I never saw Christine Daae again after I laid her into my half-brother's arms that night. Of her pregnancy of course, the signs had been there: from that one morning when she'd awoken with terrible nausea to the night she had felt sick to her stomach after dinner. I'd scolded Jules to never buy from the same vendor again when it was really the womb that was vengeful, not the caviar. Don Juan was not so triumphant after all.

Now dear reader, you really thought that we were going to end quite well, didn't you? I can see your baffled expression now. You were waiting for somebody to conveniently die, weren't you?—Perhaps it was Raoul's death which you were expecting because the story would have been much less complicated if someone had just killed him off from the start.

But you see, Prince Charming's can't die. They are not meant to be killed off so the antagonist can prey on the innocent little damsel. No, Prince Charming's are meant to lead valiant, courageous, noble lives. And Raoul fit the mold perfectly. I should be satisfied with his happiness. Why should I have been concerned that he possessed a common face of common features and a curiously handsome nose? All that should have concerned me was that Christine had given herself to him out more desperation than love. That was actually very altruistic of her, wasn't it?

Of course, when I had allowed him to take her he couldn't understand. It seemed impalpable to the boy that I would give my precious child away so simply. I really put her in his arms as if I felt nothing. Why should I show him that my heart was breaking when it had already been dead since the moment I knew she conceived? No, I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeming me crumble into a heap in front of him. I stood upright, and transferred her politely from my arms to his.

"You—you…would—like—to come in?" He had stuttered.

"I trust you'll take good care of her." And to his bewildered expression I said, "She bears your child."

I had tipped my fedora, and turned to leave before he called out to me. I faced him slowly.

"How would you know if the child is mine, Monsieur?"

I pressed my lips together grimly. "Father Time would not allow it."

"Erik!"

I stopped.

"Would you like an invitation to the wedding?"

I laughed so terribly that I had to hold myself steady with my arms.

"No," I said finally through the mist of tears that had already begun to stream down my face. "That would not be necessary."

He did not close the door behind him until I had walked far away. I had listened for the sound of that click—and it echoed only several minutes later, when I stopped a brougham to take me back to the Opera.

I knew when she awoke that she would have a terrible cry. The boy would have to really to go out of his way to keep her from coming back—and even so, she wouldn't stop until she found a way to escape. I didn't think she thought it was very vital that she stay with the man who fathered her child—I now thought of her as who she always was: a selfish little monster.

I could not have stayed at the Garnier knowing that she knew of my whereabouts. The last thing I wanted was to find a pregnant woman making her way down here unaccompanied, visiting the man who her heart truly belonged. Relocation was a must.

However, the curiosity of knowing just what she would do always kept me up at night. I'd left the coffin there for her, just as she would have liked. I could imagine her weeping over it once she saw it—She would be so dreadfully alone in my house from which music would never flow again. I could imagine her shock and horror when she sees the destroyed organ and the burned manuscripts of Don Juan Triumphant, ripped and strewn all over the floor. I could imagine her knocking upon Nadir's door, begging for the information she would never possess. Oh yes, Nadir was the one who'd announced my death in the newspaper.

"Erik is dead." it read.

I'd framed that little article and thought it was the most marvelous and humourous little thing I'd ever read.

Nadir was too much of a moralist to forfeit the Vicomtess de Chagny's marriage for her quest for true love. How I love Daroga for his ethically pleasing ideals.

Search on forever, Christine. Knowing your incorrigible perseverance, you will be an old woman and still waiting, grasping onto the feather of hope that perhaps Erik will one day reappear to spirit you to a far away kingdom. At least, you'll always believe. Because you have such a gift for believing in Fathers who aren't alive, Angels who don't exist, and Love which conquers all.

You have conquered us all, haven't you, Christine? You just can't have everything.

Especially when comes to fairy tale endings.