It might have been a tomb; the tunnel swallowed all light and sound into silence. Rocks, ash, and webs adorned the way. No life. No breath. None but a lone figure in white slowly shuffling down the middle of the corridor.
Her arms hung by her sides, as if she had walked this path before, as if she could see in the dark, as if she was a shade already fading. Her gait proved slow but steady. Her eyes nearly glowed in the deep night of the tunnel, but not with fear or anxiety: a dim, sad glaze. She stumbled over a stone; her eye caught the tatters of her white dress, formerly a beautiful gown of white lace and chiffon, now a ripped and muddied version of itself. Her fingers aimlessly brushed the shredded pieces. It didn't matter anymore. It didn't matter that her hair had fallen from its intricate chignon to hang about her shoulders in plaited masses of gold.
He had loved her hair just so. He had often fawned over it, begging her to loosen a piece for his eye to covet and enjoy. Now it didn't matter.
She kept walking, ignoring the dull ache in her ankle and her head. She had been foolish. For a moment, she paused in the deep, looking ahead. Here she was at last: the way out. Black upon black, a great wall stood in her way. With a steady hand, she reached out into the dark; anyone else would have groped about, but she knew where to place her small hand. She found it: a small chink. He had told her exactly where to find it, with such a gentle voice.
"You'll find it, my dear," he had said, not daring to look her in the eye. He had been so meek of late.
"What if I don't find it?"
"But you will. And if you don't, all doors will open to you. They must." He had rubbed his thin fingers together, almost in prayer.
She had not understood him then, but she had also stopped trying. There was no need anymore.
"We must hasten. He will be waiting for you by now. You must change."
"No. I will go as I am."
"But it would not be seemly, my dear. You must change."
"I shall go as I am. We have long passed that which is seemly."
He had raised his eyes to hers, a flicker of something in them.
"I cannot hand you over to him in such a fashion."
"I shall go myself. There is no need for niceties."
He paused, gazing at her with glowing eyes.
"As you wish. Then let us go."
"You are coming, are you not?"
"Of course. But never fear. I shall walk behind you at a pace. You need not look back. I'm a soul that cannot be brought out of Hades, my dear Euripides, nor shall I hold you back from heaven."
"You must not speak so."
"Is it...unseemly?" His voice soft. It was not an insult.
"No. I...I do not wish for your torment. Never."
"Of course not."
"Forgive me."
"There is nothing to forgive."
"There is always something to forgive."
"Little one, you have a new way of talking." He gave the ghost of a smirk. "Come."
She had gone quiet then, like a child meeting strangers. He had let her find her own way in the dark, lingering a few steps behind her, a shadow to her whiteness. At times, she had become uncertain as to whether he was there or not. But she would not turn to look. She would not tempt his fate or hers any longer.
And now her hand had found the key, just as he said she would. Her lips parted in the dark. She froze. A flood of deeply interfused feeling poured over her heart. She remembered all and saw all of it pointing her here, the last place she expected to be: every turn, every secret, every gasp, every fall. Then his whisper behind her ear,
"Turn the key, my dear. To the right."
She caught her breath. If this was that last time to hear his voice, she would have him say it.
"Say...Say my name." She whispered, still with her back turned. "Bid me goodbye."
Silence.
Could he not bring himself to say it? After all this time?
Silence in the dark.
Then...
"Christine."
And her fingers turned the key, the door flung open, the light flooded her eyes, and Raoul embraced her like an angel retrieving a beloved lost lamb. That was to be the end of the story.