Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera! :-) This was inspired by a graphic I made on Tumblr. :-) (mosbatsky . tumblr . com/post/11822205432/i-thought-that-with-my-guidance-and-with-my-music) It was meant to be a drabble but anyway, it's a one-shot now! Hope you enjoy. This is my first one-shot for this fandom. :D

Christine ripped open the letter Annamarie had given her. She glanced excitedly at the ordinary-looking post and then saw the otherwise scared look of her chambermaid. She laid the letter on her dresser and watched her maid speak.

"I'm so sorry, Madame," Annamarie said softly, fiddling with the apron tied neatly around her waist. "Unaddressed mail is quite dangerous and I should have screened the posts coming in earlier. I should have checked before receiving the posts from Andre."

"Don't blame the chauffeur and yourself, my dear," Christine smiled, turning away to hold the parchment and feeling the silkiness run through her fingers. Familiar, she thought. So familiar. "Anonymous senders are part of the lifestyle I'm currently living in now."

"It is quite dangerous, the sort of letters that go through the mailbox, Madame," Annamarie replied. "You were an opera singer back in the day, and it's quite amazing how even at this stage in your life, your early retirement… what an astounding number of posts!"

Christine shook her head, knowing how naïve Annamarie was. "But you never knew what I went through to get to that level."

"You only needed your singing voice and your beauty, Madame," Annamarie said. "That was all you needed, blessed by an angel of God."

Christine chortled.

"Angel…" she murmured. "…of God?"

"Well, do you doubt, Madame?" Annamarie asked. "Only God would have sent you an Angel to inspire you. And your father was an esteemed violinist, was he not?"

Christine smiled and her hand shook a little, holding onto the post a little too tightly. Dear, sweet, Annamarie. A mere student of arts at the nearby school in Nice, undertaking a chambermaid's job to make ends meet. No doubt, she was a hardworking one and a survivor, just like her. She knew that just like her employer, she would fight to get what she wants and at the same time, do what's right not just for her but for the people around her.

But unlike those who were with Christine, she was ignorant and only knew a limited view of what really happened many years back. Annamarie never knew what happened before Christine became who she was.

Silence fell, establishing dead air between the two women. Annamarie smiled wistfully at Christine who smiled back with a tad of tension.

"Annamarie?" Christine said, breaking the silence.

"Yes, Madame?" Annamarie replied, tucking a red lock of hair.

"Do you mind if I ask something personal? I know it may seem prying of me, but I just want to satisfy my curiousity."

Annamarie smiled.

"Of course, Madame, I daren't refuse."

"I don't think that you would come here just to tell me about the letter," Christine remarked, fully facing the maid, laying the letter on her lap. "I've received so many unscreened mail, not that I'm blaming you. But do you have something you want to bring up? Anything troubling you, child?"

Annamarie inhaled deeply.

"You caught me red-handed, Madame," Annamarie confessed, sitting down on one of the plump stools in the bedroom. "I do have a question, something related to love."

"Aren't we always wondering about love?" Christine chuckled, facing her mirror to fix her ribbon. Her curls were untamed, her brown hair flouncing.

"Have you ever had to choose?" Annamarie asked.

Christine froze, her ribbon hanging limply on her left hand.

"Choose?" Christine repeated. "Whatever do you mean, dear?"

"Was Vicomte your first love? Monsieur Raoul, I mean?" Annamarie questioned, then turned away. "Well, obviously. You were both the best of friends. It was no doubt he was the only one you'll ever fall in love with."

Christine suddenly found it hard to breathe. She immediately regretted even questioning the chambermaid's motives, mentally slapping herself for not remembering that curiousity always killed the cat. She knew it was wrong to linger on the immediate answer, the answer she always gave to everyone. Yes, Raoul will forever be my first love or it was love at first sight until we both went our separate ways but destiny called us together again or who knew we were the lucky ones? It was more than just mere love because the memories back then were killed. Raoul and Christine never spoke of the incident of so many years ago… not because Christine refused to, she couldn't handle the lingering emotions that stayed with her up to this very day.

