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Gerard Butler GALS


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About Hot4Gerry

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    Archie's Ocean GAL

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    Bethel, Ohio
  1. As many of us have known for years Gerry is #1. Not only because he is a well rounded actor but because he is one good-looking hunk of manhood with a kind heart.
  2. This is a site that has snippets of the score for LND. More than what Amazon had. http://www.musicline.de/player_flash/?pid=...site_variant=de
  3. I tried to find the clips for Love Never Dies and couldn't find them. I followed the link in the article and it didn't get me to a place I could listen to any clips. Can anyone help me? I'd love to listen to the clips just in case I don't get to see the show. I want to and I am making plans to go but as we all know Sh*t happens. So yeah, I'd love a preview. Thanks ahead of time to the kind soul listening and answering my plea.
  4. For all the things you have inspired me to change about myself I give you my thanks and a place in my heart no one else ever filled. Just when things look impossible to go on you give me what I need to carry on and all of this you do without even knowing me. You give me sanity in an insane world. When I am on the brink of losing hope I can see your smile or hear your voice and know I can make it through whatever life has thrown at me because I am not alone, not while you are in this world and I can share your magic with all those others who care about you as I do. You are a special man never forget that.
  5. This type of survey or fact gathering is not totally reliable as they didn't take in all the numbers from all the places the trailers could be viewed. Beside, the critics were panning LAC even before they saw it. I guess Gerry sure made them eat crow. I don't like to judge a movie on the trailers alone. Some movies all the best parts are in those segments and if you are interested and go see the movie it is a let down because that's all there is to it, what you saw in short little segments of the movie. LAC trailers warned me about the places I might be surprised or grossed out. The one scene I don't remember seeing is when that judge answered her phone. Now that scared the crap out of me and everyone else in the theatre.
  6. Thank you so much for this Dallas. It is a wonderful interview with all three men, Gerry, Jamie and F. Gary. Lucky mommaduck is getting to see it at midnight. I have to wait until 10:30 a.m. Friday. Come one 10:30.
  7. nataliextierney maybe the interviewer just typed the mom instead of mum out of habit. Although he has said he has started thinking and speaking as Americans do when he is stateside then reverts once he goes home. A natural thing to do.
  8. Okay. I finally read the little naysayer article and think it is just so much hooey. It's their opinion and they are entitled to have and share it but to me...well that doesn't need being said again. Who in there right mind would wish for something to fail that another person worked so hard. If for no other reason than I loved Ramin singing Until I Hear You Sing I will go see this sequel. Did you guys watch the video and see the tears in his eyes as he sang his heart out? Dear Lord, all that passion and he was just singing one song from the production. It may not be to everyone's liking but don't trash it before you've even seen it. My ideas for a continuation may not be everyone else's. As mommaduck could tell you I am a big Meg fan but that won't keep me from seeing the play just because I think maybe the Phantom will always hold Christine in his heart, at least in this version. If at all possible I will have my behind parked in that theatre in New York!
  9. mommaduck as we discussed I want to go too. As you can see I am a little excited.
