Disclaimer: No, I don't own this; it belongs to Gaston Leroux, Andrew Lloyd Webber and anyone else who might have some claim, but I don't. I just borrowed their ideas.
A/N: This is a one-shot; after the film, since I'm waiting for my book to arrive, I won't write anything else, but this was bugging me so I had to get it down. Reviews are much loved, since they only help make me better.
Christine glanced down at the glittering diamond on her finger and sighed. No matter how beautiful the diamond was, Christine couldn't get the image of another ring out of her mind. Not as fine or with diamonds of the same size, but the significance behind it was stronger. This ring made her think she was simply an item that was bought; the other ring showed she was precious and priceless.
Christine looked over her figure in the mirror; she showed no signs of pregnancy and she had been blessed not to have morning sickness. However, in no time at all, her tiny frame would betray her, and Christine could not allow that to happen. Within moments, Raoul would know, and the last thing she wanted was to hurt him more than she was already going to. He would not only know that the child was not his, but he would know to whom it belonged; the knife in his already wounded heart would dig deeper.
Christine took a letter from her desk and set it next to the kerosene lamp. The letter explained many things Christine could not put into words for Raoul. How could she tell him that she loved him, but not in the way, he loved her? It wasn't until she no longer had her music that she realized that she lived off of it. Did he not remember the lifeless person she had been for the months following the disaster?
Christine took her bag from the desk and turned around the room once more. Her room was as it always was, ordered and melancholy. The bouquet of pink roses, since Raoul never dare buy crimson or red roses, was starting to droop, and Christine smiled at them wistfully. Were they not such an obvious symbol?
"Christine," a deep voice reverberated from the shadows, "morning shall be here soon."
Christine waved at him. "Have patience, love. I shan't be much longer." The shadow recoiled slightly, mollified by her reassurance. Christine was often surprised at Erik's transformation; something happened to him that night, when she gave him her heart freely.
He had always been gentle and passionate with her, but it seemed he could no longer bring himself to commit the grievous sins he had before without a thought. Christine had hesitated in giving him anything when she discovered he still lived. Time and patience had worked in Erik's favor and now she was making the biggest decision of her life; and, unlike the last large decision she made, she did it without a doubt in her heart.
Christine slipped the treacherous beauty of a ring off her finger. Erik reemerged from the shadows, holding a single rose in his hands. Christine held the ring out to him, and he slipped the ring into a length of black silk ribbon before tying it deftly to the rose, a crimson rose.
Erik gently placed the rose atop the letter to Raoul, and then Christine slipped her hand into his and smiled up at him. The half of his face not covered by the mask gave her a ghostly smile before they disappeared into the night, for where else would either feel so much at home?