Chapter One: The End

Christine bit her lip as she heard the familiar hacking cough echo down the hallway. Day after day, night after night, she had piously, earnestly prayed that the Lord would take away the tuberculosis invading her husband's body. For three endlessly long months she had prayed. For three long months the Lord had seemingly ignored her. And despite her deep devotion, she had almost lost faith in God, had sensed His presence slowly fading away from her side. But as another fit of coughing reached her ears, Christine flew light-footed up the ornate staircase, the sound driving all other thoughts out of her mind as she walked swiftly to the bedroom Raoul used.

She pushed the heavy wooden door open and bit back her gasp. Although she should have been used to Raoul's physical state by now, every time she laid eyes on him she still felt terrified. The luster in his warm brown eyes was fading and his body, once fit and healthy, was emaciated. His hair was unkempt, his skin pale and clammy. His falling from grace suddenly drove a unwanted shard of memory into Christine's mind as she beheld her husband: Erik—an Angel of Music and an Angel of Death, forever doomed and fallen into the depths of Hell like so many do…

Stop those thoughts, Christine reprimanded herself, her mind's voice much sharper than usual as she closed the door and approached him.

Raoul smiled wanly at her in greeting, but the gentle expression slid from his face as he started coughing again. He raised a handkerchief to his mouth as he hacked his way through the fit, and Christine couldn't suppress the horrified shudder that raced down her spine when he lowered the handkerchief, now spotted with scarlet.

"Here," she said softly, swallowing her fear, the sound and sight of her husband shoving away any sad memories of Erik. "I brought that sleeping medicine."

"Thank you, Little Lotte," Raoul said in a quiet voice marred with the hoarseness that came with so much coughing. His endearing nickname for her, used in a time of great personal suffering, made tears come to her eyes. She willed them not to spill out as she sat down carefully and poured the thick syrup out of the bottle into the waiting spoon, which she carefully lifted to Raoul's mouth.

Raoul didn't meet her eyes as he took the syrup into his mouth. Although Christine loved his constant gentleness towards her, she knew he hated being reduced to a child, having to have another clothe and feed him. She knew he thought of it as faintly pathetic, especially because he was a fiercely independent man. Being brought down to this level embarrassed him.

Christine lowered her eyes and spoke to the coverlet on the bed. "It's getting late. I'll be going along to bed. You should try to sleep as well."

Raoul nodded. "Thank you."

Christine closed the medicine bottle and rose from the bedside chair, taking the spoon with her. She was halfway to the door when his soft voice called to her. "Christine…"

She turned around. His eyes touched and caressed her, but their expression was strangely unreadable as he spoke. "I love you."

Christine smiled slightly. "I know."

And with that, she left.

Christine hurried down the long, shadowy hallway, lit periodically by flickering gas lamps in clear globes of spun glass. The doctor had ordered Christine to sleep in a separate room, as tuberculosis was extremely contagious. Christine had obliged without question, but disliked the time away from her husband.

Husband. The word stabbed her like a dagger plunged into her heart. Unwanted images suddenly flashed through her mind—an underground chamber with candles casting reflections on the water, a noose, a neck…Erik and his ultimatum…

With a stifled cry, Christine forced the thoughts aside in her mind. The past was the past and no matter how much one wished it, it couldn't change. Brooding over lost memories accomplished nothing.

Her mind was able to accept this for only several seconds before exploding anew with images of Erik.

She hated nighttime. She knew Erik belonged to the night, that it was in his soul, and that alone was enough to make her pine for him at a level beyond agony. And with the darkness came the dreams. Sometimes they were nightmares where Erik killed Raoul in jealousy, or killed her in rage, or killed himself. Sometimes it was all three. Other times, Raoul was ambushed by an invisible assailant, only to die before Christine's frozen body. If they weren't nightmares, they were beautiful dreams where Erik and she married, where Erik crafted beautiful things for her and where she was deeply in love with him. In those dreams she sang without shame and never felt any guilt for leaving Raoul behind, because Raoul didn't exist. In those dreams Christine knew the velvet touch of a hand, a voice in the shadows, and knew that it was Erik, her one and only. Those dreams were capable of crippling Christine to the point where she stayed in her room for days at a time. They were so beautiful, they were so beautiful…the possibilities ensnared her.

She could have cursed God for creating the human need for sleep. As each day died and her activities as newfound aristocrat diminished, all the unbidden thoughts of the Angel of Music screamed aloud in her head until she wanted to tear out her perpetually-curly hair by the roots. Even though he was no longer in her life, and had probably died of a broken heart, the power Erik still held over her was staggering. He ruled her mind at nighttime.

Christine sighed deeply and raked her fingers through her hair as she crawled into bed. She could do nothing except reassure herself night after night that her thoughts of the Opera Ghost would eventually disappear. Naturally, they never did. She only had to hear a strain of music to hear his voice, or close her eyes to see his hand stretched out to her, his eyes burning…waiting.

Christine slept badly that night. She dreamed that she was back on the stage of the Opera Populaire during the premiere of Don Juan Triumphant. The audience murmured faintly in the background as Erik prowled in a circle around her in his Don Juan costume. Through the mask, his forest-green eyes betrayed no emotions, never wavering as he paced around Christine. She sensed the mounting tension in his body, and she shivered.