  10. Hey everyone. I finaly got the courage to get in on the fun. Judy, mamaduck encouraged me to do so. As amazing as it seems I have found others who feel just as passionate about Gerry as I do. I began writing fanfiction as a way to get all those emotions Erik/Gerry made me feel. See this is what I am talking about. I meant to just type Gerry's name but Erik came out first. I am so wrapped in all the different elements of his Phantom character. The man himself, Gerry that is, has me tied in knots most of the time. Lord knows what I'd do if I ever came face to face with the man. He has me in a right twisted frame of mind. Like others I go to bed thinking of him and wake thinking of him. I can't wait to reach my computer so I can enter my Gerry world. I suppose I am like many others out there. I have Gerry on my mind quite a lot. For me Gerry fills an empty place. I married young, 17, had a baby while still attending highschool, plus took care of the house. In my day things weren't like now. There weren't any daycares in school nor did the government pay for childcare. I had a full scholarship despite having to study and go to school with very little sleep. I ended up with a full scholarship to pursue a teaching career. My husbanc as well as all his relatives convinced me it was in the best interest of all if I gave up my dream and stayed home to take care of my child. I did that and don't regret having spent those years with him. The little so and so did not turn out any better for it. I suppose he was spoiled being the only child and grandchild. My family and I did not have much contact at that time. I had left home at the age of 14 and basically took care of myself as the foster homes I had been placed in I was only there to make their lives easier. Long story short I recorded POTO on my dvr. That was back in 2006. I didn't know if I'd like it or not so put off watching it until I had a night to myself. That night changed my life. I became obsessed with the movie and the Phantom or Gerry as the Phantom. I started looking for every movie he had ever been in. To my shock he was the man I thought was so sexy in Timeline and Reign of Fire. I kept meaning to see who that actor was but kept getting sidetracked. I think it was fate that had me watching POTO at a very low point in my life. I began watching the whole movie 3 or more times a day. Then it went to just the scenes with Gerry in them. I could recite every line. I knew just when he blinked during MOTN. Not many let me tell you. When he cried I literally felt the pain he was expressing. The man is so versitile and talented that even in the movie POTO there are places where he looks like a different man. He slips on a different skin for every role. How he looks in one will not be how he looks in another. He always looks sexy as all get out but in different ways. Why he doesn't get more recognition I don't know. He'll get there someday. I think if he ever does Burns that will be the one to win him something. He'll make a great romantic poet. Gerry changed my life in a huge way. As I began obsessing about him I quit obsessing about food. I noticed my knees stopped hurting. My sugar level lowered drastically. Just for the heck of it one day I got on a scale. I had lost like 35lbs. Imagine my shock. I had replaced food with Gerry. He filled all those empty places I had been burdened with for years. Gradually my movie watching evolved into writing fanfiction. I had to give that poor guy some happiness. At first I was afraid to post any of it. I was so afraid to post any of my stories because each one is like a small piece of me. I didn't want to let anyone else scrutinize the emotions I pour into my writing. I have written so many letters to Gerry without sending them and would not likely share them with anyone either. In them I confess how I really feel about him. I confess my deepest darkest secrets. I can imagine what runs through most of your minds as you read about Gerry or gaze at his picture. It is the same thoughts that have gone through my mind hundreds of times. I feel things for Gerry I no longer feel for my husband. We married thinking it was true love. It was more affection I think. He has provided well for me and my children but the spark isn't there anymore that once was. I suppose that is part of what attracted me so strenously to Gerry in the first place. He filled a void I hadn't known existed. I had plodded along for 36 yrs. thinking that was what my life was all about. I became dissatisfied with every aspect of my life. Only when I had my moments with Gerry did I feel anything deeper than on the surface. He awoke this long buried passion in me that I don't have an outlet for other than my stories. I try not to get too gutter minded about Gerry. When those moments come I head to the gutter on PG.Net. I didn't know they had one here. On PG.Net they have a hunk of the day. Sometimes its even Gerry's picture that pops up. I have my alerts set so I don't miss any of the posts from the other ladies. It would seem there are other women out there who have lustful thoughts about other men including Gerry. Most of them are happily married so I don't feel such a harlot thinking of Gerry the way I do. I am not content with my life but see no way to get out of the situation without hurting everyone. So I'll just keep my little private "affair" with Gerry as he makes me feel good about myself and happy to be alive. I'll sift through all my collected pictures of Gerry and the videos. I have a few on my site but not nearly all that I have on my computer. I am so completely into that man that whatever comes on tv, the internet, or one of the sites I head toward it like a beacon. I am obsessed and don't care to be cured. Hot4Gerry
