Erik paced the floor, the faint sounds of the night's performance drifting through the ceilings and into his ears. But tonight, it did not comfort him. Tonight, it only further invoked his irritation. How could this be? How could she choose him? Erik was twice the better man. That little boy did not stand a chance against him; or so he had thought. Oh, what a fool he had been. A blind, vain fool.
Tonight was the last performance of Christine Daae that would be seen at the Paris Metropolitan Opera House. Normally, Erik would be sitting in box five, enjoying the sight and sound of his beautiful Christine commanding the stage with her angelic voice, captivating not only him, but the audience beneath him in the lower seats. But not tonight; tonight, Raoul, that sniveling, worthless dog who had stolen his Christine away from him was sitting in that very box. And while Erik would normally employ his usual maneuvers to rid the man of the seat he did not deserve, he did not have the energy or the will within himself to do so.
He had promised Christine that he would not disturb her anymore. He knew how desperately she wanted to leave this place; he understood that desire all too well. Yet he could not help but yearn for her. Oh, how he longed to storm that stage and take her away to his lair! How he longed to see her sweet, angelic face in front of his once more; to smell the soft, sweet scent that came of her delicate, milky skin; to feel her skin against his as he held her small, delicate hand within his own. His heart was aching in his chest from the pain of his inevitable loss. After tonight, she would no longer roam the corridors of this opera; the sound of her voice would no longer be heard from the stage or her dressing-room; and he would no longer be able to look into the mirror and see her at her vanity, brushing her hair.
He wished to see her again. If he had it his way, she would never leave this place. She would live down below with him, and together, they would sing and compose, and live in a world where they would forever be high on the ecstasy of the music they created together. Oh, her voice! He heard the echoes of it once more through the ceiling, and groaned in frustration. He looked at the ceiling, trying to imagine Christine upon the stage. He remembered every line, plane and angle of her face, and he knew that as long as he lived, he would never forget it.
He resumed his pacing. How could he continue to work on his score for Don Juan Triumphant when he did not have her voice for inspiration? How could he find the motivation to continue his work without the knowledge that she would one day hear it? Because if she left now, she would never hear it. Oh, the pain…
He sat down wearily in one of his chairs, his face in his hands. What had he done? If he had not acted so irrationally, perhaps she would not have chosen Raoul over him. After he had visited the Persian and told the man of his soon-to-be demise, he had thought that he would die in solitude, just as he always knew he would. But then, he had heard the whispers talking of Christine Daae and her final performance. She had insisted upon doing it, and they had obliged her, more than likely in the hope that she would once again regain her love for this opera and its cursed stage and decide not to depart.
And then she had come. His heart had broken even further, and he ardently wished that she would've just left with Raoul and never come back. He wished her well; he wanted nothing but happiness for her. She deserved happiness, even if it was with that pathetic excuse of a man. But how could she do this to him? He had done nothing but love her and try to please her. He had let her go, even though it was into the arms of another and broke his heart, and this was how she repaid him? He had hoped that they would depart and she would never be seen by him again, easing the pain and leaving him to his solitude. But instead she had returned, seeming only just to tease him.
Erik let himself fall into his confusion and despair, and did not notice at first when there were footsteps upon the floor of his composing chamber. He just sat there, staring at his scores without seeing them, and did not notice at first when someone stood before him.
"Erik."
That voice. Oh, how cruel that voice was to his heart. He slowly turned his head, only to behold the sight of the very woman who had caused his sorrow.
"Christine?"
She nodded.
There she stood, in all of her glory, wearing a simple white dress, with her coat overtop. Her golden curls were no longer pinned up, as he knew they would have been during the performance; they were long and loose, flowing down to her slim waist. Her blue eyes sparkled in the candlelight.
"Why have you come here?" He asked.
"I wanted to bid you adieu," she said softly.
"Have you not already? I had presumed you were never coming back to this place, after what happened here."
She sighed softly. "I believed so, as well. But… I could not leave here for the last time without seeing my Opera Ghost again, could I? It seemed cruel."
He looked at her for a moment. "As if you leaving here in the first place is not cruel?"
She walked over to him, and gently- ever so gently- touched his mask. He closed his eyes. Oh, how he would yearn for this when she was gone!
"Please do not think of me as cruel, Erik," she said softly. "I do not wish to be cruel; I am simply doing this for me. I cannot be happy here any longer."
