I dressed more meticulously than ever today; my wedding day. My suit and shirt are new, but I am wearing my favorite waistcoat, the one I wore the first day she laid eyes on me. The day she learned that her angel was mere flesh and blood. Christine has forgiven me that lie. Her first kiss told me that she had forgiven me everything.

I woke early, took a leisurely bath, and scuffed around in slippers and robe, preparing my last bachelor's breakfast. Tomorrow morning, I will bring strawberries and cream, buttery croissants, champagne and coffee to my precious bride. She will stretch and turn dewy eyes on me, smile and call me the best husband in the world. And so I shall be. I have suffered in the deepest realms of hell for the privilege of adoring her and giving her the world.

The world; her world is above ground, and so shall mine be now. I am not afraid to reenter the world, because sunlight pours through the chinks that Christine has made in my heart. I have drawn up plans for the fairy castle I will build her; bright, airy and open, as opposite my lair as any place could be. There will be great windows opening onto a garden wonderland, and a pond with a fountain for swans and ducks. Someday she will bring our children down to the pond to feed the birds. In my minds eye, I already see her, crouching to pry the chubby fingers open, encouraging them to release the breadcrumbs into the water. I hear the babies squealing at the ducks' tails twitching as they pop their heads beneath the water.

Christine will be a beautiful mother. Her children will bloom like so many flowers in the garden; never starved for nourishing love and light as I was. They'll grow knowing they are safe, beautiful and wanted. Our lives will be full of music.

Time to go; I turn and glance around my lonely haven one last time. Oh, we will return here later, but there is no going back. The Erik who leaves here now is gone forever. Tonight, we will transform this soulless cavern with our duet. Goodbye, endless night.

The carriage ride is long; the church is well out of the city. I would have preferred somewhere closer, but the choice was not mine to make. It is a pleasant enough ride; I even doze. I understand that most men in my position feel some trepidation, wondering perhaps if it is the right time, or if she is the right girl. Not Erik. I have waited too long and dreamed too many dreams I thought would never come true. Those who are beautiful can afford the luxury of hesitating in case something better comes along later. Anyway, who could there ever be for me but Christine? Who was there, ever, before her? No one, no one.

But surely you are at least a bit worried about tonight, Erik, you suggest. Worried about what must be–what you have never experienced–it is only natural that you should worry: will it be alright? Will I please her? Will she welcome me? No; I am not concerned. I have lived among the gypsies; observed the harems of the East, and spied upon the furtive groping in dark corners of the Opera House. I know what women most definitely do not want; and I believe I know how to please Christine. She must be approached with all the love I bear her; and passion tempered by generosity. What I see of men is all take, take, take; never a thought for the other person in the dance. How can anyone warm to being treated as less than human, as a thing? I can tell you: one never does warm to it.

It is a glorious day outside; though it would be glorious to me even if it was grey and sleeting. Still, it's good the day is sunny and the sky is clear; it is important to Christine that today is perfect in every way. I believe I will enjoy walking in the sunlight again. Wherever we build our home, we must remember to find a place with some wise, ancient trees on the grounds. I love to nap in the shelter of a large tree, particularly if there is birdsong and bees buzzing nearby. It will be a fine place to play with the children, tell them fantastic stories of exotic lands, encourage their dreams and calm their fears.

I arrive at the church purposely early; I have some time to wait. It is cool and silent inside; the entire chapel is enveloped in a heady melody of fragrance. Each pew bears a mixed bouquet of tulips, roses, lilacs, narcissus and lily-of-the-valley, all white, and secured with wide satin ribbon of the palest green. Likewise the altar, only the bouquets are much larger, filled out with pale green hydrangea. I slip up to the choir loft and settle in the shadows to take my ease. I close my eyes and think of my bride. I can feel her voice washing over me, buoying me up, carrying me away. This is how I will die, I think. I will lie down to the sound of Christine's voice, and let her carry me out to sea. I cannot imagine anything more beautiful.

I hear people making their way into the church. I exit the loft. Not long now. In these last few moments of quiet reflection, I consider praying. I know that I am damned; it was clear from the moment of my first breath that God had abandoned me. I like the arrangement I have with the Almighty, frankly. If he felt no obligation to create me whole and human–and then had no divine compassion to let me die, then I feel no obligation to send him gratitude and praise for this life. I consider praying for Christine, and for what we are pledging to build together today. Interesting how when lovers come together, they create a third entity; namely, the love between them. I mutter an awkward request for oversight of Christine, our children, and our marriage. Thank you. Amen.

The organ begins playing; my stomach does a back flip. I guess I spoke too soon about having no fear! Meg Giry moves down the aisle, blushing brightly; poor timid little thing. She looks quite lovely in her pale green dress. She wears a circlet of lilacs in her hair and carries a single white rose with a green ribbon tied around it. Meg arrives at the altar and nods to the priest shyly.

Meg's mother occupies the place of Christine's father today. Her dress is pale grey, and I'm sure she is elegantly handsome as always, but I really do not see her. Christine looks like a fairy princess. How will I ever be able to speak? I am so moved I can barely breathe. Her dress is so much grander than the shabby rag I dressed her likeness in. It is simple, which pleases me; nothing should detract from Christine's natural loveliness. Her shoulders are bare, the bodice is trimmed in pearls, and there is a large bow in the back. She has woven pearls through her sumptuous curls, as well. Her flowers are roses and lily-of-the-valley, I think; I cannot take my eyes from the face I adore. Her eyes glow with love; her lips are pink, full and utterly kissable. A slight maidenly flush colors her cheeks; she is perfect, and nearly mine.

The priest had bade everyone sit, and launches into the standard Latin rigamarole. This provides a few minutes in which the couple may collect themselves. I wonder how anyone can concentrate on whatever he's spouting with my Angel before them. Now he is talking about friendship as the foundation of marriage, and how love which grows from friendship is the worthiest of all. How does a man, celibate for life by choice, know this? Once again, the ways of Providence baffle me.

Finally, it is time for the ceremony. I draw a deep breath, awaiting my cue. How like the night of Don Juan it is. Ah, here it comes: "If any man can show just cause why this man and this woman should not be married, let him speak now or forever hold his–"

I move purposefully from the baptismal alcove where I'd remained unseen, stride to the altar, and pause a step above and slightly behind the priest. Christine's mouth has dropped, and nearly everyone else is dumbstruck.

"Yes. I can."

The priest has found his tongue. "I beg your pardon, Sir? Who are you, and how dare you interrupt this blessed occasion?"

"But you summoned me here yourself, Father. I have come in response to your question."

"Of all the impertinence!"

"They should not be married because she belongs to me."