Photo credit: kconnors from morguefile.com
Down we plunged. Further and further, is there an end to this? I wanted to turn back, but the fluid silkiness of his voice pulled me forward. We stepped into a beautifully carved boat, and gently pushed our way through the muggy green lake. Torches on the wall, covered in cobwebs, seemed to reach out at me. Trying to burn me in an unwelcoming hatred. We are passed the point of no return.

But that voice.

I could instantly tell he was my angel. He had finally decided to appear. But the surroundings told me otherwise. Why would an angel live in a dungeon of deep sorrow and despair?

As we gradually pushed on, a gate came into view. Candles rose at of the water, but they gave the room darkness. No light shined upon his face. Just a figure in the shadows. A glorious organ stood proud and clean, used very often it seemed. Then a throne so shiny and plush in rich fabrics, it seemed to be paired with the organ. It shone a pure, sweet, and majestic light.

Then he sang something about the music of the night. How it could hold me. Sense me. Own me.

Own me.

He told me to close my eyes and surrender to my darkest dreams. Rid my mind of all thoughts that the world above gave to me. He explained that I would make his song take flight.

Then I saw the mask. I had the sudden urge to rip it off and see my angel. I did. The face was ugly, scary, and abused. I didn’t cry out in fright. I felt pity, but he screamed in a very different tone. A cry of pain that told me I poisoned everything.

What could be in the prison of his mind that he won’t share?