He opened his eyes, and looked into her sweet face. Her sweet, beautiful face.
"Please don't leave me, Christine. I shall give you anything you desire, so long as you say here with me. We shall sing and make beautiful, glorious music with one another. Together, we shall fill this opera house with the sound of our sweet song. I beg of you, Christine; stay with me. I will never take another life, for as long as mine continues. I will give you all that you desire, and I will sing for you, night and day, until my vocal chords cannot produce another note."
She blinked away sudden tears. He began to worry; had he upset her?
"I do not wish to make you upset, Christine. Please do not cry."
He stood, and gently wiped the tears from her soft porcelain cheeks. He looked into her eyes, and sighed softly. Why?
She shook her head slightly. "Erik, I…" she broke off with a slight choking noise in her throat. It frightened him. She cleared her throat, and began again. "Erik, I cannot stay here."
He got on one knee, taking her hand within his own. "Just one night. That is all I ask of you, Christine; one night with me. I promise, on my word and my honor, that as soon as the day breaks, you may leave me here. Just one night for me to hold you as my own. That is all I am asking of you."
She bit her lip, her eyes swimming with tears and emotion. She looked away from him for a moment; his gaze, however, never wavered. When she looked back, she seemed on the brink of saying something.
"I… I don't know."
"Please," he whispered. "Just one night to be mine. I shall not harm you; I shall not try to do anything you would not want. I just wish to have you as my own for one night."
He stood once more, and looked down into her eyes. She looked back at him, and for a moment, no words were exchanged between them. But there was much within that gaze; there was depth and emotion and power. Erik knew he had power over Christine; he always had. But tonight, he would not use it over her. He would let her make her own decisions, and he would not force anything upon her. If he wanted her to stay, then he would have to let her make her own choices. If she did not want to stay, then he would not force her, no matter how much he needed her there. No, he would be mature and reasonable, even if it killed him.
"I will not force you to stay here. If you wish to leave, then I shall let you."
She blinked a few times, and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, there was something different about her expression.
"I will stay with you, Erik."
He let out a breath he had not known he was holding.
"You have made me the happiest man there is," he said.
"I have to tell Raoul. Let me leave to tell him, and then I shall come back."
"He will not let you stay here."
She turned to face him again, for she had made to leave. She looked at him for a moment.
"He will, if that is what I want. Raoul shall not argue with me; he may not be pleased, but he will not force me not to stay."
He nodded. She turned once more, and left. Her soft footsteps echoed on the stone floor of his chambers. He heard the boat splash as it went across the lake, and waited. He knew without a doubt that she would come back as she said she would; despite all that had happened, he trusted her, and she him. They still knew instinctively how to work with one another. They were still a team. He was her angel of music, and she was his eager student.
He sat back down in his chair, and awaited her return. He would not go upstairs into the opera and try to convince Raoul to let her stay; he would not say a single word. He simply waited. And as he waited, he pondered exactly what he would do when Christine did return. What would he do with her on their last night together? Would they simply go to sleep in each others' company, or would they talk? There were still so many things that Erik wanted to show her and tell her. Could he fit it all into one night?
Close to a quarter of an hour later, Christine returned. She seemed slightly weary. Erik stood, and went to her. He offered her his chair, as any proper gentleman would, and she seemed to gladly sit down upon it, sighing.
"I trust that Raoul did not trouble you too much?" He asked as she adjusted herself in the seat.
She shook her head. "He was upset with me at first, but I convinced him that I would be fine."
He smiled slightly. "I am glad that he did not keep you behind."
She looked at the floor for a moment before returning his gaze once more. There were so many emotions in her blue eyes that he could not name; but before the night was over, he intended to decode them all. Erik wanted reassurance that he knew Christine inside and out once she was gone, so that when she did depart, he could think of her and try to imagine her presence.
"Tell me, Erik, what do you intend to do this night?"
He pondered that for a moment, wishing he had planned ahead before he had asked her to stay. But that had been such a spontaneous decision; he had asked her in the heat of his despair, when all he had wanted was to envelop her in his embrace and never release her.
"I was hoping that I could show you all of the wonders of this place," he said in a church whisper. "There are many things that I have wished to tell you and show you, and on this night, I would like to do just that."
"What sorts of things would you wish to tell me?"
"I want to tell you about how I fell for you."
