My angel
I think of you and your life without me, and I hope you are truly happy. I remain in hiding, and the address on this letter shall only be mine for a day. But you don't care about the ramblings of a deluded demon. Is your mortal husband treating you well? Is mortal life treating you well? If not, simply ask your angel of death to have a discussion with this life character. I would be most honored.
I will not pretend to read your mind, as I have in the past. I will not pretend to know you as no one can. I realize that now. But my angel…you must realize that your cage can only offer you so much. I was wrong to trap you again, in the folds of my own gilded prison, but I cannot undo the mistakes of the past. I only hope now that you are happy…that you are loved. I will not attempt to make any other contact with you, but I hope that this letter can…oh, Lord, how do I say this?...redeem myself in your eyes. I am a man, Christine, a mortal who makes mistakes like any other, and I see that you are no angel now. You never were. You were just a girl, who I wanted so desperately to love, and when she screamed in my face…at my face-I do not blame you, not any longer, but sometimes…sometimes it is hard not to, Christine! I taught you the opera, I taught you the passion and the joy of the notes, the pure, transcendent perfection of music. And you screamed. Like all the others, you, my love, my angel, my hope, rejected me and tortured me, crushed and abandoned me, and I was broken! I was alone!
But I digress, Christine. You were a child. I see that now, also. You were unsure, and I was wrong to force your hand, as it were. I hope my interference has not disturbed your-your (unintelligible) marriage. The unstable footing upon which you were thrust into the Parisian world was not enough to keep you steady. And as befits your childishness, you were confused. I had no right to prey upon the unwary.
I am sorry to awaken memories you probably reflect upon with hatred. And for that I am also sorry. I plead with you, I do not want to be remembered with hate. Forgive me, Christine, forgive me, absolve me, angel! No, no, you are still mortal. But please, Christine,…I ask you for forgiveness. For fond memories, innocent, unblemished…of you practicing scales with a smile on your face, as the sunlight streamed through to gleam in your hair. Remember the music, Christine, and forgive the man. Forgive me. Please.
Your angel of music
Ahh! My brain spilled this out unintentionally! Don't kill me for this! Also, I might make revisions later. Truce?