A/N: This is dedicated to Christine Forrester, who is currently helping me construct my ideas for my upcoming fic 'Christine'. Thank you so much! (Blows air kisses)

And thank you all for staying with me! No, I'm not abandoning 'The Tale of Sophie and Natasha', it's just a very severe case of writer's block. It always happens to me! Anyway, here's some cookies and milk for you, and Chinese dumplings especially for Chris. Love ya!

Without further ado!

Christine was left with two choices:

Lisping one name could mean a death or a miserable life starting from the moment she said the other.

So do you end your days with me?

Miserably.

Or do you send him to his grave?

Maybe sometimes leaving choiceless was better than having a say.

Raoul grabbed the rope hugging his neck in agony. And he was pleading. Pleading her to say that she loved him and the things she promised him on the roof were true.

Erik, her 'angel of music', clutching the other end of the rope, begging in desperation. She was the only one who he loved, there would be no other, and if she didn't marry him he'd die loveless. He only needed to get rid of Raoul and Christine would be his and they'd live happily ever after and blah blah blah…

"Um, actually, can I have some alone time to think? You two singing like you're in an opera makes my brain numb," Christine chided. "How can I choose someone if my brain isn't even focused?"

Erik flushed. (If a guy with a skull can flush.) "My, uh, sincere apologies, uh- Christine." He led her to the Louis-Phillipe room and shut tge door for her to think quietly.

Without Christine, the fight for her was even more heated:

"She loves me because I have good hygiene awareness! Unlike you, I don't live in a sewer! There are rats in these smelly places and the water isn't even blue! It's murky and vomit green and it's utterly disgusting!"

"And you're just a brat with money! You can pay for chocolates and roses and then you'll forget Christine because of the latest hair products! And then you'll spend all your foppy money on foppy shampoos and conditioners and you'll be bankrupt in no time-"

"Boys!" Christine yelled from the room. "Shut your respective foppy and skeleton mouths, will you?"

Erik glared at Raoul. "See?! Christine herself said YOU have a foppy mouth!"

Raoul glared back. "And you have an ugly skeleton mouth! No wonder why she never kissed you! Well, once in the movie, but I rescued her from your evil claws in the end!"

"It's just a movie and the Christine in the movie isn't the real Christine sitting inside my room now!"

"Well at least the story writers agreed that I should be the knight in shining armor-"

"DID I NOT SAY 'SHUT UP'?!" Christine's voice roared.

"Don't do that, dear! You'll damage your lovely voice!" Erik called back sweetly.

"Shoe-shiner!" Raoul accused.

"I don't care!" Christine shouted back.

Raoul smirked. "Ha! Even she doesn't like you anymore- oomph!"

Erik tightened his grip on the rope. "Say that again and I pull off your head!"

"Ooh! Mamma Mia! Don't! My hair roots will come off and I'll lose my beautiful tresses! My precious locks of hair cost a lot, you know!" Raoul scolded Erik, while attempting to soothe his apparently 'crying' hair.

"I can come out now!" Christine called.

Erik bolted to the door and swished in open in a gentlemanly manner and placed her hand in his before Christine jerked it away.

"I've made my decision," Christine announced once both men had eyes trained intently on her.

"And who is it? Is it me? Oh, let it be me!" Erik begged excitedly.

"Raoul," she began. "You have money, killer hair, more money, and shampoo, but you're just a self-obsessed little twit who's incapable of tying his own shoelaces, let alone care for his wife. And your hair-"

"What's wrong with my hair?" Raoul said, his voice panicky, hands reaching up to feel his hair. "Split ends? Is it really falling off?"

"Let me finish! You love your hair so much you won't love me. Here's some advice: marry your hair. So… yeah."

"You're choosing me?" Erik whooped, eyes wide in joy.

"Wrong!" Christine snapped. "Let me make my own decisions! You've been pampering me like I don't know how to take care of myself. The reasons are obvious. You're a whiny child who throws tamper tantrums all the time and uses your face as an excuse. You killed Joseph Buquet, Piangi, and I bet at least a million more people. I'm not marrying a murderer! Plus, your face is so ugly if I wake up to it every morning I'm bound to lose my voice!"

"You said it doesn't scare you anymore!" Erik's voice was starting to break.

"Doesn't mean poof and you'll immediately turn pretty!" Christine argued. "Anyway, I'm choosing neither of you. Kudos!" She leapt into the water and began swimming to the exit.

"What?" Raoul blinked in confusion. "Is going on?"

Erik sniffed. "I thought she was going to choose me."

A year later, Firmin and Andre received a book of scores.

"Another opera?" Firmin moaned.

"Women are Unreliable, by the Opera Ghost and… the Vicomte de Chagny?!" Andre gasped. "No way."

"Here's a note," Firmin cleared his throat. "Dear Managers, Do not let Christine Daaé sing this. O.G. Weird. Doesn't he always want Ms. Daaé to sing everything?"

"Pseesh, whatever! As long as we don't need to pay for the repairment fee- you know how much the new chandelier costed!"

Two months later, Women are Unreliable was the most popular opera in Paris. Christine, having recently joined a feminist organization, was shocked.

"Ladies! Tonight, we storm the Opera!" she raised her fist. "For feminism!"

"For feminism!" the other women cheered. And indeed, that night, they crashed the new chandelier and set the Opera on fire.

Back in the office, Firmin groaned. "Why does this always happen to us?!"

A/N: Thanks for reading this! Hope you enjoyed it! \(•}u•)/