Christine's Angel
Love me, that's all I ask of you...
Christine Daaé stared into the Vicomte's eyes, eyes filled with adoration and wonder as they pledged their hearts to each other in this darkness of the Phantom's Labyrinth. She was free at last. He had let her go and she was with the one she loved most. So why did she feel so empty inside? A part of her heart seemed to linger at the house on the lake, and her music cried out in protest. For when her Angel of Music spoke, it was like fairy dust, softly caressing her like candlelight, and she sang, as she has never sang before. No, that wasn't true. She wanted to be with Raoul, desperately. And he has presented his heart to her on a platter, risked his life, loved and cherished. But she would never sing her heart out for him. Filled with confusion, Christine heard the mob in the distance. Would they get him? He would die, and the torment would be over. Yet she knew that wasn't true. Erik would survive, but only if he wills it. A sob escaped her throat and she fell into Raoul's arms, shaking, as the world surrounding here blurred and she herself drifted away, haunted by the memories of the Phantom of the Opera.
Erik stared at the ring, dejected. Christine I love you...The biggest mistake he's ever made, to fall in love knowing no one could love a living corpse. And there he stood watching the most beautiful creature in the world with the angelic voice sail away, watching his only chance of love sail away. He ran his hands softly down his face...why...why? As the mob moved closer and closer, his only thought was escape, as he wrapped his cloak around himself...it's over now...
Meg Giry picked up the mask with her small hand. Was this really a reminder of the Opera Ghost that had frightened them for so long? But mother said he wasn't evil, only a broken shell of a man, shamed by his face, condemned to hide forever from society. Mother had taken pity on such a man, and he had escaped once again. She could hear the murmurings of the mob behind her, louder and louder. "Burn the house of the devil!" As one by one the men threw their torches on the house, the burning flames of light invaded the darkness, the flames illuminating the whole underground cellar, the hidden labyrinth no longer hidden.
Erik shrank back from the rest of the world on the roof of the Paris Opera House, wrapping the black cloak about his fail, skeletal figure. The Opera Ghost hated the roof, for it is where the dreaded daylight shines first at dawn, and for a deeper reason he is not willing to admit, for it is where he first witnessed Christine's love for that foolish boy, the poor excuse for a vicomte. He had wanted Christine to be happy. But could she really be happy with him? It wasn't his concern anymore. It did not matter now, for Paris was consumed in darkness and there would be no one to see him. But he could never stay here in broad daylight, when men would point and stare and ladies fumble for their smelling salts at the sight of his horrible distorted face. He tasted the rain and felt it on his torn flesh. The mob must be gone now. He would go.
Christine...Christine...Christine...Two familiar voices...no, "Raoul!" A cry was heard in the dressing room.
"I'm here, Little Lotte, I'll always be here. Quiet now."
"Raoul...oh, let this all be a nightmare. No, it cannot be, for you were in it."
"Shh...it's all over. You're safe. Nothing can ever harm you again." He gently kissed her and Christine noticed the red mark around his neck. Now could a man be so cruel and so comforting, so horrifying and beautiful at the same time? She cursed herself for having these thoughts.
"Lets get married, Raoul. We've waited so long."
"Of course, my dear. We will, soon." He kissed her again, bending down to brush dark curls from her face. "But there's so much involved in a wedding. And I want you to have the most splendid wedding in France, the wedding of the year. So when you quit the opera—"
"Quit the Opera?" Cutting him off abruptly, Christine breathed, "but... that's quite impossible. The opera is the only home I knew, Meg my best friend and Mme. Giry my family since..." She bit her lip, fighting back tears. "And nothing could ever change my love for music."
"But isn't it time you put your past behind you?" Seeing Christine's tear-stained face, he softened. "You don't have to. Get your rest, my dear, for tomorrow we plan a wedding."
Christine... He had made a horrible mistake coming here. He had thought, perhaps, just perhaps Christine would long for him, but the pain of rejection welled up in his heart. He cursed himself for his weakness, looking through the mirror that brought her here. But he would always love her.
"Good night, sweet Angel of Music. Your angel of darkness is watching over you."
He turned and started back down that path that was so familiar to him, down once more. For her he would live on.