Her face settled into a look of surprise; her eyes widened slightly, and her beautiful mouth, the same beautiful mouth that had kissed him upon his brow and made him the happiest of men, formed a perfect pink o in her shock. Within a few moments, however, she composed herself, and looked at him with curiosity and emotion in her eyes.
"And how did that come to be?"
He began to pace, and worked up to tell her the story.
"It all began when you came to live in the ballet dormitories, all those many years ago. You were still young at the time; you were but a child. I myself was much younger then. I saw you, and I heard Madame Giry tell all of the other caretakers of the building your story. I had heard your father's music before; he made such sweet, beautiful music. He was a genius with the violin."
Christine smiled at that. "He was a beautiful musician."
He nodded. "I felt sorry for you. I knew what it was like to lose parents. It is not an easy thing to cope with." He thought of his mother. "And at first, I paid you no mind. I do not bother the girls in the ballet dormitories, and they in turn do not bother me. Anyhow, I went about my business and my daily life, and as time went on, I watched you blossom from a young girl into a lovely young woman. I saw potential in you. I would hear you singing when you were in rooms by yourself, and I was captivated by the sound of your voice.
"With such a young voice as that, I knew that with the right training, you could be shaped to be a beautiful singer to match the greatest of prima donnas. And then, a while later, I heard you speaking to the other girls of an angel of music your father promised to send to you. And in that I knew what I must do. I set to work, and began to build the mirror. I knew that you would get a dressing room of your own, and so I… influenced Madame Giry's decision to give you the room you had."
Christine only showed minimal surprise.
"Then, when you moved into your dressing room, I began to sing to you. I had you completely convinced that I was the angel of music your father spoke of. You know how the teaching went. And while I was teaching you and deceiving you, I began to see something I had never seen before."
"What did you see?" She asked softly.
"I saw true beauty. Before, I had only ever seen outside beauty. I am sure you can understand why. I had always only ever looked for outside beauty, because that was what I coveted most. But true beauty… that is beauty inside and out. And you possessed that. I was in awe of you. You had such a humble background, and such turbulent beginnings, and you flourished with life and beauty and kindness and wonder."
She blushed and looked away at the floor. Erik continued, oblivious to her emotion.
"Your voice. It was your voice that drew me in at first. I loved the way our voices sounded together. When we sang with each other, I felt things I had never felt before. I knew, from the very first time that our voices intertwined into one melody, that you were the partner I had been looking for. My whole life, I had searched and searched, wondering when I would find the one whose voice was a perfect match for mine. And I found it in you. With that, I became even more entranced by you, and before I knew it, I had decided that I would do anything for you. I would do anything to make you mine. And I did do anything.
"Of course, it did not work, but I did try. In this, however, I learned that men such as myself do not get what they want. I was so selfish, Christine."
She nodded slightly, and stood from her chair, taking his hands in hers. Her hands were so soft and warm, and dainty. Oh, how he would miss them.
"Erik… I wish that you did not have to suffer."
He smiled wryly and shook his head. "Oh, but my dear Christine, you do not have to pity me. I have received all the pity I need. No, instead, I would like for you to understand. Wishes and pity may only help one so much, and even that is very little. Understanding, though, can make the most miserable of men feel that they are worth something again."
Her eyes sparkled. "Erik, you talk in riddles. Do you know that?"
He nodded. "But of course I talk in riddles; what is life without a good challenge? People simply do not challenge themselves enough."
She laughed softly, and he was enchanted. She lifted her eyes to meet his again, and smiled, shaking her head slightly. She gently lifted her hand and touched his mask once more, leaving it there to rest. He closed his eyes, wishing that there was no mask between her fingers and his flesh; that he had a normal face, and she could touch it all she pleased; that he could actually feel her soft fingers against his cheek. Wishing, wishing, and more wishing. What a hypocrite!
He opened his eyes, and gazed at Christine for a moment. He gently took her hand from his mask, and set it at her side.
"I would like to play some of the score from Don Juan Triumphant for you, if you would like to hear it."
She gasped.
"Don Juan? But… it is not finished! Surely you wouldn't want me to hear an unfinished work."
"But I do. For you, and only you, I shall play from the score. No one else has heard it yet. I daresay that it is my best work, you see. I simply wish to keep it contained until it is finished and officially mine, so that none can steal it."
She gazed at him in wonder. "Oh, Erik, I would love to hear from the score."
He smiled. "Have a seat, then, cherie, and we shall begin."
