The Tables Have Turned

I am posting this from an internet café on the Champs Élysées. D'Arcy's control over the management seems to be complete as he has had them file multiple lawsuits against me for my past crimes and thus Mifroid and all his men have invaded the Opera -- effectively sealing off all access, even via my personal secret passages. The latter isn't surprising, however, since I spotted Nadir conversing with the Commissary. It seems D'Arcy has even convinced the daroga that I am once again a public threat. I can only imagine what "evidence" D'Arcy planted that would successfully turn my old friend against me.

I discovered this shocking turn of events only a few hours ago when I returned home to find Gerik torturously pounding out the melody to "Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini" on my organ. Upon my arrival, he stood to greet me.

"Sae we meit again fur th' first time, fur th' lest time."

"Monsieur Seinfeld rang; he wants his puffy shirt back."

"Och, ye ur a clever a body."

"Pardon me?"

"Ah said yoo're huir av a clever an' witty."

"Are you speaking Esperanto or is that just your stupid Scottish accent?"

"Enaw gab! Th' gam is up, mah wrinkled, un-tanned auld mukker. An' ye hae tint."

"I'm sorry, I'm going to have to get my Berlitz book…"

"Gendarmes ur posted at every single entrance, Polis Commissary Mifroid an' his men ur oan their way as we spick, yer haem noo belongs tae me, an' suin yer wee Christine will be oors an aw. Th' trap has sprung. Laird D'Arcy, Mr. Cobbler an Ah hae won. Ooh, Ah jist gart a rhyme!"

"Hey, look! A mirror!"

"Whaur?!?"

I then clocked him over the head with a candlestick and escaped seconds before Mifroid and Nadir arrived.

As for now, posters for my arrest are practically on every corner, and I can only stay in one place for a short while. With my, albeit, masked face everywhere, I've resorted to wearing a canvas sack over my head and masquerading as Joseph Merrick.

With my identity compromised, homeless, and my friends being turned against me, I fear that I may not be able to do this alone.

Your angel of darkness,
O.G.