Christine had not forgotten her promise to return to Erik to burry him, though she wished she had as she slowly descended through the five cellars beneath the opera house. It was so dark and cold as she traveled through countless twisting stairs and corridors, hand always at the level of her eyes fearing she may never return. The ghost of Erik never letting her go.
Christine eventually found her way to the lake and with baited breath stepped into the shaky, old row boat below, pressing on daring not to look behind her until she arrived upon the shore of the small home that had once been her prison.
She stood at the door for quite some time trying to quell the festering swath of emotions rising within her.
She steadied herself and stepped through the door.
Lighting a candle, Christine eyed the deceptively simple living room. A bouquet of roses sat on a table once so beautiful and full of life now lie in a decrepit state of decay. How sorry she felt for them trapped down here. This home still reeked of death just as he always had.
She continued down the hall towards his room the empty silence of the once musical home shaking her to her core.
She entered the room where the walls were draped with black and blood red satin. Countless musical scores scattered the floor never to be played again as she stepped over to Erik's coffin bed.
She stared at the man as he lay there motionless, not an angel, just a man. He seemed so frail as if she were to touch him he would fall to dust fading away in an instant. His cold, skeletal fingers were clasp tightly around the final version of his Don Juan Triumphant as he wore her ring.
She looked to see his face only to find a black funeral mask covering his death's head. Though she could not see his clearly see his features behind the mask, the once tormented man had never seemed so at peace. She brushed back one of the four dark strands upon his head and placed a gentle kiss to the mask as she silently wept for the man that was once her poor Erik