Erik pulled out a cushioned chair and had Christine sit upon it before he sat himself at the organ and opened the worn leather folder that contained his life's work. The ink had bled or smudged in a few places, but he had memorized every note. He turned through the ink-stained parchment, wondering which piece to begin with, when he thought of the perfect one. He turned through the worn pages until he found the score he was looking for.
"This one is called Juan's Victory. In this scene, he has captured young Carmen's heart."
Without waiting for Christine's reply, he began to play the opening, and within seconds, he and Christine were not in his chambers beneath the opera, but in Don Juan's luxurious Spanish manor house, where he was singing of his love with Carmen. Erik opened his mouth and began to sing, not in his voice, but in the voice of Don Juan.
"At last I have taken you as mine. Your heart rests in my hands; do not be afraid; let me guide you on your way to passion…"
And then Christine sang with him, in the voice of Carmen.
"My heart is taken; I am afraid of what will become of me…"
"Carmen, trust your senses; let me show you what life can be…"
"What riches and splendor await me? Here in your arms so like fire…"
"Trust me; trust me…."
Together, their voices rang throughout the hallowed halls of the cellars beneath the opera house, and although they were not aware, Erik and Christine could be heard throughout the entire building. Their voices like angels, everyone stopped in their tracks to listen to the eerie and mysterious music coming from nowhere.
In the balconies, clearing out the box seats, Madame Giry stopped and smiled, the sound of the Opera Ghost happy at last making her pleased in turn. She sat in one of the seats of box five, and listened to the glorious music of Erik and Christine, simply content and awe-struck.
In the office, the managers dropped their stacks of Francs from the night's profit, and were confused and entranced by the beautiful music leaking from beneath their feet. They forgot their money and listened, they too having their hearts captured by the sound of the Opera Ghost and his love, although they did not know it.
And, sitting alone in Christine's dressing room, Raoul heard the eeriest, most beautiful music coming from behind the mirror. Lifting his head, he listened carefully to the sounds of the two voices, and knew instantly who they were. His heart feeling heavy, he shook his head and made to leave, but could not bring himself to stray from the sound of Erik and Christine's voices together. It was unlike anything he had ever heard before, and although Raoul hated Erik with a passion of fiery intensity, he could not help but be entranced by the sound of his voice accompanying Christine's.
And so, all of the employees, dancers, guests, chorus members, and actors all stopped and listened to the beautiful music coming from beneath them, enchanted and enthralled by the sounds of the two angels singing a demon's song.
When the song was finished, Erik instantly moved onto the next one- the one he knew that Christine would probably relate to the most.
"Carmen's Revenge," he whispered as he stroked the ivory and ebony keys of the organ, playing the entrance.
Christine leaned over and studied the music as Erik played the entrance. Then, just as he had hoped for and wanted, Christine began to sing.
"In sleep you stole from me, what was always mine. My heart placed in your hands; frozen in time. But I shall own myself once again! For I am no fool, and I shall not give in."
He smiled as she became ensconced in the music, her voice rising with intensity. She stood, and he felt the power of Carmen and her song flowing from her.
"Yes!" He cried as she sang. "Sing for me, Christine; sing for me!"
"There is no escaping me; you shall not escape from me. I shall hunt you and take back what is mine! I shall see the light leave your eyes; we shall dance until we die."
"Sweet Carmen; please do not cast your revenge on me. Carmen, forgive me for taking advantage please."
"There is no escaping… there is no escaping. Run if you can, but I will have your head; on my word. Run, please run away; don't make me take my revenge, Don Juan. Please, I wish to spare you, Don Juan."
"Then sweet Christine, please spare me…"
Time seemed to freeze. They stopped singing, and stared at one another for a long moment, no words coming between them. They stared and stared at one another, and as they stared, they moved in closer. Erik released a sigh as Christine's lips met his.
His head began to spin; his heart was racing. He pulled her in closer, and wrapped his arms around her. Her scent was all around him, and he was overwhelmed by her. His heart felt as if it had been lit aflame; he was soaring.
When they parted, their chests heaving, they simply stared at one another again. He did not have anything to say; he had become the happiest of men, even happier than when those beautiful lips had graced his brow. Christine gently reached out, and touched his mask once more. He closed his eyes, and removed his mask, very slowly. He opened his eyes, set the mask in his lap, and looked at her. She was gazing at him in wonder again, and there were tears in her lovely eyes. Then, very slowly, she reached out, and placed her hand upon his cheek.
