Disclaimer: I don't own any concepts, characters, or music in The Phantom of the Opera, as I'm sure you already knew. This is based on the movie, and while I know that I didn't use the same version of "Music of the Night" as Erik sang, I like this one better. So forgive me.
The Last Rose: Christine's Gift
A young woman slowly entered the decrepit old opera house, looking around tentatively. She was beautiful, with long curls of chocolate-colored hair spilling just past her shoulders and dark eyes set into soft, pale skin. Her mouth was a rosebud just under her pert little nose. In her hand she held a single red rose with a black ribbon tied around its stem. Her steps were slow and hesitant, a tinge of fear in her eyes as they roved the darkness. Still, she made her way steadfastly to the stage. Daintily lifting her skirt out of the dust, she carefully climbed up and turned to face the empty audience. The chairs were broken, those closest to the stage charred from the fire twenty-three years ago, the once-sumptuous red velvet now rotting away, the brass gilding tarnished nearly to black. Cobwebs stretched endlessly, carpeting the room with decay. It made the woman sad to see this, but she had a purpose to fulfill, and needed to complete it.
"God give me strength to do this," she whispered. Then, clasping the rose at her breast, she began to sing the song her mother had so painstakingly taught her:
"Think of me, think of me fondly,
when we've said goodbye.
Remember me once in a while –
please promise me you'll try.
When you find that, once again, you long
to take your heart back and be free –
if you ever find a moment,
spare a thought for me!"
Her voice rang strong and clear through the empty theatre, echoing in the shadows and rousing the sleepy spirits of the past. One in particular paused to listen in wonder, thrown back to a happier time by the familiar song and even more familiar voice.
"Christine?" Erik whispered, hardly daring to hope it was true. Careful not to be noticed, he made his way along the catwalks to Box 5 to see if what he heard was real or just a fantasy. When he saw the woman on the stage, he didn't know what to think. It was Christine he saw, but she hadn't aged a day since he had last seen her twenty-three years ago. How was it possible? And why had she returned?
The woman finished her song with her arms thrown open and eyes shining, the highest notes hovering in the air long after she had cut them off. It had been perfect. Erik found himself blinking tears from his eyes. The woman lowered her arms slowly, still holding the rose in one hand as she gazed around almost expectantly. What was she looking for, Erik wondered. Did she expect her song to rejuvenate the old theatre and bring it back to its original splendor? Not even Christine's voice could do such a thing. The woman sighed sadly, her head hanging. Then, as though struck by inspiration, she raised her head again and began to sing another song:
"Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation
Darkness wakes and stirs imagination
Silently the senses abandon their defenses,
helpless to resist the notes I write
For I compose the Music of the Night…"
Erik stared with renewed shock. No one had ever heard that song…except for Christine. Had he finally lost his sanity? Was his mind playing tricks on him? What ghost of the past was this, come to haunt him? 'Christine…' he thought longingly, almost reaching out to the mysterious woman. 'Oh Christine…'
The woman looked around in apparent surprise. "Monsieur le Fantôme?" she called.
'Did I speak aloud?' Erik wondered. Deciding there was no use hiding, and no harm in revealing himself, he put his mask on – he had not been wearing it, as there was no point in wearing it when there was no one around – and rose, employing a passage in the wall to reach the stage from the box quickly. The woman looked around and gave a small start when she saw him before smiling tentatively.
"Who are you?" Erik asked, gazing at her.
"That depends," the woman answered.
Erik arched an eyebrow questioningly. "On what, exactly?"
"On who you want me to be," the woman said softly, her eyes shy and lowered, looking up at him through her long lashes. How Erik longed to say Christine, but he knew it was not she. It couldn't be. The woman smiled again gently. "I think I know who you're thinking of. Christine."
"How do you know her?" asked Erik in wonder. "Who are you really?"
"I am Minuet de Chagny," the woman – Minuet – replied. "I am Christine's daughter."
Erik stared at her, something he usually never did. Small wonder she so resembled Christine if Christine was her mother. Not only did she share her mother's looks, she also possessed her voice. But Minuet smiled at him, something Christine had not done in the last months before Erik had lost her forever.
"My mother sent me," Minuet said gently. "She said I look just like her, just like she did when she sang here. When she knew you. That's how she wanted you to remember her. She didn't want you to see her as she is, twenty-three years later. On my twenty-first birthday, three months ago, she told me what she wanted of me. When I was of the same age as she was when you saw her last, she asked me to do this for her. She asked me to come here, to find you, on the anniversary of the last night she saw you. She asked me to give you her message."
