Whoever you are, reading this last entry of my rather bitter autobiography, I ask that you do not poke fun at my woes. No, I've had enough of that during my meaningless existence. For once, even if after my death, I ask for compassion- not pity, but true compassion. It is true- I have killed and I have tortured, and I am not deserving of a woman's love. But I am worthy of an epilogue- a final goodbye, something this cruel world can remember me by.
See, I am tired of playing this sadistic game. The pain is just too much. It's time for me to depart this world- alas, as many have suggested, it's time I unite myself with the devil. And how ironic it is that death itself should chose death. Yes, to-night I say my final goodbye and leave this horrid Earth I could never really call home.
I couldn't take the pain. Funny, how much it hurts to lose something you've never really had. It's twisted, how I've been obsessed over her. Dreams and nightmares, combined into one grand explosion of emotion haunt me- much more emotion than a monster like me can handle. And love- oh, how poor Erik wanted to love! Alas, our story was beautifully tragic.
To you, Christine, I leave my music. May my ghost haunt you forever, never letting you truly forget who I was, how I helped you. I was the one who lead you to success, and may you never forget that I could have just as easily taken you down, if it was not for the goodness of my heart. Yes, goodness. It was I that was the bigger person, and not Raoul. Sure, he'd sacrifice his life for love, but I sacrificed my life not even for love, but merely for your well being- and you know it. And, in some way, you will always remember the effect I had on you. Every moment of every day, I will be there- the whisper of the wind, the soft song of the bird. In your dreams- or perhaps nightmares?- I will serenade you with the music that burns and consumes. And though you will be happy with Raoul, for you know you love him most, you will always be wondering what if. You, Christine, were too painful to lose. And because of that, to you I leave my heart- and the ring. The golden ring which you left on a filthy, crowded street. I hope it finds its way to you and you will wear it, remembering how it felts when Erik was a friend and not a foe.
Raoul, my handsome rival. I gave you Christine, fame and glory. You could have had anyone, but you chose her- and she chose you. It's always like that, is it not? Pretty boys such as yourself always get their way. Will you ever appreciate all you have; a caring family, a handsome body, a woman to love? And somewhere in your mind, you will always know that you did wrong by her. You know she would have made me so much happier and, eventually, I could have made her happy. You caused me more pain and suffering than a pampered boy like you could ever imagine and yet, I pity you. You, who will never really know what you have. You, who will never really listen to the music. You, who can't seem to see what lies before your eyes. You love Christine, of that I'm sure. But you will never, not once in your life, be truly happy- because every moment of pleasure you will know you have stolen from me. I, the pitiful creature who would have given away my sight and hearing just to have one woman look at me with awe, as so many look at you.
But before I go, I ask of you one final thing. Do not cut my throat for the world to see and laugh. Please, savor a bit of my dignity. Yes, I ask that my body never be found. I ask that the chronicles of my life, which I have explained in this journal, be kept secret. I ask to remain O.G., the obedient servant and musical genius. I ask that no one will enter my realm of the Opera. I ask that my music never be played again. I ask, gentlemen, to remain the mysterious Phantom of the Opera.
Erik's body was found along the French countryside by Madame Giry who attempted to escape the raging rumors of the Opera. He had driven a dagger to his heart, and lay next to a crumbled journal. For once in his life, Erik had lifted the mask and yet looked truly peaceful. She hid his body, never to be disturbed from his relaxed slumber.
Raoul and Christine eloped, and they were great together… for a while. Raoul missed the thrill, he wanted the chase. He didn't like mediocrity; he was raised upon it and loathed it. No, he needed adventure and excitement. To stimulate himself, he drank. He drank to both remember and forget the horrors of the Opera House. And the more he drank, the more he drove her away.
He dominated her. Raoul controlled her more than Erik ever dared. It was awful to watch- an ongoing destruction of both spirits. And in the dead of the night, after a long fight, Christine would find herself thinking of Erik. Not longing, not missing, but just thinking of him. And until her death (of natural causes, it was claimed), his pathetically loving, weeping image never left her mind.
After Christine's death, Raoul couldn't cope. He hung himself, to be found in his apartment three days later, eyes staring off into the distance. The grand finale, the tragic end to the three main characters of the Phantom scandal. But note that even though their mortal lives have came to an end, the legend lives on. Every mysterious death, every offstage scandal and every spontaneously uprising singer- well, we all know who is responsible. For now, on the remains of the Opera House, someone has carved six worlds; "Beware the Phantom of the Opera".