Tears began to fall from his eyes, for he felt the smooth touch of her hand against his bare flesh. He simply sat there and wept, and moments later, Christine began to weep with him. Together, they wept, their tears falling and mingling upon the rough stone floor of his most sacred of chambers. Their music forgotten and their hearts swelling, Erik and Christine wept for all that they had lost, all that they had gained, and all that they knew and would never know. Erik wept because he loved her, and he knew that this would never last; he did not know why Christine wept. But still, they continued.
"Erik, I am so sorry," she whispered after what felt like eternity.
He shook his head, and gently placed his hands on both sides of her face. "Do not be sorry, Christine. You have given me all that I could ever ask for."
"I'm hurting you."
He gently kissed her on her brow, and then looked into her eyes, which were still wet with tears. "Oh, Christine, it may cause me pain, but for now, the high of this moment shall be enough satisfy me for many more years to come."
She gazed at the floor for a moment. When she met his eyes again, she looked pained. Finally, after another long moment, she smiled. His heart swelled at the sight of that smile. The cause of so much love and hate within him at once was that exact smile.
He stood, gently taking her hand within his, and began to dance with her. They needed no music; the feelings in the air were enough for them to go by. He twirled her about, their waltz unlike any other ever performed before or after them, just as their song had been so. They stared at one another as they danced, their eyes burning and their hearts racing, their feet caressing the floor as they twirled about the room, lost within each others' company. This was what he needed. Erik knew that he would never again dance or sing after this, because to do so without Christine would be an insult to the art. For him to ever sing again without her angel's voice as his accompaniment would never be right, and no instrument could ever do justice to such a sweet sound as her voice.
For now, however, he was content to put that from his mind and continue to enjoy every moment, for he knew they would be his last with her. And as the danced, he began to sing, ever so softly. It was an old lullaby that he had heard her sing many times in the dead of night when she could not sleep. She recognized it, and began to sing with him. Together, they sang and danced, and their music and their dance took Erik to the height of ecstasy, for he only needed song to lift his spirits and rejuvenate his soul; especially if it came from the angel of music herself- Christine Daae.
"Rest here with me now, child don't you cry. Please let me hold you, all through the night. You shall dream pretty, and you shall dream bright. Please, my child, please rest for the night. Close your eyes and see your dreams; let your heart take flight. Wander into the world of your mind deep within the night. Rest here. Rest here, and be free. For you own the night, please do close your eyes, you do own the night…"
He twirled Christine around his chamber, and she closed her eyes, a smile gracing her lovely face. They danced for a very long time, until Christine pulled her hands from Erik's and sat upon the chair, her hand over her face, looking exasperated.
"I simply cannot dance any longer!" She said breathlessly.
Erik calmly sat in the chair next to hers, and smiled. "That is just as well, my dear, for I too have tired of dancing."
He did not really mean that; however, he had simply wanted to please her. In all truth, he could have gone on dancing with her forever, and never been tired. As it were, though, he had decided to let her take some control of the night. He wanted to know what she would do with it.
She opened her eyes and smiled radiantly. "I never knew you were such a lovely dancer, Erik," she said after a moment.
"Always the tone of surprise, I see. Of course I can dance. Any proper gentleman should know how to dance, in my opinion. He shall never court a woman if he does not."
She laughed slightly. "My father always told me that a man dancing was simply never meant to be; of course, he was never the greatest dancer."
He raised an eyebrow. "I see. Well, I still believe that any proper man should at least know how to waltz."
"I think that I agree with you," she said. "I always find a gentleman charming if he can dance properly."
Erik stood and went back to the organ. He began to play. It was nothing intricate; just a simple tune. Christine sat next to him on the bench, and simply listened while he played. He played for a while, making everything up as he went along, and simply letting his instincts carry him. After he finished playing, they simply talked.
They spoke everything; Christine told him of her childhood traveling with her father all through the Swedish countryside, hearing his music every day. Erik told her of his travels, and how he had met the Persian when he had been entertaining for the little Sultana in Persia . He told her of his love for art, and how he had traveled to take in more of it. They laughed, and sighed, and even shed a few tears as they spoke of many things that they never had before, and never would have, were Christine not in his chambers at that moment.
