One shot. E/C afterlife ending. No warnings. Raoul's POV until the last part.

Not all tragedies have sad endings.

Happily Ever After-Life

My life has never really been easy. I had to overcome many obstacles in my day. It all really started when I went to that building. That exquisite building known as the Opera Populaire. Many people think that must have been the start of my happiness since that's where I met my future wife. But alas, that is not entirely true. The Lord knows how much I love my wife, but happiness wouldn't be an accurate word to describe our relationship.

As they wheel me to the old dusty building the memories of the past that I longed to keep buried have are returning. This building holds so many secrets, tragedies, and painful reminders.

I know without a shadow of a doubt that there are ghosts that roam the halls of Opera House. There are too many souls chained to this place for there not to be. I began to wonder if he too haunted this place…this time as a real ghost.

We never really knew what became of the Opera Ghost, and this seemed to get to Christine the most. The thought of him being killed by the mob seemed to terrify her.

"Lot 663, then, ladies and gentlemen: a poster for this house's production of "Hannibal" by Chalumeau." The Auctioneer announced.

I remember Hannibal. It's funny how they are auctioning off something from that opera, the same opera where I first saw Christine performing the leading role. Christine sang beautifully that night. I felt the music from her soul rise to the audience as she sang to them like a voice from the heavens. That was the beginning of a long road of pain, betrayal, and heartbreak.

I'm not saying that Christine and I hated each other in any way; it's quite the opposite of that. It's just that something was always there tearing us apart.

After that dreadful night of the fire Christine and I escaped to my father's chateau just outside the city. Christine hated the idea of being away from her home in the Opera House.

I knew she didn't want to leave because we were in a situation like this before. She didn't want to leave the Opera House behind the night we proclaimed our love for one another on the roof of the Opera Populaire. That night I promised to protect her from the darkness of this horrible place. We could have fled this horrible place forever, but she didn't want to leave it all behind. She insisted on staying with her family, Madame Giry and Meg. So instead of getting her to move out, I moved in.

But now she had no choice. The Opera House was destroyed and she felt no need to stay there anyway. In the back of my mind I wondered if the reason she stayed in the first place was because of him. Now it was thought that he was dead, she probably felt no reason to stay there.

We married shortly after. Our life became its own masquerade. My family claimed that they loved her, but they would talk bad about her once she turned her back. We were happy on certain occasions. But not the way newlyweds should be.

What hurt me the most was lack of passion from Christine. I couldn't help but remember that night of the opera, Don Juan, and how Christine and The Phantom were undeniably lustful and passionate about each other. When his hands roamed and caressed her body I felt like killing him on the spot. But when I saw her reaction, the mutual attraction, I felt my heart break. I loved Christine, and I know she loved me…but not like that. We shared nothing like that. I would be a liar if I said I wasn't jealous of that man. He may have been deformed and a lunatic, but he had something with Christine that I would never have.

He was on the stage nearly possessing her body and mind, and I could do nothing but stare. I felt the tears build up in my eyes, and now as I look back on our past those same tears form again.

The spark that I once loved about Christine eventually died away. She lost her will to live and the spirit that captivated anyone who met her died too. What had happened to my Christine that would transform her into a shell of her former self? It was as if her soul had died and all that was left was a spiritless body.

She spent the rest of her days looking out the window as she hummed to herself. Christine rarely sang, or at least not in front of me. I think the duties of a Vicomtess hurt her in many ways. Mainly because she was not allowed to sing in public. I didn't really want her to sing, period. I saw the look in her eyes when she did. I know who she was thinking about.

Another thing that bothered her was I had to keep our tracks covered very well in case The Phantom was still alive. I did not want him to find us at all costs. This meant that Christine could not talk to Madame Giry or Meg. Madame Giry once told me that she had connections with the Opera Ghost. So I did not want her to know where we were at either. Instead Christine hired a detective to find out where they went and sent them a heartbreaking goodbye letter with no return address. That was one of the hardest things Christine had to do.

But Christine wasn't always miserable. I saw a big change in her when she gave birth to our beautiful daughter Angela. Christine was born to be a mother, of that I was certain. She would spend all her time with her baby, cradling her, feeding her, and even singing to her. I don't think Christine knew that I heard, but I did. And what I heard had hurt me even more.

"Angel of Music, guide and guardian.
Grant this little girl glory.
Angel of Music, please forgive me.
Watch over us dear angel."

Then she began to talk to the little girl in her arms. "Are you my little angel?" She asked. "Yes you are!" Christine started to say in 'baby talk'.

