A/N: This has probably been done before, but I feel it my civic duty to add my little one-shot explaining the evil ending to the movie. So…please don't flame the words which here are written…
"Sold! To the Vicomte de Changy!" The auctioneer said jovially. Raoul cast a thankful glance over to Meg Giry who stood nearly stock still across from him. She cocked her head to the side ever so inconspicuously to say "your welcome."
The auctioneer's assistant brought down to the Vicomte in his wheelchair, a little toy monkey grasping a cymbal in each hand. It struck them delicately together as a soft
"Still works after all these years." He whispered to himself as he gazed at its round little face. He noticed the details in the carvings and the mottled colors, which had once been vivid. "And every detail, exactly as she said!"
The auctioneer proceeded to make a spectacle of the newly restored chandelier that had fallen from the ceiling of the Opera house years ago. Mentioning the famed Opera ghost that had once haunted the theatre. "Let us see if we can scare away this ghost once and for all" he said, and with a ostentatious swish, a huge burlap covering was lifted off the chandelier and it began to rise once more, up, up, up, and towards the ceiling and the past, as it did a series of memories flooded into Raoul's mind, so many that he had to close his eyes to keep them all inside. His stomach lurched as he remembered;
Christine and him as young children, listening to the stories of her father. The tales of the angel of music, and faeries and goblins.
Witnessing Christine, her first night as the prima donna of the Opera in Hannibal, with shimmering gems in her hair, a familiar buoyant gleam in her eye, and the voice of a true angel.
The greedy, insatiable André and Firmin previous owners of the very Opera house that Raoul stood in at this very moment,
That night upon the rooftop of the Opera house with all of Paris surrounding them as snow gently tumbled down around Christine, decorating her eyelashes, and adorning her hair.
And finally, the kiss that saved his life and melted the heart of a cold murderer, down in the catacombs of the Opera house. The very Opera house that Raoul stood in right now…everything after that just seemed a haze.
Item after item was auctioned off to the few people who stood in the dusty drear of the Opera's lobby. But Raoul paid no heed to any other items, though the few who accompanied him indulged in a few treasures from this once so popular Paris site. To which the "tres riche" of society came garbed in their finest to observe the delicate Opera art.
Raoul noticed Meg did not buy anything. Nor even raise her hand to bid. He felt a sudden twinge of guilt thinking perhaps she, like him, had only come for a memoir of the Phantom of the Opera.
And so the auction ended and Raoul was wheeled out and into his carriage, not saying a word to Meg as she lingered in the same spot for a moment before leaving. From the mirror of the horse drawn carriage he saw her staring right at him from the steps leading up to the Opera house. He couldn't tell whether her gaze was cold, or pitiful, or if she, like him, was simply recalling the days in which the Opera house was in its prime. They nodded to each other in recognition, and Raoul's carriage started off down the cobblestone street.
She had been gone for exactly two years now, and since her death, Raoul could do scarcely anything anymore. He was merely a hollow body that breathed without her. He had loved her dearly, and she loved him just as much…but as he held the little toy monkey, a surge of doubt shot through him. Did she really love him?
She didn't have a choice that night. The night when the Phantom whisked her off the stage and plummeted downwards before sending the chandelier soaring across the Opera house's audience.
She could have stayed there. If it were not for the schemes of Raoul to save her from her angel. If only he hadn't forced her to be in the opera. If only he hadn't interfered. If only, if only. She never had a choice. If she had stayed, the Phantom would have been found and most definitely hung. Or worse And Raoul's heart and not to mention self esteem would have been shattered.
But she could have had the life she really wanted, one full of mystery, and the enchanting music that she loved, with someone who shared the revered passion of song. But Raoul had stolen that from her, along with her life on the stage, the life that had taken years and years to attain. Even if she did have a bit of… guidance. Christine had relinquished her singing career after she married him, perhaps the thought of performing in the same place…it had all happened…would have been too much.
But Raoul still winced in remorse.
"How selfish I was…am." Muttered Raoul as these thoughts whirled in and out of his head like thousands of blades of grass in a cyclone.
"Hmmm?" The lady accompanying him questioned, casting a jaded look back at Raoul from the passenger seat, her black hat dipping over one eye.
"Nothing, sorry, just thinking aloud." And the lady went back to her conversation about the state of Parisian plumbing with the driver.
The carriage bounced along the rough streets of Paris making its way to the cemetery where she lay, hopefully at peace.
What had her last words been again? Raoul tried to recall.
He knew what they were.
Though he wished he didn't.
At last the carriage rumbled to a stop and was parked beneath the shade of an oak tree. The lady in the black hat got out and set up Raoul's wheelchair. The driver opened his door and helped the quivering old man to his feet and into the chair.
They made their way slowly into the graveyard, through the high gates with impeccably carved angels perched atop. The two accompanying Raoul courteously kept silent on the journey to Christine's grave. Allowing him to reflect, and honor his wife.
Raoul kept his head bent down slightly; he was stilling holding the little toy monkey.
And there it was. The tombstone of his beloved wife. He was surprised when his wheelchair stopped. But looked up to see the depiction of Christine looking out with gentle eyes and a slight smile on her charming face and smiled himself.
Leaning over, Raoul placed the monkey up against the grave and then sat back in his chair just staring.
But then the wind picked up, blowing the hat off of the lady pushing his chair. As she ran to retrieve it, Raoul turned his head and something caught his eye. A leaf? No, it was a rose, on the other side of the gravestone.
Any other rose would have been inconspicuous, as Christine was well-loved and many people would have come to see her.
But this one was tied in a black ribbon with a diamond ring attached.
He had been there…not too long ago.
And Raoul knew.
"Where is my angel of music?" Is what she had said before she passed.
She had loved him all along.
"Christine I love you." He hummed, and the little toy monkey began to clap its symbols together.