"We always had to choose, Annamarie," Christine whispered. "Raoul may have been the one I chose but it took a while to sink in that he had come back for me. We may have been friends for the longest, but it doesn't mean that we could not be strangers again. We had known so much of each other. Our likes, our peeves, and our dreams. But who can say that those will never change? We were both idealists, dear. We had no knowledge of how the world was built, we just kept on building within ourselves, that we could change each other and the surroundings around us for the better. But we should have known that while we wanted to change the world, it was uncertain if the world wanted to change with us."

"Have you fallen in love with another man, Madame?" Annamarie prodded.

Christine inhaled.

"I…"

"Mother!"

Christine exhaled, grateful for the distraction.

"Gustave," Christine smiled, taking the running child into her arms. "May I help you?"

"Where's Annamarie?" Gustave turned and saw the chambermaid smiling at him. "There you are! Could you help me clean my room? I promised Mother I would, to show her I'm a big boy. But I was distracted with my new organ and I couldn't start on picking up the playthings."

"No need to reason, dear," Annamarie stood up, brushing invisible dirt off her apron. "Let's start now so you could perform for me later as payment."

"Oh…" Gustave whined. "Do I have to?"

"Unless you have twenty million francs available for me?" Annamarie raised her eyebrow playfully at the child.

"Just tell me what pieces you want to hear," Gustave muttered as he walked away with the maid. "I'm in the more advanced levels though."

Listening to the excited chatter her eight-year old son got her thinking. What if life were as easy as picking up playthings or picking compositions to play or in her case, sing? She wished so much for her operatic life to start again, and wanted to do another show. She was so distracted with Annamarie that she had forgotten to read the anonymous letter laid in front of her.

She opened the folded parchment and found the neatest yet most familiar scrawl of words. Her heart thudded ten times faster. Could this be? Could this be who she thought this was?

She inhaled deeply before beginning.

Do memories ache the same way as facing the event up front right there and then?

It had been so long since the Opera house, and it had been so long since I had been happy. You were, I always knew, born to be a star, Christine. The crowd would be entranced, hypnotized with your being and your voice, the moment you would open your mouth to sing. You had touched so many lives that day, when you replaced La Carlotta. It was cruel of me to do such a thing, to scare the poor prima donna. But was it not a blessing in disguise for you? You, of all people, should know that you had touched me to the deepest core of my soul, so much so that it changed the way I saw the cruel world we lived in. The cruel world that shunned me in my youth.

My guidance and my music had clearly shown not only the crowd, but you yourself as well. You had realized how great you really were, and that you were more than just a ballet dancer under the tutelage of Madame Giry. I had devoted so many years of my existence for your success, for that shy, unblossomed budding star I solely believed would shine in the later days. But I knew that I had to pay the price for sharing with you my talents. I had to pay the price of falling in love with you.

It was a feeling most unfamiliar to me, and I do apologize for the way I had treated you back then. The weight I carry everyday of my life, the excitement I get when I see your lips moving and enunciating the words meant to blend with the notes, the pieces I create. We were great, you and I. But we were never beyond mere talent. We just always stayed separate, never together, only in music. I knew that it was unfair for me to fall in love with someone who had never seen me, and so I stole you away to have you for my own. I remember you were the first to know the man behind the mask, and I had called you so many names. It was not because I blamed you for seeing me, but I blamed myself, forgetting that you were not one to fall in love with this deformed appearance. I longed for good looks and happiness, and I felt you could give it to me.

You did, my dear, you did. Briefly. But you did, and I appreciated a brief taste of happiness than never feeling it at all. Your care for me showed that while the whole world may have forgotten and negated my existence, you were the only one who remembered to call me, to bring me out of the shadows that was my home. I should have thanked you sooner, and instead I chased you away.

The moments of me holding you in my arms, whispering songs to make sure you had me etched in your mind. The feel of your soft skin on my calloused hand after you fainted in my lair. Again, we had our moments, my dear. Moments I would surely want to keep forever, to let you live in the weirdest world I called my mind.

