The Northern Railway Station of the World

A/N: This is a oneshot that I've been thinking about doing for awhile now ("Awhile" meaning past two years). It follows the BOOK rather than the MOVIES or PLAYS

It has been many years since I last attempted to recount the story of the Opera Ghost, of his beloved Christine, and the amorous Raoul. And I am glad to inform the reader that, after many years of searching, I have finally found documentation of Raoul and Christine's current whereabouts, and they are similar to what I have suspected. Though dear Mamma Valerious and the Persian are both long gone, the two lovers, I have found, were where I had suspected all along. From what the papers I have found state, the two are living together, quite peacefully, in a town not far from Upsala, Sweden; to be exact, the same town where the beloved diva was born. But why their hurried absence. For surely, if they had stayed, the Viscount would not have been blamed for his brother's murder by the monster Erik, and Mlle. Daae would have been raised to great heights of achievement due to her angelic voice. But it was not the the adored De Chagney estate, now property of the Viscount's sisters, that I found them, but a small home in Christine's home village. And I am pleased to say that it was with great grace that the Madame de Chagney, now in her sixties, welcomed me into their home.

She seemed, a bit nervous when I first brought up the strange night that she was kept hostage under the Opera Garnier, but as the kind lady began to take to me, she slowly began to recount her memories of what happened that night, with the infamous Erik, the Persian, and the now departed Viscount de Chagney. And here, I present her narrative.

It was many years ago, though that must already be considered. The brightness of the moon, just outside the window, illuminated the whole scene. Raoul and his future Viscountess were on a train, heading towards the girl's native Sweden. Though Raoul slept, albeit unrestlessy, Christine could not get her mind out of that dreadful room where, only a few weeks earlier, she had been forced to make the toughest decision of her life: Either marry scorpion who had once been her Angel, but was now the most dreaded demon of Hell; or the rest of the Operao-patrons, singers, dancers, and lovers alike-would hop in an unexpected detonation of gunpowder in the cellars. Fearing for her lover's life and for those of the Opera, Christine had agreed to become Erik's wife. However, the next morning as she kissed him on his forehead, his soul-or rather, what was left of it-was soon broken, and the man told the girl to leave with her lover, the Vicomte de Chagney. Erik himself died only weeks later, and after burying his body,with Christine's ring on his finger, Raoul and Christine were both free of the Phantom, of the Angel, of the scorpion's sting, forever. And with their new freedom, they decided that it was time that they left the country. So they left, taking dear old Mamma Valerius with them, and headed, on the Northern Railway Station of the World, to the place where Christine, Mamma, and Christine's father had been born.

It was not long after they settled that Mamma Valerius, not recently in the best of health, begin a cough similar to Daddy Daae's. And it was not long after that that the good woman was laid to rest behind the old church where Christine's father had once sang in the choir. But Mamma did manage to live long enough to see her dear Christine be married to Raoul, and to see their daughter come into the world.

(Madeleine, named after the Vicomte's mother, is currently living with her husband and son in a town not far from where the Vicomte de Chagney is buried. But her story is for a later time, and we must continue with Christine's narrative.)

The couple managed fairly well financially; Raoul still had some of his inheritance and worked as a dockworker in the nearby port. Though it was not as adventurous as his original career in the French Navy would have been, he considered it worthwhile to be near his wife and daughter. And, not long afterwords, son.

Phillip was named after his uncle, the late Comte de Chagney, and strongly resembled his father physically. He seemed much more adept at music than his older sister; that was true. But Madeleine was better with animals, and would shelter the homeless dogs and cats of the neighborhood in the small shed outside the family's house. The shed, if one were to visit Madame de Chagney, is long gone. But the memories, echoing in the blue eyes of the aged singer, still remain.

And it was also in the shed where Phillip would practice his violin; not for fear of disturbing the house, but simply for the privacy of it. The little violin was similar to the one owned by Daddy Daae, and was played almost as skillfully.

The family was together and happy for several years, with Christine and her son both singing in the choir of the church where she and her own father had attended as children. But, as Phillip entered his fifteenth year, he decided that he didn't want a career in music. Though she was dissapointed, Christine didn't push the issue, and, instead, Phillip enlisted as a sailor at the docks where his father Christine didn't say it, I knew from the papers I had found that his ship's first mission was never completed, nor was the poor lad's life. But so life is, as it takes some souls and leaves others to rot.

From the sadness, a joy emerged. One of the survivors of the ship, the Gustav, lived near the area. And as he came to the de Chagneys to both recieve and give help over their losses, a love for young Madeleine emerged. And I am glad to report that they are married with a son, named Gustave (Not after the ship, but, rather, the ship's captain, who was close to the lad and Phillip).

After many years of happy marriage, Raoul le Vicomte de Chagney was put to his grave from natural age. Christine assured me that he had a long and happy life, and that, when the time came, she would be ready to meet him, and Phillip, and perhaps be aquainted with Erik yet again.

I stayed at the woman's home for almost a week, during which time I was lucky enough to meet Madeleine's family and hear Christine's legendary voice as she sang with the church choir.

Not long after my return home, however, was when I recieved a letter from the adress where I had just visited.

Dear Monsieur Leroux,

I am grieved to inform you that my dear mother, whom you have recently visited, has just returned to Father, Grandfather, and Phillip yesterday evening. I tell you of this because she had an interest in you, monsier, for your curiosity of the affair of the Opera Ghost. She will be buried this afternoon beside Father and Mama Valerius. Thank you for your visit, as the affair of the Opera Ghost was one that she seemed reluctant to tell of, yet needed an ear besides my own to hear it.

Ever in your debt,

Madeleine L'Ange

A short note, yet enough to tell me that the tale of Erik has, indeed, come to an end. Though one thing seemed to puzzle me. She had greeted me with "Monsieur;" perhaps she learned it from her father and thought it would best be used to salute me, as French as I am. But the name of her husband, that is what caught me off guard. L'Ange. A French name.The Angel.