Of late, Raoul has heard a voice in his dreams. It says a vast variety of things. He does not always remember them, as they come to him when he is only half asleep, but some of them are rather nice. “To think that I found one who is an Angel in truth… No, I am overfond. But such beauty and such goodness in human form… I had thought I could never find a human worthy of admiration until you.”
It is poetic, and also very dream-like, when the voice says things like that. Raoul knows he is not particularly beautiful or good, but it is nice that he can dream of such things at least.
Though other times the voice is harsher. “Vain Vicomte! You think you can be master of my opera house? You are too presumptuous by half.” Then he tries to wake up fully and blink the dream away, but the dream will calm a little, and the voice turn soothing, and he lets it go.
Though when it says such things it is a dead giveaway–his dreams have taken on the voice of the Phantom of the Opera. What that says about his psyche, Raoul doesn’t know. He tries not to examine it too closely. Christine has said she dreams of the Phantom too, and hears him sometimes even waking, alone in her room. Raoul is certain the Phantom is just a man, but he certainly has an odd effect on those around him.
One night when the voice begins to speak, it is not quite as usual. Usually it has a lot to say about Raoul, whether good or bad. Tonight it speaks about itself–itself being, of course, the Phantom of the Opera.
“I do not know why I bother to come here, or to continue to haunt you. It is perfectly clear you will never truly see me.” A chuckle. “How bitter it makes me at times! But, monsieur, if I am being honest I cannot blame you for that. I am the one who hides in the shadows–even when you search for me, I hide from you. I can never let you see the hideousness of my features, or of my soul.”
Strained breathing. The voice is usually smooth; this is another irregularity. A weight settles next to Raoul on his bed.
“I am the worst kind of man, you see.” A small laugh. “All my life I have done things–even to call them selfish is not quite right. They were largely spiteful. I hated a world that saw me as deformed and monstrous, but I hurt innocent people in my anger. I killed and tortured and maimed. You would not believe it, but the person I am now is the best I have been perhaps in my whole life. And that person is still a killer and an extortionist! I am the most incredible sort of man, monsieur. And the most incredible thing is that when I am with you, even though you sleep, I feel that perhaps I could change. For you, I could change.
“But that–”
The voice breaks, and words turn to sobbing.
Raoul turns in his bed and curls around the sobbing figure. And at last, after all these nights of slumber, he finds the strength to open his eyes.
If he dreams the figure of a man, face covered completely by a black mask, it is not quite how he would have imagined it previously. The figure is tall but thin, and bent over it seems quite frail. Raoul sits up and rubs the figure’s back and responds in a voice bleary with sleep. “Shh, shh. It is not so bad as all that.”
The figure laughs and cries, but does not respond.
Raoul does not remember in the morning how this dream ends. If it was a dream. He will not talk to Christine about it, for he worries what it means that he feels oddly sympathetic to the Phantom now, even though in real life it is quite unlikely that the Phantom would feel anywhere near the same.