The boat glided across the murky-water. All was still–except for the creaky gate opening to let the Phantom and me into his dreadful lair. Cobb webs were everywhere–except on that one polished organ. Crumpled up papers filled with scratched out music were lying around the organ. There were candle-stands that have been missing from the opera house, dimly-lit. The lair, the trembling lair.
The lair was uncomfortable. Just like that dummy in a wedding dress–wait, is that me? Shivers ran up my back as I gazed around once more to the place that haunts my dreams.
There was a bed of dead roses, yelling to be rejuvenated. All the roses surrounded one fresh, crimson rose in the middle, rocking from the chilly breezes. There was the steady beat of the water echoing in the distance. The lair swirled with mist and fog. The floors were washed in ash. The old statues of beautiful angels lay there, rusty, and soaked in solitude.
It looked as though the lair was rejected by the upper-world. Everything seemed to be missing a heart. Everything was abandoned. Everything was stranded. Even the man- my old angel of music.