  11. I have taken a giant leap for me as I am technology challenged. I got a webpage. Nothing fancy. I don't know zip about posting picture or anything else on it. I posted the Prologue for a story that I can't post here as it is a little too risque. This is the link I hope it works. Visit My Website
  12. Heart of a Phantom by Hot4Gerry Chapter Three Wolves in Sheep Clothing Across the waters from France lay England. Traveling to the south and then a bit to the east there was a small little village of some hundred farmers and their families. As in every community there were those who had plenty all the way to those who had next to nothing. Among these people Anna Lee Carlyle lived with her two maiden aunts Prudence and Charity. Anna Lee considered herself to be among the people in the middle. She owned nothing other than her clothes and shoes and as circumstances were not likely to change more than likely this would always be so. The kindest description for Anna Lee would be that she was a sweet natured girl. She had been blessed with a shock of unruly red hair that curled nicely on the best of days but frizzed and stuck out wildly on the worst days. She did have beautiful blue eyes. Not just an ordinary blue but a deep almost purple sort of blue. Freckles coated the bridge of her nose and across her cheeks. Her skin had a clear translucent quality that many women would kill to have. The kindest observers called her a handsome woman from sturdy stock. Anna Lee suspected they meant because she had a milkmaids figure she was not acceptable as were those thin aristocrats that dined at the manor house. Anna Lee had come to the conclusion she would never have the wherewithal to be a fashion plate and would have to be satisfied with being blessed with ample curves that would never be in fashion as well as simple frocks. As her aunts said and she could not disagree, what need had she for finery. The barnyard did not lend itself kindly to well dressed maidens or gentlemen. Men enjoyed looking at Anna Lee from the chest down. Those men Anna Lee sent packing. Her aunts thought she sent them away because she had airs above her lowly station. Time after time they would ask young men and older men as well to come chat with Anna Lee over tea and scones. The eyes of the gentlemen never went as far as Anna Lee’s face. She may be an old maid but she would not bed a man just to assuage a passion. Truth be told, she had not been at all excited by any of those fine gentlemen. They had left her as cold as the kitchen’s stone floor. Her aunts were neither mean nor kind to her really. In fact they cared not one way nor the other if she stayed or went away. The only thing they might miss would be her much younger and stronger hands and back. For her keep Anna Lee kept house, grew vegetables, cared for the chickens, collected eggs for their own use and to sell at the market each morning. The household chores also fell to Carolyn as well. She also aided the three farm laborers with the butchering, feeding and care of the stock. Walk around in a pig wallow for a few minutes the muck out stalls and see if you do not come out smelling a bit like ripe waste. Her aunts while not rich by anyone’s standards did have a certain bit of money and one hundred acres they had inherited from their father as well the prestige of their illustrious name. Anna Lee’s mother had drug the name through the mud when she ran off with that painter fellow who had left her high and dry financially as well as with a child on the way. As soon as he had found out Carolyn had a little one on the way he left her in Paris where he had gone to paint. He had used a portion of Carolyn’s own money to take them to Paris. Upon learning this Carolyn’s father had shut off her accounts. She got not one farthing more from her father. Carolyn had not been of a strong constitution at the best of times. Bearing a child had been far too much for her body to bear. Her sisters had taken her in when she came knocking at their door pleading to be welcomed home. They had seen it as their duty to show Carolyn the errors of her ways. They had not let her forget her debt to them until the day she died. Upon her death her daughter had gained the lectures on prudence and gratitude for charities given to the undeserving. Anna Lee marveled how many times her aunts incorporated their own names into a lecture while neither had any idea what the words truly meant. If her grandfather had not been such a stickler for what he considered proper behavior and what he deemed wicked he would have left Carolyn her portion of the small estate. Things being what they were she had been disinherited. As her aunts considered Anna Lee more servant than relative they paid her a small stipend to buy her clothing and shoes and personal essential items. They did complain about being embarrassed when she purchased clothing from the second hand shop. The clothing never really fit and had to be altered but the price met Anna Lee’s budget. She could buy two and sometimes three dresses for what one new one would cost. The harvest this year had gone extremely