Novel & Cerita Behind The Mask Phantom Of The Opera

Edward sighed as he accepted the fact that he had to explain his identity when Andrea burst out in tears. "My head hurts so much and I feel so cold. Everyone hates me…" Andrea cried as she held her head. Edward used this time to wear his masquerade mask before walking towards her. "Stay calm and go take your bath. I called a doctor to take care of you." He said as he sat beside her. *What's the use of wearing the mask when she already saw your face?* He asked himself, but disregarded it to focus on persuading her to take her bath.

"So, Mask. Who's your paradise? Rather, who's your paraluman?" END OF FLASHBACK

I can't let myself fall in love with a man like Damien, I don't even know who he is or why he always wears a mask over his face or what he wants from me. I can't let myself fall for him or any of his tricks in trying to woo me at least not until I find out the real reason he chosed to marry me when he could possibly have any other girl he wants, but no it had to be me. Joan sighed as she thought about all these things. She finally finished arranging her clothes in the closet and picked out a red gown to wear for the date. She also picked out a pair of black heels with a silver lining at the top and gold round earrings.

“I haven’t seen anything or anyone kids, now you 7 need to leave because you aren’t allowed back here." “-The Masked Queen is a brand built by the Slim-Jim agency and from my sources, the image alone costs twenty million dollars, and with L.K being the representative it’s ten million dollars on the twenty million. That’s a lot of money to lose people!” Her loud exclamation can be heard through the speakers so I cover it in panic. “Hearing that you were able to get rights over your brand makes me curious how you did it, Slim-Jim isn’t an agency that would like to lose that much money without putting up a damn hard fight. The world is curious L.K, how the hell did you do it?”

Chapter three- His Mask Third-person POV She looks at the performer dumbfounded by the singer who has a hat on and a mask on his face, he smiles in her way and she can see it from the way his eyes were shining in her way. Seconds later, she holds her chest as she feels her heart beating faster and her chest tightening. So she walks towards the performers and stands at the tip of the platform, she doesn’t stop there but walks forward.

Eve The mask is made of heavy gold filigree, molded to the shape of a fox. It presses against my cheekbones, cold and rigid, hiding everything but my eyes and mouth. Beside me, Dominik wears a black wolf mask that covers the upper half of his face. It makes his blue eyes look startlingly bright, like ice chips suspended in the dark. He looks terrifying. He looks magnificent. We stand at the top of the marble staircase overlooking the Grand Ballroom of the Pierre Hotel. Below us, a sea of silk, velvet, and diamonds swirl to the sound of a live orchestra.

It was deep, smooth, and carried an accent that was impossible to place—civilized, yet edged with something primal. I turned slowly. He was tall, his frame filling a bespoke black tuxedo that fit him with predatory precision. His mask was a simple, matte black visor that covered the upper half of his face, leaving only a sharp, stubbled jawline and a mouth set in a thin, enigmatic line. "I don't dance," I said, the lie sliding off my tongue from years of practice. "A pity," he murmured, stepping closer. He didn't look at my face; he looked at the space where my heart was hammering against the steel boning of my bodice. "The song is about a ghost searching for a home. It seems fitting for you

"Do you take this woman to be your wife, to stand by her through thick and thin?" "I do," the man said, his voice muffled by the mask. The guests whispered in awe. Howard Larson, the Larson family's big shot, was so in love with me that he would not let a bad cold stop our big day. He did not want to disappoint me. "Wait a second." The man's eyes darted around, and his forehead was dotted with sweat. I smiled and asked, "Howard, you're looking a bit pale. Too busy with the wedding to remember your medicine?"

Elowen POV. The leather sofa in VIP Room Three still held the warmth of the last client. I could feel it through the thin crimson silk barely covering my body as I adjusted my position, making sure every angle was perfect. The jeweled mask sat secure against my face, catching the low amber light, hiding everything that mattered while showing everything that didn't. My red hair fell in waves over my bare shoulders. No brown wig or oversized cardigan swallowing my curves tonight. Tonight, I was Nyx, and Nyx didn't hide.

Before everyone's eyes, he held my hands and called me his mother. Finally, I spoke up. "I'm not your mother, and I'll never regard you as my son." That was a bombshell, and it sent waves rippling across the room. The guests exchanged looks, but the gist of the story hit them almost immediately. When they looked at Nathaniel again, there was only disdain and contempt in their eyes. The disgraced Nathaniel turned blue and white with rage. His hand clamped down on my wrist. "What are you doing? You can either acknowledge him as your son, or it's the hospital with you!"