Christine giggled as she played peek-a-boo with the baby. Christine then continued to talk with the baby, "My little Angela, my little angel."

It never occurred to my why Christine insisted…demanded…that the baby be named Angela. But now it made sense. Angela.

Would he ever leave my Little Lotte alone? That question remained with me for the rest of my days. When Angela turned five Christine gave birth to a set of twins. Two boys named Gustave and Raoul Jr.

The cycle of her temporary happiness returned as she had two new bundles of joy to take care of. Occasionally I would hear her sing to them too. The same tune with various lyrics. It seemed this so called 'Angel of Music' would always be there singing songs in her head even from beyond the grave.

Every year on the anniversary of the fire Christine would lock herself in her room and cry the whole day. She would also insist on going to an empty church so she could mourn the losses that were made. Looking back I don't know how I got through all this.

Christine always seemed emotionally unfaithful to me. I knew I had a part of her heart…but not all of it. And her soul was something I couldn't even touch. It was too far gone with someone else. Her mind and body also seemed to long for another.

The years have not been good to me. I am only 68 yet I look like I'm in my late 80's. I am tired and I am weary. I'm nothing like how I used to be.

Now here I am again in this old forsaken Opera House. I am here for a couple of reasons. One is that I have been in denial for far too long. I must live up to the truth. The second reason is still troubling me…I don't know if I want to go through with it.

'Now I know how he felt.' I told myself. If he could make the sacrifice, why can't I?

My mind ventured back to two years ago . . .

Christine was drawing out in the yard as our grandchildren played nearby. Her older and delicate fingers sketched across the paper. She had been working on this piece for quite some time. One day I finally got up and asked her what it was that she was drawing.

"Masquerade… paper faces of parade … Masquerade… hide your face, so the world will never find you…" She sang.

I looked at the drawing and saw a beautiful portrait of what looked to be a monkey in very fine, possibly Persian, robes. It was holding cymbals and it sat upon a box or a barrel-organ.

Christine looked down at it and started to cry. Her crying broke my heart so much. I knelt down and hugged her tightly. I tried to calm her down but her sobs continued to consume her.

"Come children. Help me get your grand-mère up to her bedroom." I asked. I was also very weak then and needed help to get her up.

Later that day she spoke to me about the drawing. And for the first time ever she told me everything about it and who it belonged to. For the first time she mentioned him without holding anything back.

She told me how she woke up the morning after her performance while she was in his lair. The music box had woken her up and she went over to him and saw his face for the first time. She described how angry he got. But she didn't go any further on that because she started to become hysterical again.

After calming down she told me how she saw it again the night of the fire and how he was singing to it. Her calm state did not last long, for as soon as she mentioned the look in his eyes she began to cry. Through her tears I heard about how it played the tune of "Masquerade" and how he was singing to it like a child that needed to be comforted. But she didn't comfort him, she would cry.

"I was weak, selfish, and childish!" She said.

"Nobody can blame you after all you were put through." I replied.

"I highly doubt what I was put through can ever compare to what he was put through." She said.

"What kind of life had he known?" She seemed to repeat herself from that night.

That was another thing that pained me to see. The way she kissed him. At first I knew it was for me…but what was that spark I saw between them that drew her into a second kiss? She demanded that she return MY ring to him…why? I would constantly question that in my mind. Why was she giving that man the ring I wanted her to wear as a sign of our love?

My thoughts at that moment were chased away by her singing. "Masquerade… paper faces of parade … Masquerade… hide your face, so the world will never find you…"

She cried some more and then oddly sang, "Christine, I love you…"

I stared at her in bewilderment. She noticed my confused look and explained, "That was the last thing he sang to me."

Her cries grew into furious and violent sobs and wailings. I feared that her behavior might possibly bring herself to a heart attack. But eventually over the night she had calmed down from her very dark depression. I realized that night what date it was. The anniversary of the fire.

The next morning Christine apologized for everything that she has done. At the time I didn't know what she had meant but I think she was talking about everything that has happened between us. She explained later in great detail about the monkey.

Now it is clear…it belonged to the Opera Ghost, so it may turn up here at the auction. But then I noticed someone I had never expected to see again. Was that Madame Giry? She looks so young, or is it possibly little Meg? My thoughts were broken when I heard the auctioneer talking about lot 665 . . .

"Lot 665, ladies and gentlemen: a papier-mache musical box, in the shape of a barrel-organ. Attached, the figure of a monkey in Persian robes, playing the cymbals. This item, discovered in the vaults of the theatre, still in working order, ladies and gentlemen."

The porter stepped up holding the monkey as said, "Showing here."