"Are you ready?"

The voice was quiet, yet tingling with a thousand emotions. Fear. Concern. Trepidation. The diamond edges in his voice were blunted, subdued with an unidentifiable emotion that made Erik seem even more unearthly as he continued his pacing around her.

Goosebumps pulsed up Christine's arms. "For what?"

"He's coming. Be afraid." His velvet voice had an overwhelming patience to it that almost made Christine yell with frustration.

"Who are you talking about, Erik? Who? Who?"

Erik's eyes darkened as he spoke again, never slowing his pace as he continued walking in a circle around her. His voice took on an ethereal tone as he gave his answer in the form of a riddle:

The source of your heart
But an ally he is not
Cousin of God, brother of the Devil
Hope is but mortal—
He'll lead you into Hell.

On the last word, he pointed at the floor between them, and Christine followed his outstretched finger to the fire pit in front of her. The simmering strips of orange and yellow fabric suddenly changed, transforming into fiery streamers that blinded and burned. Christine let out a scream as the flames started racing up her dress, but Erik only looked back stonily as she burned in the raging inferno.

"Wake up, Mademoiselle, wake up!"

Christine opened her eyes to the sight of her maid, Anna, kneeling by her bedside and the sound of someone screaming in the distance. Dazed, she blinked a few times, trying to remember what happened and what didn't.

"Mademoiselle! If I may be so bold, do take a breath!" Anna urged, her eyes as wide as saucers as she put a cool hand to Christine's forehead.

The screaming was coming from Christine's mouth. As soon as she realized it, the sound cut off in her throat like a strangled goose.

"Another nightmare, miss?" Anna asked, searching Christine's eyes. Christine nodded, and Anna knew too much of her mistress's nighttime dreamings to react perceptibly.

"Now if you please, mademoiselle, dress and come with me. Your presence is required in your husband's room at once."

It can only be good news, Christine assured herself as she rolled out of bed reluctantly and threw on her dressing gown, leaving her hair in the rumpled mess that it was. It can only be good news.

As was her habit, Christine threw a glance out the large windows that lined the long corridor as she and Anna made their way down the hall to Raoul's room. The morning was gloomy and quite dark, with stormy clouds rolling steadily over the sky. It made her nervous, in a way she couldn't easily explain.

"Would…" Christine ventured as she and Anna neared Raoul's room. "Would it be too optimistic for me to guess that my husband is now showing improvement? Is he better?"

"I really cannot say, mademoiselle," Anna said carefully as they approached the door to Raoul's room. "There is no right answer for your question at the moment."

And she pushed open Raoul's door.

Doctor Leveque was there, and this was not unexpected. The grey-bearded, bespectacled man had visited Raoul regularly over the past several weeks, sometimes every day. What was unexpected was the unusually downcast expression on his face.

Christine flicked a glance at the sleeping Raoul before looking at Doctor Gillene. "What happened, Doctor?"

Doctor Leveque sighed deeply and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were infinitely sadder. "Your husband died last night."

Christine stopped breathing as the air around her seemed to grow heavier and suffocate her. She continued staring at Doctor Leveque's face as his words sank in, one at a time.

Raoul wasn't sleeping at all. He was lying so still because there was no air left in his lungs. No air would ever fill them again, those lungs so mottled and damaged. Never again would he move, to touch her cheek tenderly or simply go about his business. In a rush, Christine suddenly appreciated a hundredfold every gesture he ever made, knowing they were numbered and that eventually there would be none left.

"You see, mademoiselle," Anna said in a strange voice. "He really is better now."

What little breath that remained in Christine's lungs whooshed out of her as the fingertips of her right hand found the gold band studded with diamonds around her left ring finger.

"Leave me," she said in a low voice.

"Mademoiselle Daae, I truly—" Doctor Leveque began.

"Please, there is time for all that later," Christine replied, trying to keep her voice even and unemotional. "Anna, Doctor Leveque…please leave."

Anna respectfully avoided her gaze as she gathered up her skirts and departed. Doctor Leveque made to go, but lingered in the doorway.

"His father will be coming this afternoon at three-thirty," he said quietly.

Christine nodded, not turning around to look at him, and the doctor left, closing the door behind him.

"Raoul…" The sound broke from Christine's lips like a dribble of water from a dam about to burst. She ran to his side and sat down on the edge of the bed, gazing at him silently. He was no longer the vital young man who had wooed her at the Opera Populaire, but his now-worn face looked…more peaceful. Christine hesitated, then laid a hand on his cheek. His skin was almost transparent and felt very cold. The staggering enormity of it crashed down upon her at that instant.

"Raoul…please…" Burning tears stabbed the back of her eyes as she shook his shoulder. He didn't move. "Raoul…oh, please…please…oh please, this can't be happening! No!"

She put a hand over her mouth as she collapsed in on herself and started sobbing. She felt the gold ring touching her lips and before she could think twice, she stood up, strode around Raoul's bed to the large window and hefted it open. The sky had grown even darker, and the grey-black clouds hovered ominously over Paris. Before she could change her mind, she ripped the ring off her finger and threw it out the window as hard as she could, scorching tears cascading silently down her face. The ring hit the ground as the first drops of rain began to fall.