well for everyone in the area so a ball had been planned. Prudence and Charity were in luck as their good friends the Grand Duke Roger Andrew Hanover and his wife Duchess Amanda Sterling Hanover would be staying in the manor house for a couple of months before going to live in France for a year so that Roger could negotiate business while his wife enjoyed the opera and shopping if fashionable Paris. They were home in England looking for a woman to travel with them as companion to Amanda. It would not be seemly for Amanda to appear in society on her own. So far they had no luck. When Prudence and Charity had lunched with the Duke and Duchess they had wanted to shout hallelujah. Upon discussion they felt it would be perfect for Anna Lee. After all what prospects did she have? She had already turned twenty and seven. With no looks to speak of and no dowry she had little chance of being anything but a burden to them. They wished to travel a bit this winter to someplace a little warmer than the English countryside. They did not wish to take Anna Lee with them nor did they wish to subsidize her while they were away. They wanted to close up the house with only the caretaker coming in now and again to keep up the repairs. Being a companion for Amanda seemed the perfect solution. Upon mentioning Anna Lee, Amanda and Roger said of course they would consider the woman. Any relative of theirs had to be a proper lady. Oh but a proper lady would indeed have ran a mile had she known what the Duke and Duchess truly wished for in a servant. Too late Anna Lee learned what an awful mess she had gotten herself into. But of course that did not come about until she was already in Paris and far from home with no other means of support. The Duke would prove himself to be a lecherous wolf hiding behind his kind gentle exterior. The Duchess would aid him in his quest for pleasurable pursuits. Anna Lee’s aunts had invited the Duke and Duchess to dine with them. Anna Lee had been surprise when they had instructed her to join them. Sitting at the table with the others she had felt out of place. She had neither dress nor manners to match them. She was a plain girl with plain tastes and manners. She did not have the funds nor the need really to dress fashionably. From what she had seen in the catalogues her aunts received from Paris and London the garments most women wore underneath were nothing but some contraptions designed to torture women while compressing them into unrealistic shapes Anna Lee had no need for those types of undergarments. The Duke and Duchess seemed to take particular interest In Anna Lee which had taken her by surprise. After the second dinner invitation within a week the couple had put forth their proposal. Anna Lee had been excited but also a little cautious. Why would they think her an appropriate companion for the likes of Amanda, as Anna Lee had been instructed to call her? Everything had been rushed once Anna Lee had given her consent to become Amanda’s companion. Arrangements had been made so quickly it seemed as if Anna Lee lay her head down one night then woke up in Paris the next. Little niggles of doubts and worries kept trying to sneak in to warn her that something was off. Things did not have the ring of truth. Anna Lee had been overwhelmed by their generosity and kindness even if at times it seemed forced. Once in a while Anna Lee would look at the couple and see disturbing looks passing between them, nothing she could put her finger on but some intuition was trying to give her warnings to keep up her vigil where those two were concerned. Ah but Anna Lee allowed herself to be blinded for a time by the luxury around her. Pretty outer wrappings sometimes hid an inside filled with worms. A/N: Please give me a review in the feedback section. I have a few comments on this thread but nothing in feedback. It is so empty I here crickets chirping. Chirp. Chirp. Chirp. See? Told you so. Click HERE to leave feedback
  13. Thanks for taking an interest in my work. This Erik isn't pretty but he isn't quite the skeletal figure Leroux depicted. He'll still be both monster and man. He does have the normal desires men have ans suffers from them. Erik will have his ups and downs. Drama, angst and love are all part and parcel of an Erik story. I sent in the second chapter but haven't seen it posted yet. Hope it comes up soon. Hot4Gerry
  14. Leroux/Kay based. Summary: Erik will have to go on living as his heart did not give out after Christine left. He will take up his old life as the Opera Ghost. A woman will come along who will challenge him in many ways. She will also work her magic on him as he falls in love as he never has before. this time there will be more at stake. This time Erik risks losing more than just a piece of his heart. He risks losing his soul. Heart of a Phantom Chapter One The Decline Whoever said that love does not wound so deep that death can be achieved from the bleeding wound has never truly loved. I know this is true, for I am dying from the terrible barbs of loves wounding arrows. Love rejected is the cruelest of fates for one who has only ever felt that emotion once in almost five decades of life. Due to the circumstances of what God deemed a suitable face for one of his children I had never thought to even entertain seeking out a woman as a companion. At least not since my early youth had the thought entered my mind. My adolescent imaginings went unfulfilled