The little monkey played the tune, Masquerade. Just like Christine talked about…in fact, she described it perfectly! I needed this monkey for closure and expectance.

"May I commence at 15 francs?" The Auctioneer asked. Madame Giry raised her hang in response.

"15, thank you." The Auctioneer said.

I raised my hand for 20.

"Yes 20 from you, sir. Thank you very much."

Madame Giry again raised her hand. Why did she want this music box so much?

"Madame Giry 25. Thank you, Madame. 25 I'm bid. Do I hear 30?"

One last time I raised my hand to let her know I needed this music box.

"30! And 35?" The Auctioneer asked Madame Giry. Madame Giry shook her head.

"Selling at 30 francs then, 30 once, 30 twice. Sold, for 30 francs to the Vicomte de Chagny. Thank you, sir."

I cannot believe that I won it…here it is! What were the chances of it actually being here? And now I have it, a final gift to my Christine.

"A collector's piece indeed ...
every detail exactly as she said ...
She often spoke of you, my friend ...
Your velvet lining, and your figurine of lead...
Will you still play, when all the rest of us are dead?"

He then announced lot 666, the chandelier in pieces. "Some of you may recall the strange affairs of The Phantom of the Opera…"

I laughed silently to myself, "How could I forget?"

The man continued talking about the chandelier and the legend of The Phantom. As they pulled the sheets surrounding the chandelier a sudden draft blew through the room and the chandelier lit up with its new electric bulbs. The whole scene sent shivers throughout my body. It was so eerie, like an old ghost story coming to life. They auctioned it off for a good amount of money.

But the scenery, the memories, and that chandelier are just too much for me. I have to get out of here.

"Take me to the cemetery." I said to my chauffeur.

They wheeled me out of the Opera House and into my car as I clutched the music box. When I got myself seated I looked out the window and saw Madame Giry again. I raised my hat and placed it over my heart in a chivalrous gesture. Madame Giry smiled and did an elegant curtsy back towards me.

The car is now driving away towards my destination. I look at her from the side view mirror as her image disappears. She looked well, very healthy for her age I would say.

The ride over was rather long because of traffic. This gave me time to think about everything that has happened in my life. The times at the Opera House seemed dark and hazy, but I managed to remember important matters.

When we arrived at the cemetery I saw Christine's grave ahead of me. I wondered what she was doing about now. I prayed she was in heaven, and not a ghost. Since she did random things would move in the house and doors would open and close. Was this her? Or is she with her father in heaven? Is he playing the violin to her as she sings heavenly songs? Or is she chained here on earth waiting for her freedom?

She still belonged to me, and I could feel her presence with me all the time. I wonder sometimes if she ever found her Phantom if she were earthbound.

My nurse stops me in front of her grave. They offer to help me up but I refuse it. I could do this on my own. I have made my decision.

I place the music box on her grave were it belonged. 'Every detail exactly as she said ... She often spoke of you, my friend.'

Was I strong enough to make this decision? Could I make the sacrifice? If he could make the sacrifice, why can't I?

"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime..." Yes we did spend a lifetime of love together. But some things only last for so long. And now it's my turn to let you go.

I look over and see the rose. So he's not dead after all. Maybe that's why you're still around. Are you waiting for him?

I know one day you two will be together for eternity. I've finally come to except the fact that you're soul mates. I noticed the engagement ring on the flower… a promise to be united forever. It'll happen soon.

Christine and I got to spend a lifetime together…but Christine and her Angel will spend the rest of eternity together, where the Phantom will have no deformity. Not on his face or in his soul. I think that's all because of Christine.

Erik sat in his bed as Madame Giry watched over him. "Raoul got the music box instead."

Erik smiled. "He may have gotten her in life…but I know Christine's waiting for me in death."

"It's almost like a Romeo and Juliet story." Madame Giry half laughed, half cried.

Madame Giry noticed Erik wasn't responding so she decided to say her good byes now. "Good bye."

"I don't believe in Good byes anymore." Erik said.

"Your right. I'll see you again some day."

"Thank you, Madame Giry. For everything."

"You're Welcome, Erik." Madame Giry stood by his side, like always, and held his hand.

Erik continued smiling and mouthed, "Christine."

He felt his soul rise from his body. It felt like he was as light as a feather and as energetic as a young kid. He opened his eyes and saw Christine standing beside him.

"I've been waiting for you." She said.

Erik cried as they embraced each other with kisses. They held hands and formed together as one vibrant white light.

Author's Note: This is my take on the 'romantic tragedy' plot of the movie.