But you were one to remember too, Christine. You had your own memories you carried around in that head of yours, and I never knew that the memory of your childhood was too strong for me to fully show how much I loved you. You faced me with tears in your eyes, begging for his release. I did not pick you only for your beauty, my dear. I also fell in love with your voice, and I knew that if we were to marry, we would have been the greatest legends ever lived, and my dream of you standing by my side would be a dream fulfilled after so many painful years.

But I saw you on the rooftop after I scared you, killing Joseph Buquet in the process. You were frightened and by the looks of it, you didn't want anything to do with me. And he was there. Vicomte de Chagny came to your rescue. I saw him, spotted his doe-eyed look aimed for you during your debut performance. I had to remind you that you haven't seen each other for so long, and he would have been a changed man by then. But no. He had also fallen in love with you, and his love, I presume had lasted longer than mine. But I never knew that until in the dressing room, when he gave you flowers and he was going to steal you away from me.

"Little Lotte, let the mind wander," he said. "Little Lotte thought: Am I fonder of dollsor of goblins or shoes?" You were captured too, my dear. I saw. I knew at that moment, the moment Raoul reminisced with you, I was going to lose every bit of you to him. I'm not one who wants to lose, but I knew that what I was fighting was a losing battle on my end. You chose him: perfect, proper, and dashing Raoul de Chagny. The only one who could give you a proper life and a new beginning. The one who could take you away from the darkness. The one who took you away from me.

Looking back, I want to admit to you now that I was wrong. More than wrong, delusional actually. I had the wrong notion of love and I blame nobody else but myself. I had let the world get into my head, that no one who dared cross my path would see the end of theirs. I too had forgotten to remember that while I may fall in love with someone, it is uncertain if the one I had fallen in love with will love me the same way.

But I knew that what you felt for me was more than just friendship, I'd like to think that. You saw beyond my horrid appearance, Christine, and you too had been entranced with my voice. We had a brief affair on stage, our voices becoming one when we both sang "Past the Point of No Return." I wish that were enough for you though. I wish that music could have been the only component that could have helped you in falling in love with me. But who I am to jest but myself? I may have taken innocent lives, my dear, but it did not mean that I too was not innocent. You kissed me, my dear, and now that I have tasted love of the purest kind, I long for your lips to touch mine again. Maybe not now, but someday, when destiny calls for me and you a second time.

You cried for me, Christine, do you not remember? When you returned my ring and you ran away with Raoul while I was left to die in the chambers I called home? And for a while, I felt the love I would have wanted you to give me. But I couldn't. I just couldn't have you all to myself, for fear that in the later years, we would have run out of passion, and you will see that I will not age gracefully, that my voice will soon die with my old age, and though I have other talents, that part of me I strengthened for so long will die with the years gone by.

But I am still here, my dear, fully alive and fully well. I asked around for your address not to scare you not to visit you, but to explain my side of the story. Our love will forever be nonexistent but I cannot thank you enough for showing me compassion, that love still exists if you just look for it.

It's been ten years, my dear, and I can still fully admit to myself that I am still wholeheartedly and genuinely in love with you. This fact may not be important to you, but I know that I will never love anyone the same way I did you. You were the one who captured me with your pirouettes and twirls and floored me with your beautiful voice that could have gone so well with the music I would have wanted to share to the entire world, that you would have loved an oddity like me. And that while, the darkness had reeled me in, you were the only one who reached your hand in to save me.

I wish you and Vicomte prosperity in your marriage and more years to enjoy life, and I believe that you have a son named Gustave? Don't you worry, news travels fast when you're famous, my dear. But again, you will always be the same to me.

You will always be my Christine, the muse who inspires my music and the only one who keeps my heart constantly racing. My Christine, my love, forever and ever.

Do something for me, if you please. When you're alone and you feel like singing, do remember me by. Do remember your Angel of Music, so that the memory of me can inspire you in one way or another, and to know that I am listening to you, even if we are separated by distance. We will always share a connection no one else knows about and will never be able to reach.

