In the deep recesses of the Paris Opera House stands a figure in a white dress holding a ring and a shovel. Tears tracked down her face as she broke the ground beneath her.
Six feet deep.
Three feet across.
Six feet lengthwise.
A grave.
Shuddering, she lifts the limp, disfigured body and gently lowers him in the hole that she has dug. Her dress isn't white now, but spotted with dirt. She takes the ring from within the folds of her dress and drops it down with the body. A patter of tears follow. Slowly, she begins to fill the grave back up with dirt. She drops the shovel when she is finished, and in a daze starts to walk along the river. In the deep recesses of the Paris Opera House, Christine Daae cries for the death of the man who truly loved her.