#((but this? this rapid decline as everything goes from bad to worse? the loss the one and only friend he has?))

[theheadlessgroom]

https://www.tumblr.com/beatingheart-bride/713924157395648512/theheadlessgroom-beatingheart-bride

@beatingheart-bride

Randall squeezed the cold metal of lyre as he peered down on Morgan and Emily from his perch, his cloak swirling around him like the wings of some ginormous bat: Even at the great height he was at, Morgan’s poisonous words carried on the wind, and Randall found himself clenching his fists with an indescribable rage, teeth gnashed together as he quivered with a growing rage. He wanted nothing more than to leap down from the Lyre and call out​ the organist on his lies, but instead, he remained frozen where he crouched-nothing good would come of him revealing himself.

You liar! he swore silently, glaring daggers down at the organist: How dare he fill his angel’s minds with such horrid lies? He, ever having a fondness for La Constance of all things? He’d sooner run naked through the streets of the city than so much as smile at such a hideous woman-she was no muse of his; she never had been, and never, ever would be. Emily was his one and only muse, his one and only love...

…and now, she was being stolen from him.

When the pair had disappeared back down into the opera together, Morgan’s arm around Emily’s waist in a faux-comforting manner, it all came to a head, and Randall found himself seeing red: As the wind began to rise and turn cold, he stood atop the Lyre, seized by an unspeakable anger at this insolent organist, who refused to do as he was told, to keep his big nose out of affairs that did not concern him, and declared to the heavens:

“You will curse the day you did not do...all that the Phantom asked of you!”

That anger quickly melded with a blinding madness, that mad cackle from earlier seizing his throat as he seemingly flew back down inside, rushing to the cupola above the auditorium, housing the mechanism for the grand chandelier, which glittered above the audience’s heads as they burst into applause as the cast of Il Muto gathered before the crimson curtain to take their bows. His eyes dampened with tears when he saw Emily, looking resplendent in her gown, smiling and bowing to her adoring audience...

…but when he saw Morgan in the wings, smiling like a snake as he clapped, Randall saw red again, as his hands worked shakily to undo the contraption, eyes burning with hatred as he set the mass of metal and glass sailing forward, free-falling to the stage, towards the organist, with a furious declaration:

“GO!”

But at the last second, the chandelier swung off-course, no longer aiming to land at Morgan’s feet like planned, but instead, it went forward, coming to a loud and horrendous crash upon the stage, stopping its fall right at Emily’s feet.

“No!” 

Randall gasped in horror when it did so, fresh, hot tears sprouting from his eyes as he stared at her: Although he was grateful it didn’t ultimately hit her, he knew, in his heart of hearts, that it didn’t matter. She would think the worse: This, compounded with Morgan’s poisonous words, would be all the confirmation she needed that her friend and Angel was nothing more than a devil in disguise. His stomach churned at the thought, and although he stared at Emily, wishing to cry out for her, to tell her that he was sorry, to tell her the truth...

…he knew it was no use, and so, he instead chose to flee, cape drawn around him as he hurried back to the attic, locking himself inside as he sobbed. It was of no use-she would hate him, now and forever. Even if he went to her now with the truth, she would not believe him.

And that would be all that would be heard of the Opera Ghost for the next six months-it would not be until the Bal de Masque to ring in the New Year that he would return, and with a vengeance...