The Last Rose
a/n: This is my first stab at Phantom fics, so please don't be too offended! Of course, Phantom belongs to Andrew Lloyd Webber and Gaston Leroux, along with all the other charries. I'm sorry if I stole anyone's idea: it was purely unintentional.
A rose for his diva. His Christine.
The man, hidden behind a black cloak and under a generous hood made hardly any noise as he bent and plucked the last vibrant red rose from the bush that remained at the rear of the Opera Populaire. Slower than he had been in the past, though every bit as crafty and devoted to a dream, he slipped quietly back to his home, his childhood playground, his prison.
Down a passage unknown to anyone else, soon fated to be lost forever, he went, studying the bud in his hand. Had it really been almost half a century since that fateful night? Since he had given her that first rose? And, he mussed, how was it so easy to wipe away the past 49 years with this simple action that was like second nature to him? How many times, he thought with a smirk, had he snuck out in the dead of night, his hour, to do just this?
By the time he had reached this final thought, he found himself at the lake. Tenderly he laid the bud in front of him on the crude raft he had constructed all those years ago when Raul and Christine had left. In that same practiced action with which he had rowed Christine across, he ferried himself and the precious rose across the murky water to his lair. Half a century had taken its toll on the place- the building had long since been abandoned and the interior, though sound, had grown moldy. Candlesticks once of polished brass now were tarnished to a dull green and pieces of broken mirror littered the floor. These the Phantom overlooked as he climbed to shore, cradling the rose in his hands as one would a precious stone.
Carefully he laid it on his work desk, the nearest and most convenient surface available to him. He sat wearily, glad, as any aging man, to be off his feet as he ran a hand through his long hair, no longer the black mane it had once been, now streaked with white, a mocking contrast to his life. From the desk he took a length of black satin ribbon and tied it carefully to the rose, smiling finally at his handiwork. But- somehow, this customary offering was lacking. After all, this was his final rose for her. Yes, final. Erik could tell he was dying slowly. It was nothing short of miraculous he had evaded death for this long. But in this his 8th decade on this earth, his body was finally giving up. But that, of course, didn't solve his problem. He sat for awhile in pensive silence, frowning as he examined the rose. Then, suddenly, he got up and went for his music box, the same that Christine had been so enraptured with. From it he saved the ring- that beautiful ring that had for five minutes made Christine his. It was rightfully hers, though, he thought as he untied the ribbon and slid the ring on before retying it. He smiled at the effect and took one last look about this prison where he had spent so many years. He had heard the chatter- there was to be an auction tomorrow, the building then set to be renovated as new owners took hold. It was time for him to leave, now, he knew. Taking only the rose, the clothes on his back, and his mask, the Phantom surveyed his lair one last time before disappearing up a hidden pathway, doubling back to retrieve the music box, which he laid in the one corridor he knew it would be found. What made him so benevolent, he knew not. Perhaps it was that he was going to see Christine for the last time, or maybe that he knew his dying day was fast approaching. In any case, there he left it, to be discovered by those auctioneers that would sell it to raise money for the refurbishment of the Opera.
The Phantom made his way stealthily, if a bit slower, to the graveyard, walking the long distance, his eyes keen in the darkness. He entered those towering gates and began his way to Daae's grave- the papers had all stated that Christine was to have been buried by her father. Sure enough, he found the grave, without much difficulty. He hid behind Daae's memoriam for half an hour, waiting silently as the caretaker took his last rounds.
Finally, the time had come to say a final goodbye. He had deeply regretted when he saw in the papers that Christine had died- he hadn't even had a chance to say goodbye. But now, he had a chance. A last rose, a last goodbye on this his last night. He quietly knelt in front of the grave and sighed, looking at the picture on it. Even age had failed to tame her beauty. With a shaking hand, he reached out and touched the tombstone, feeling its cold harshness, such a contrast with warm beautiful Christine! From beside him, he took his rose- a child of the light for this his beautiful child of the sun. Carefully he set the rose on the stone, feeling the odd sensation of wetness on his cheek. A tear- a trace of humanity in him, a relief from the monster that he was. Before he had come, he had thought of what he could say to Christine, and there had been so much. But now, only one thought even came to him.
"I forgive you," he whispered, taking a last look at his dead love before disappearing into the night.
a/n: Thanks for taking the time to read! Please submit a review and tell me what you think!