They sang and talked and danced, and Erik revealed things to her that he had never told anyone else. He trusted her more than he had ever trusted anyone, and he knew she would keep his secrets to her dying day, and he the same for her. Finally, many, many hours into the night, or perhaps the morning, Christine began to doze off. He took her to his bedchamber, and watched as she laid down, resting her head on his pillows. He removed his shoes and joined her, gently lying down next to her.
He wrapped his arms around her waist, as if she were his wife. He held her close, her soft, golden hair pressed against his face.
"Let me hold you for just one night," he whispered in her ear. "As day breaks, so does my heart."
She squeezed his hand. He began to sing to her, very softly. After a while, she fell asleep, breathing deeply, her chest rising and falling in a smooth, even rhythm. He held her tightly, the whole night through, and continued to sing. He did not tire once, for his heart was much too swollen with emotion to allow him to sleep.
He simply sang and held her, ardently wishing that this night would never end.
When Christine awoke the next morning, Erik watched her as she opened her eyes, and her lovely mouth parted in a yawn. She sat up and stretched, and gave Erik a tired smile. His heart swelled even more, and he found himself smiling in return. She stood and went to the wash basin, splashing cool water on her face and neck.
When she had washed, she turned to face Erik again. He stood from the bed, put his shoes back on, and walked over to her. He took her hands within his own, and looked at them for a moment. He lifted his gaze to her eyes.
"Christine, I can never thank you enough for staying here with me last night. You have given me something that I can never thank you enough for."
"What would that be?" she asked.
"My wonderful, beautiful Christine; you have trusted me. " He took her hands within his own, and smiled at true smile at her. "That, my dear, is more than enough to sate me for the rest of my days."
She gave him a gentle smile, but looked pained. She averted her gaze to the floor, and Erik heard a sniff as her shoulders began to shake. He gently hooked his index finger under her chin and turned her head to face him. There were tears leaking from her beautiful eyes, and it pained him so.
"Christine, why do you cry?"
"I… I am actually going to miss being here, Erik."
He laughed gently. "Do not fret, Christine; you have wonderful things ahead of you. Do not worry over me, for I am where I belong. But do promise me this: promise me that you shall never forget me, and that when I die, you will come back just once to tend to me. And then you may give my ring back, if you wish."
She looked at him for a moment, and after a breath of silence, she nodded. "I will never forget you, Erik. And I promise I will come back when you are gone. But how will I know?"
He thought of his request to the Persian. "You shall know; simply trust it."
She nodded, and before Erik could say another word, she pulled him close in an embrace. Her scent washed over him, and he closed his eyes and sighed softly as he breathed her in. Oh, how he would miss her when she was gone… When they pulled away, he smiled at her.
"Day has come again, and my heart has been touched by an angel. An angel that must leave me for the last time, however. You may leave now, if you wish to do so."
She looked at him for a long time, not saying anything. She just stared, seeming to scrutinize him. He felt her gaze in a way that he never had before; it struck him to his very core. He knew, in that moment, that he would never forget the way she was looking at him right then.
A few heartbeats later, she leaned towards him, and pressed her soft lips against his own. He simply drank the sensation in, and when she pulled away, she gave him the most breathtaking smile he had ever seen. He touched her face, and she gazed at him with such love and tenderness that he thought he might burst.
"Truly, I shall never leave this place," she breathed in his ear.
"No, you won't."
"Goodbye, Erik. I shall never forget you."
He smiled. "I should hope not, after all we've been through."
She laughed. With one last glance about his cavernous chambers, she turned and began to walk away, his heart aching even more with each step. He watched her go, and when her form was finally around the corner and out of his sight, he sank back into his chair in the composing chamber, trembling slightly. He heard the boat splash as she began to move it across the lake, and he wished and wished that she would come back; or at least that he could not hear her leaving him. But she would never come back; not until he was dead, and could not see her.
Finally, when he could hear and see her no longer, he allowed himself to weep. It was a horribly childish and selfish thing to do, weeping over someone who was never his- yet he could not stop it from happening. So, he sat there and he wept for his Christine, although she was never his, and he longed for the day when his misery would end and she would return to him.
But, for the moment, he was more content than he had ever been. She had come back, and she had stayed with him, as he had asked, and they had shared things together that meant the world to him.
So, for now, he was the happiest of men, and even her leaving could not take away her presence in his heart.
"Truly, I shall never leave this place."
"No, Christine," he whispered. "You will never leave."