Sadness. That's the only emotion that circled around the Opera Populaire. For it had been only yesterday that the beloved and beautiful Christine Da'ae fell asleep by her Raoul and never woke up. She was only forty years old.
No one talked to each other, not even the slightest nod as one passed another. Every night as the operas played, no one clapped. There was no joy in the music as the actors sang. No uplifting feeling that the audience was hoping for. Nothing.
The ballerinas did not gossip. The stagehands didn't ogle them as usual. Madame Giry did not angry at anyone, and there for there was no loud banging on the floor with her cane. Meg did not come out of her room. Madame Giry gave up around the tenth she tried. There was no laughter. No smiling. No dancing. The ballerinas were floppy on stage, and uncoordinated. La Carlotta was even depressed, for her singing was…worse than usual, and had the slightest hint of sadness in it.
Raoul de Changy, did not do anything. He did not move, eat, sleep, drink, nor speak. Until one day Madame Giry managed to give him water and have a decent conversation with him.
His faced was stained with dry tears, and his eyes were as red as blood. His voice was cracked and seemed empty. "Why? Why-Why-Why is she gone?!" He sobbed. Giry put a warm hand onto his shoulder as he cried into his hands. She shook her head at his pitiful state, but she was not one to show pity. So she just pulled out an envelope from her dress pocket.
"Here…" She sighed, "I have a note."
"Let me see it!" Raoul shouted, and hastily and rudely snatched the letter from her hand.
He began to read:
Dear Residents of the Opera Populaire,
I am greatly sorry for your lose. But that is not why I am writing this letter. I am back, and expect full payment from Andre and Firmin every month in a portion of 20, 000 francs. I expect box 5 to be left empty at all times, and you will not be bothered.
O.G.
"What does this mean?" Raoul asked, taken back by the letter. "He's not at all affected by her death."
"Oh believe me monsieur…He is." And with that statement, Madame Giry left.
A week later, Raoul was up and about. Doing his daily business, but with a drained feeling. He was just talking to Carlotta, when he overheard Andre and Firmin arguing. So he decided to check it out.
"I have no idea who this is!" Andre shouted, waving some papers in front of Firmin.
"Well neither do I, so stop waving those in front of me!" Firmin grabbed the papers from Andre, and read them over. "It doesn't have his last name anywhere! How are we supposed to find this man if we don't know his last name?"
"Who?" The two men jumped at Raoul's sudden appearance.
"Oh no one." Andre answered shakily.
"What is that?" Raoul asked pointing at the papers.
"What's 'what'?" Firmin asked, stashing the papers behind his back.
"That! Those papers!" Firmin had realized that he had obviously lost, and hand the papers to Raoul. No one making a sound. Raoul read them. "Christine's will? Why wasn't I told about this?"
"Because…" They said in unison.
"Yes?"
"Because you're not in it."
"WHAT?!" Raoul screamed, and he read the papers over and over. He read it over about thirty times: He really wasn't in it… But there was one name that popped up a couple times, and that was 'Erik'. "Who's Erik?" He asked.
"We don't know. We thought you would." Andre said dryly.
"No…" Raoul sighed, reading the will out loud. "…And as for my funeral. I wish for Erik to sing me to heaven. I know he has done badly in the past, but I wish to be carried to God by none other than the Angel of Music."…Once he had finished reading that part, he realized who she wanted to sing at her funeral…The Phantom of the Opera. He would not allow this, never. He would keep this will close to him at all times, and never let it out of his sight. He not let that monster get his hands on this will.
But little did any of them realize, a dark shadow stood in the rafters just above them, listening to every word they said…
The Funeral…
Everyone was dead silent. Except the occasional sob from one of the chorus girls. But otherwise, all that could be heard was the priest, making his final statement.
"Oh lord in heaven. We wish for you take this innocent child into your arms, and care for her all you can. Thank you lord. Amen."
"Amen." Everyone sadly whispered.
"Now it seems Christine wished an 'Erik' to sing to her today. Is anyone here by the name of Erik?" Andre spoke to everyone, but they all remained silent. Andre sighed and put his hat on, and began walking away.
Slowly, and groggily everyone filed out of the cemetery. Hugging each other, crying to each other, talking about the newest gig in the opera…Well, Carlotta was talking about that. Everyone else was saddened, but decided to move on.
Except for one. Raoul decided to stay behind, and cry on his beloved's grave until he could cry no more. But he didn't, for he had heard someone coming. He quickly hid behind a tree, so he could keep his dignity and so no one could see him crying.
A black horse trotted up to Christine's grave, and someone jumped off. Raoul turned to look, and there, by his lover's tomb, the Phantom stood.
"You asked me to sing Christine…And so I shall." He whispered, placing a rose by her tombstone.
As he watched this, Raoul began to sing silently to himself…
"Christine once spoke of an angel…
She used to dream he'd appear.
Now as he sings by her tombstone…"
"I am always here." Erik finished, but not intentionally. His voice was magnificent, and soft. As he began to sing, a single tear fell from his face. From that tear, Raoul could tell this man was not a heartless monster. He had feelings…of sadness. Not just hate and anger, but of love and passion. Raoul stayed and watched the Erik as he softly began his song…
"Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation. Darkness stirs and wakes imagination. Silently the senses abandon their defenses…" Erik could not finish, he began to sob. His body shaking uncontrollably as streams of tears fell from his face, melting the snow below him. He pulled a knife from his pocket, and held it tightly in his hand.
"ANYWHERE YOU GO LET ME GO TOO!!" He sang loudly, his voice echoing through the stars. "CHRISTINE! THAT'S ALL I ASK OF YOU!!" And with one last cry, Erik plunged the knife into his stomach. Blood stained the cold snow, and Erik smiled. "You alone can make my song take flight…Help me make the music of the…night." He whispered in his final breath. His body went limp, and blood trickled out the side of his mouth.
And that night, only one thing shed tears for the phantom of the opera. And that was the sky. For weeks it rained, until the phantom was finally buried. Alongside Christine, and her father, the phantom Erik lay at rest.