Love me, that's all I ask of you...
Christine Daaé stared into the Vicomte's eyes, eyes filled with adoration and wonder as they pledged their hearts to each other in this darkness of the Phantom's Labyrinth. She was free at last. He had let her go and she was with the one she loved most. So why did she feel so empty inside? A part of her heart seemed to linger at the house on the lake, and her music cried out in protest. For when her Angel of Music spoke, it was like fairy dust, softly caressing her like candlelight, and she sang, as she has never sang before. No, that wasn't true. She wanted to be with Raoul, desperately. And he has presented his heart to her on a platter, risked his life, loved and cherished. But she would never sing her heart out for him. Filled with confusion, Christine heard the mob in the distance. Would they get him? He would die, and the torment would be over. Yet she knew that wasn't true. Erik would survive, but only if he wills it. A sob escaped her throat and she fell into Raoul's arms, shaking, as the world surrounding here blurred and she herself drifted away, haunted by the memories of the Phantom of the Opera.
Erik stared at the ring, dejected. Christine I love you...The biggest mistake he's ever made, to fall in love knowing no one could love a living corpse. And there he stood watching the most beautiful creature in the world with the angelic voice sail away, watching his only chance of love sail away. He ran his hands softly down his face...why...why? As the mob moved closer and closer, his only thought was escape, as he wrapped his cloak around himself...it's over now...
Meg Giry picked up the mask with her small hand. Was this really a reminder of the Opera Ghost that had frightened them for so long? But mother said he wasn't evil, only a broken shell of a man, shamed by his face, condemned to hide forever from society. Mother had taken pity on such a man, and he had escaped once again. She could hear the murmurings of the mob behind her, louder and louder. "Burn the house of the devil!" As one by one the men threw their torches on the house, the burning flames of light invaded the darkness, the flames illuminating the whole underground cellar, the hidden labyrinth no longer hidden.
Erik shrank back from the rest of the world on the roof of the Paris Opera House, wrapping the black cloak about his fail, skeletal figure. The Opera Ghost hated the roof, for it is where the dreaded daylight shines first at dawn, and for a deeper reason he is not willing to admit, for it is where he first witnessed Christine's love for that foolish boy, the poor excuse for a vicomte. He had wanted Christine to be happy. But could she really be happy with him? It wasn't his concern anymore. It did not matter now, for Paris was consumed in darkness and there would be no one to see him. But he could never stay here in broad daylight, when men would point and stare and ladies fumble for their smelling salts at the sight of his horrible distorted face. He tasted the rain and felt it on his torn flesh. The mob must be gone now. He would go.
Christine...Christine...Christine...Two familiar voices...no, "Raoul!" A cry was heard in the dressing room.
"I'm here, Little Lotte, I'll always be here. Quiet now."
"Raoul...oh, let this all be a nightmare. No, it cannot be, for you were in it."
"Shh...it's all over. You're safe. Nothing can ever harm you again." He gently kissed her and Christine noticed the red mark around his neck. Now could a man be so cruel and so comforting, so horrifying and beautiful at the same time? She cursed herself for having these thoughts.
"Lets get married, Raoul. We've waited so long."
"Of course, my dear. We will, soon." He kissed her again, bending down to brush dark curls from her face. "But there's so much involved in a wedding. And I want you to have the most splendid wedding in France, the wedding of the year. So when you quit the opera—"
"Quit the Opera?" Cutting him off abruptly, Christine breathed, "but... that's quite impossible. The opera is the only home I knew, Meg my best friend and Mme. Giry my family since..." She bit her lip, fighting back tears. "And nothing could ever change my love for music."
"But isn't it time you put your past behind you?" Seeing Christine's tear-stained face, he softened. "You don't have to. Get your rest, my dear, for tomorrow we plan a wedding."
Christine... He had made a horrible mistake coming here. He had thought, perhaps, just perhaps Christine would long for him, but the pain of rejection welled up in his heart. He cursed himself for his weakness, looking through the mirror that brought her here. But he would always love her.
"Good night, sweet Angel of Music. Your angel of darkness is watching over you."
He turned and started back down that path that was so familiar to him, down once more. For her he would live on.