Christine, I love you.

Signed,

O.G

He's still out there, she thought, tears streaming down her face as she held the letter close to her heart. My Angel is still there.

She exhaled, breaths coming out shorter than expected.

Still in love with me.

She could smell the familiar scent of him on the parchment, and remembered the times when her Angel of Music had cared for back in the days when she was still rising into superstardom. She recalled the times when she only knew him by voice, and later on was floored when she saw him in person. He was different, she knew. He wasn't handsome, but his voice was inviting and passionate. She was hypnotized, she had to admit. He was not charming, but he was dangerous, and his personality got her blood boiling and her fingers numbing. He had something Raoul would never have: passion. Raoul was nice, good, and handsome but she always knew that wasn't enough. Her Angel was the one who had gotten her soul to soar and to seduce her with his music.

She came so close to choosing him, and"Past The Point of No Return" almost sealed the deal. She kissed him and was surprised to note how great he was, being a first timer and all. She was confused when Raoul pulled her to escape from the catacombs, knowing that a part of her wanted to stay, to kiss the Phantom and to care for him like he did her.

Years after, she found herself thinking if in an alternate timeline, she had chosen the Phantom. She imagined nights full of passion and song, their offspring a future composer and singer too. Raoul would wonder why she would gaze at the night sky, sighing to herself. He asked her about it once before, but she denied it, explaining that maybe she was sleepwalking. Some nights, she would find herself crying and praying to God that her Angel be kept safe after the newspapers circulated "OG missing after mob invades catacombs." Meg Giry was the one who found the mask, the hugest reminder of him, and she did not take it.

She looked around for pryers in the bedroom and when she did not find any, she opened the secret compartment of her velvet jewelry box, one of the many presents her husband had given her on their wedding day, and borught out a gold band with a huge opal shining on it.

She had been asked constantly how odd the choice of ring Raoul had given to Christine. "Why opal, dear?" Madame Jemima asked her during one of the social season events in the de Chagny residence. "Are you not much of a diamond girl?" Raoul questioned her too after seeing that Christine's finger that had his twenty-four carat diamond engagement ring was found to be missing. She explained to him that she must have lost it in the opera house after they escaped, and Raoul accepted the explanation without a doubt.

The gold band felt cold to the touch and Christine slipped the ring on her ring finger. She remembered the time she returned to the Phantom and cried, silently apologizing for her choise to stay with Raoul. She heard the vulnerability in his voice when he told her, ever so simply, "Christine, I love you." Those three words were so simple, and yet it drove her mad sometimes, if her choice to stay with Raoul was right.

What Raoul did not know was that she gave her Angel her engagement ring and kept the ring her Angel gave her as a reminder of the choice she was not actually ready to make. She had wished for so long to know that he was alive, and now that he was, she felt the weight on her shoulders lift a little.

He's still there, waiting for me to come back, she thought. After ten years, he's still betting on me.

She quietly kissed the opal stone, hoping to etch in her mind the feel of his soft lips on hers, and the passion they both shared with one another before Raoul came along. She slipped the jewel into her box along with the letter in it.

Do remember your Angel of Music, so that the memory of me can inspire you in one way or another, and to know that I am listening to you, even if we are separated by distance…

You kissed me, my dear, and now that I have tasted love of the purest kind, I long for your lips to touch mine again. Maybe not now, but someday, when destiny calls for me and you a second time…

Raoul will be home soon, she thought. I have to straighten myself out.

She wiped her eyes and turned around to see Annamarie listening to Gustave's piano-playing. She locked eyes with her chambermaid for a quick second and smiled at her weakly. Her chambermaid would expect the answer she had prayed she wouldn't have to because looking at the jewelry box in front of her, she knew that up until now, she still did not know if the choice and the life she was living now was a choice that she herself wanted to make.

Angel, I hear you.
Speak, I listen.
Stay by my side.
Guide me.