All Christine could do was stand there, watching in horror as her beloved fiancé and demented tutour locked blades. She couldn't live with another grave before her. She just couldn't.
In no time, Raoul was at the Phantom's mercy. He pleaded, oh how he pleaded, but to no effect. The Phantom plunged his blade through him, and kept doing it over and over again. Christine could glimpse a river of scarlett spraying on Erik's face. Now it truly was distorted.
Every emotion she had felt before left her. She was left limp, pale, dead. Tears, very warm tears, trickled down her cheeks, but she couldn't feel them. She had nothing left to live for, except music, and perhaps... no. She felt no affection towards a murderer.
Erik stood before the blood-tainted corpse for a while. It was pale and beautiful on the snow. The bath of crimson beneath and around it on the crystal-like snow created the Ilusion of it lying on a bed of rubies. It was indeed a sight to behold.