except in the most embarrassing way for one such as myself. Pleasure is pleasure that cannot be disputed, but would it not be even more sublime if shared with another? My blasted libido had been dormant for some time. I do suppose the amount of morphine I had been indulging in had a small part in this. It never would have been resurrected had it not been for Christine Daaé enchanting me with her voice. Her voice was what drew me to her in the beginning. Once I saw her beautiful innocent face I knew I had to have her. I had to make her mine. Whatever means I needed, would be used to accomplish this goal. I wonder now if I had known I would have to wear the guise of the Angel of Music if I would have been so ready to risk all for anything she would give to me. In the end I had nothing but her pity. Perhaps she did have some sort of affection for me. She had kissed me. Kissed me right on my forehead. I have never been kissed so I cannot say with total certainty, but I do think her lips pressed to my forehead was the most wondrous kiss ever given to anyone. When she had leaned her forehead toward me inviting my kiss, I thought for a moment I might die from the pleasure of it. If I could live in only one moment for eternity, that would be my moment. The splendid feeling of joy had all but transported me to what I am sure was some heavenly cloud. My joy in the memory of those two exchanges is somewhat dimmed when I recall how I had dropped to my knees to beg her to love me, to stay with me. I had grabbed the hem of her dress pressing my lips to it then kissed her dainty foot that was encased in an elegant shoe. Actually it had been her shoe I kissed so I am even a more pathetic idiot than I first thought. I kissed her in supplication. It had all been for naught. She could not bear to live in this rabbit’s burrow with me. This place is all darkness. She was pure light. I knew my dark world would drain every bit of light and life right out of her. She would die in her unhappiness if she were to lose her boy, the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny. I had forced Christine to choose the grasshopper or the scorpion. With either choice I see now she would be choosing her death. To live with me would be the same as choosing death. She had chosen to stay with me. Unbeknownst to her I had still kept Raoul prisoner. I had intended to leave him chained to that wall until he met his demise. In the end I could not let my love suffer his loss. The damn Persian would have haunted me night and day as well if I had done such a thing. Why I had not thought to chain him to a wall to die while Christine had fainted I cannot say. Perhaps in my insanity I had lost the ability to think clearly as usually I am quite a clever man. I could not bear to think of how Christine would come to hate me if I forced her to lose her little lover. I, and I alone, should be the one to suffer in this decision. Releasing her to her young man was the right thing to do. Even as I knew it would cause my demise I rejoiced in my misery for having made her so happy. My reward for my loving gesture would be my demise I was sure. As I watched her leave my home, for what I knew to be the last time, until she kept her promise to bury me once she learned of my death, my chest had tightened with an unbearable pain, sending me to my knees. I had clutched at my chest as sobs took hold of me. Those sobs had echoed through my home for many days with little cessation. Music that had always filled my home, especially in times of stress or anger, now remained locked away in my mind, refusing to come to me. Here I sit weeks later on my throne in my music room, dying. This thrown I once considered a slap in the face to those who considered me less worthy of living because of the tragedy of my face. I had thought with this thrown I would be king in my own world under The Paris Opera House, the most prestigious opera house in all of France. I had even contributed in the construction of this very building I now sit under. I say under for my home is in the fifth cellar of The Paris Opera House. I have a coffin I may crawl into when I feel the last dregs of life draining out of me. Until then I will sit here and wait. Food has never been a concern of mine. I eat when my body can no longer stand to be denied sustenance. Music fuels my body more than any food I may partake as a meal. I have gorged myself on music for the last thirty or so years. Well, now I am denying myself food as well as my music. I sleep in that coffin so that I am reminded that my face is a deathly visage. I am not nearly as hideous as the ones who walk above depict. Honestly I am horrid, frightening in fact. This I know for my mother forced me as a young child of five to look in a mirror at what was given to me in place of a beautiful child’s face. I had the face of a horribly frightening monster. It had surprised me that the face looking back at me, was, well me. I had not felt monstrous. From that day forward until now I have never willingly taken my mask off other than for hygienic purposes. I no longer fought my mother over having to wear the uncomfortable thing. At that young age I thought if the monster was covered he could do no harm. Little did I realize the monster was not harbored in my face, he was in my soul. Christine, that sweet angel, she had shown concern for me on numerous occasions. She had encouraged me to eat more. She was of