Erik couldn't respond for a time. Christine's daughter, standing before him, sent by her mother to find him…he had thought Christine would never want to even think of him again, try to blot the memories from her mind. Collecting himself, Erik managed to ask, "And what is this message?"
Minuet smiled, gazing into Erik's eyes. "That she loves you. That she always loved you. And that she hopes you can forgive her. You see, the way she explained it to me was that she adored you as an angel, but she loved Father – Raoul – as a man. She could never see you as just a man, you were always more than that to her. You were her Angel, her father, her guardian. And she was frightened, not exactly of you but of the power you held over her."
Tears burned behind Erik's eyes, and he tried to hide them before Minuet saw. "There is…nothing to forgive," he said. "She…made the right choice. It wasn't what I wanted for me, but it's what I wanted for her. I only ever wanted her to be happy. I just wanted it to be with me. I loved her so…"
Minuet looked at him thoughtfully for a moment before slowly approaching him. "Love and madness so often coincide. People struggle to differentiate one from the other. But Mother finally understands that it truly was love that drove you back then. That's why she sent me: to bring you peace. I look like her; I sing like her. If you ask it, I will be her. Speak to me as though I were Christine; I will listen. Let me give you this last gift."
Erik couldn't speak. What was there to say? No words could express what he felt. Then, unbidden, four simple words passed his lips: "Christine…I love you." Slowly Minuet reached to cradle his cheek in her warm hand, gazing into his eyes tenderly. He closed his hand around hers, pressing it to his face and kissing the heel. Minuet sighed softly, smiling.
"I love you too," she said simply. "My Angel of Music." Erik looked into her eyes, reaching to touch her cheek with shaking fingers. Minuet stood perfectly still, calm and unafraid. Erik touched her cheek, her jaw, her hair, her neck. Minuet gave a small giggle but didn't move away. Erik found himself smiling for the first time in years, it seemed. At length he let his hand drop slowly, but Minuet caught it gently before his arm fell to his side. She gazed at the rose in her hand. "Mother gives me one of these after every recital I perform. Only recently did she tell me why." Again she smiled, looking up at Erik and pressing the thorn-less flower into his hand. With slightly shaking hands, Erik accepted it. Nestled in the centre of the petals was a tiny gold charm in the shape of a mask. His mask. He looked up at Minuet in wonder. Still smiling, she reached to caress his cheek again and this time drew his face close to hers. "This is yours," she whispered, her breath warm against his lips, "and it always has been." Tilting her head, she pressed her lips to his. Erik closed his eyes to stave off tears, slowly placing his hands on Minuet's waist. She slid her free arm around his neck, pressing close to him, inciting him to wrap his arms around her as he returned the kiss. He imagined it was Christine he held in his arms, Christine saying she loved him, Christine kissing him one last time. Tears were trickling down his cheeks when they finally broke apart. Her face falling a little, Minuet gently wiped them away. Erik caught her hand and kissed it.
"Chris- Minuet," he whispered. Minuet smiled in relief, closing her fingers around Erik's tenderly. "Minuet…"
"Yes?" she asked gently.
Erik looked in her eyes, smiling with joyful tears in his. "Thank you. Oh Minuet, thank you for this gift. At last, I feel peace."
"I'm glad," Minuet said. "I truly am. And I know Mother will be too. Please understand, she never wanted to hurt you."
"I do understand," Erik said. "I do." He gazed at Minuet for a moment, stroking a curl of hair out of her eyes and lovingly tucking it behind her ear. "Will you tell her…that I will always love her?"
"Of course," Minuet replied. "But I'm sure she already knows." Erik just smiled again, then sighed.
"It's getting late," he said softly. "And it's dangerous for a young lady to be walking the streets at night. Perhaps you should return home." It was obvious that this was difficult for him to say, and Minuet felt sympathy tug at her heart. "But if you wanted, maybe…" he added before his voice trailed off.
"I will return every day if you want," Minuet promised gently. Erik smiled at her.
"Thank you." Neither could say anything more, so Erik escorted Minuet to the main door to make sure she got safely into a cab. Just as she passed the threshold, Minuet paused before quickly turning back and pressing one last kiss to Erik's cheek. Smiling, raising her hand in a soft good-bye, she slipped out into the street and climbed into a cab. Erik watched her go until the carriage was out of sight before closing the door. After all these years, he finally knew what peace could be.
– The End –