The moment I woke up, I first felt a severe headache, as if I accidentally bumped into it while falling asleep... Then, it was a bone-chilling cold.I actually curled up on the pedals of the organ and fell asleep for an unknown amount of time.Regardless of the soreness in my body, I stood up with difficulty, just wanting to find Eric quickly and confirm that it was indeed just a dream.Unexpectedly, as soon as I turned around, I bumped into his sight.

My mind went blank, and almost immediately, I recalled those scenes in the dream.He composes, plays the piano, eats alone, walks from night to dawn, and has the desireless and ruthless eyes when facing the boundless lake.

No matter how weird and creepy the way he expresses his feelings, I don't want him to die... alone like in his dream.

I don't want that lifeless expression to appear in his eyes again.

Maybe this dream was fabricated by myself, just to have a reason to forgive him; maybe, everything that happened in this dream was real and existed.After all, even rebirth has happened, so what is impossible?

After a short hesitation, I lifted my skirt, and threw myself into his arms under his alienated but slightly puzzled eyes.

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Note: Adapted from the ending of the original "Phantom of the Opera".