the opinion my lack of eating properly contributed to my skeletal appearance. To know she worried about me had filled me with delight until my ever doubting mind had concocted the scenario of me dying and Christine languishing down in this cavernous grave should something happen to me. She could not find her way out of here. I had made sure she did not ever know of the way back to the surface. At least not until I had released her and that boy. At first when I took up residence in my new home I made fumbling attempts to play what I had heard in the opera house all those many years ago when I first came to live here. I could play the violin with exquisite perfection. So too, I would learn how to play the piano. As I became better acquainted with the keys on the piano my hands took on a life of their own. Anything my ears can hear I can play. Melodies float around in my head at the most peculiar times. In the middle of the night I must leave my coffin at times to release the music that pounds at my brain until it is written down on parchment. Only then can I go back to my coffin to sleep. I cannot recollect with any clarity when I had decided to build my organ. Once the thought took hold in my mind it beat at me until I gave in and built what my mind foresaw. It really is a grand instrument. I can make myself heard all the way up to the very top floor if that is my wish. Sometimes I do get a bit of pleasure from allowing them to hear the ghostly melodies that filter in through the venting systems. Everyone feels free to spread gossip and rumors concerning me. Most are exaggerated, some are downright lies. My hair is a bit sparse it is true. That, they do not exaggerate. I do not, in any way, smell like death as Joseph Buquet, that noxious lout, bandied around the opera house. I smell musty at times, not because of any lack of bathing, but because of the humidity and dampness caused by the lake. I have learned of wonderful things for men called cologne. Splashing a bit of that on anything will take the stink right out. My hands do not smell like death. This accusation I vehemently deny. I smell nothing like the grave. I suppose I could have proven that point by removing one of the bodies buried in the catacombs from the time of The Commune. During that time precious little had been done to anyone executed then placed down here for eternity. It the breeze blows just so I myself had smelled that less than pleasant odor of death that permeates some of the tunnels. That is one reason I had constructed new walls. The walls blocked out a good portion of the stench. Yes, I killed my tormentor Joseph Buquet. I am glad I relieved him of his life all those weeks ago. He had been a thorn in my side for much too long. I could hardly walk along the catwalks without him trying to catch sight of me. Too many times he had followed me down below the opera house. Once I concluded he would not leave me alone it was not a very big leap to deciding he must be dealt with harshly and permanently. Ah now we come to the Vicomte or rather the former Vicomte. Raoul’s older brother. His death is less certain in my mind. Did I set out to end his life? Of course not. Am I solely responsible for his death? I am not 100 sure. I do not think I pushed him but in my anger I may have given him a hand in falling down on the rocks, cracking his head and falling into the lake to drown. Is it my fault if I had pressing matters and did not look to see if that de Chagny fellow came out of the water? Am I responsible for everyone who steps foot in my domain? I think not. His own actions hastened Philippe de Chagny’s end to its final conclusion, not me. To get back to the matter of my smell or lack thereof, I bath regularly, which is more than can be said for most of the opera house stagehands. I change into fresh clothing each morning. I even dab a bit of my men's fragrance about my person, if I was meeting with Christine. Why waste it on anyone else? I did not care a francs worth for their opinions. Another fallacy Joseph spread was the absence of a nose. I do have one, it may not meet the standards of what is considered normal, but it is there. I do believe the cartilage in my nose is defective causing it to be a little askew. Pushed to the side a bit one might say. It is just slightly out of line, much like those men who participate in the sport of fisticuffs. The way it sets on my face makes it seem as if there are only two holes in my face instead of a nose. I do indeed have lips. They are quite nice actually. A bit on the thin side, but not so thin as to be non-existent as the rumors state. I do tend to bare my teeth when I snarl on occasion. That I think is where they get the idea my lips are non-existent. They think my teeth are always showing. For those infidels who occupy my opera house that is what they deserve. I will agree my complexion is somewhat lighter than normal. What would one expect of a man who spent most of his life underneath the ground without the sun? I am in no way yellow as those superstitious fools claim. My touch is somewhat cold as Christine could attest to that fact if she were so inclined to speak of me to anyone, which I highly doubt. I wear gloves most of the time, for I find it is hard to play when one's hands are as cold as a block of ice. Again this phenomenon is the result of living underground. If I wear my gloves my hands are as warm as toast. I keep fires going year round as it gets quite chilly in this dark, dampness. After a few years struggling to keep fire wood and coal, my necessity to find a better way to heat my home proved to be the spur needed to invent a way to divert a bit of the gas from the lines leading to the opera house. They would not miss what I needed. I have also devised a way to use the gas in my stove and to heat water in the two bathrooms I have added to my home over the years. I had helped to build the opera house after all so I felt that any comfort I may find from the opera houses resources to be payment for my expertise all those years ago. Bringing my hand to my face I run it down over my skin. I trace my features with my hand. My right eye droops down a bit making it seem as if my eye socket is sunken in somewhat. The biggest flaw in my face is the mottling of skin. Some places are thickened while others are quite thin. All in all a horrible sight I do agree. If someone had just once looked beyond this face perhaps my life would have been different. Perhaps if that slave the Khanum had given me...No, no. I will not ever think of that time again. No good can come from those memories. That whole chapter of the creation of death and torture are best left deeply buried in the deepest, darkest corner of my mind. To delve into that bit of ancient history invited ghosts I would rather not have visit me. Struggling to my feet I walk to my kitchen to see what was left of my meager stores. Something strange is going on in my stomach. Stopping I wait to see if the oddity is repeated. There. That noise. I do believe I am having hunger pangs. Never have I experienced such a normal human result of lack of food in ones body. Was this my body’s way of letting me know it was not ready just yet to lay in permanent rest in my coffin? What dreadful treachery is this? I was sure my time had come. I had already prepared for the event. There are certain things I have already set in motion. I sent Nadir Christine's precious relics. I requested he place the ad in the Époque spouting three simplistic words. Erik is dead. Now this feeble body decides to reject death? No, damn it. I will not have it. I have been fully prepared to die. I was sure I was dying of love. The pains in my chest had weakened me so much I had been sure my death was only a question of when, not if. I ignored the fact that I had already decided to find something to eat in the kitchen. I would forever deny any weakness in my resolve to end things. It was my stomach forcing me to seek food not any conscious decision on my part to live. I suppose if my stomach feels the need to betray me I will send it something to quiet its grumblings. Checking through my meager supplies I could not find much. I have not bothered to replenish anything as I thought I would actually be a corpse by now. As I bit into an apple I mused how ironic that now that I was eager to be a real corpse my body demands I stay alive becoming a living corpse once again. I suppose this little departure from my plans will require I go about securing supplies again. For that irritating chore alone I feel I must hate my traitorous innards. I, the great Opera Ghost, the all powerful Phantom of the Opera had been outmaneuvered by my stomach. Well I guess I shall make one of my rare visits to the shops just before they close. I do so hope I do not give anyone a heart attack as they will no doubt think me dead as I had informed them that I would no longer have need of such earthly requirements. I must say it was heartening to see a few real tears shed for my upcoming demise. I do think it is because they will miss those hefty fees I pay for their silence that they will miss instead of me. I suppose I should once again inform poor Jules I will be in need of his services. I do hope my note does not give him some sort of attack. I cannot go to see in person for surely he would have heart palpitations upon seeing one who claimed to be a ghost, who told him of imminent demise, only to go to his home and scare the life right out of him with my walking, talking ghostly self. No, that would not do at all. Well now I suppose I shall have to finish those damned drawings for all my recent clients. My secret delight in hoodwinking them out of that hefty commission I demand be paid in part ahead of the beginning of construction, has grown flat now that I think I may live just to spite myself. That is what I get for taking things for granted. I should have gone ahead and just done myself in. Everyone would have applauded my exit from this world. Well they would have assuming they ever braved coming down here to investigate my domain. Perhaps I would be like those Egyptian fellows who have been long gone for centuries, only to be dug up and hailed as the greatest find since...well since the last great discovery. Yes, I think I would quite like that. Since all men look ghastly after some time in deaths domain, they might assume I was a handsome fellow in life. A/N: I am just posting this to test the waters to see how much interest there is in a fic based on a lot of Leroux Erik and a little Kay Erik. Please let me know what you think. Please review. Heart of a Phantom - FEEDBACK
  15. I just saw the comment you left for me in my profile...I will send you a pm to answer your question on Fan Fiction!

    Welcome back...glad you have your computer back to working order!

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