"Make your CHOICE!" His putrid breath hit her tear-stained face. God help her, how could she choose? Christine never meant for this to happen. What had happened to her fairy-tale, her angel of music? Who was this monster in front of her? Poor Raoul, poor, sweet, brave Raoul. She didn't speak.

"Shall I make your choice for you, Christine? You won't like what I pick," he warned.

Christine groaned. "I can't. I can't. Don't make me!"

His face fell for a moment, before being replaced by a scowl. "I'm too horrible a prospect, then? Well, it seems you've waited too long. Your viscount could hold his breath no longer." Christine turned to face Raoul's body, and began to scream.

It was as though she had just been punched in the stomach. Her voice was no longer her own, but that of a wounded wild animal, turning into an unearthly howl. "YOU BEAST!" She fell to the floor, unable to move. She didn't realize he had approached her until she felt his hands gently pulling her up. This was more than she could bear. She clawed his face, punched at him, spit, striking out at her tormentor in any way she could. He made no resistance. It made her feel no better. She felt like she had been torn in two. Her Raoul was dead because of her, because of this man - no, he could not be a man, this demon sent to torture her for her evil. And evil she must be, to deserve this fate. Didn't Raoul know better? She brought harm everywhere she went. First her mother, who died giving birth to her, then her father, the opera house, and now poor, dead Raoul.

When she collapsed again out of exhaustion, she could see the blood streaming down the demon's face. He stared at her, broken, with seemingly no malice left in his features. "You can leave," he half-whispered. "You should go before the mob arrives."

She could hear them now, and even see the flicker of their torches on the labyrinthine walls. She giggled to herself, because what was the point of running now? No doubt they would see her as the witch she was, and burn her at some make-shift stake. Perhaps with her dead, her demon would vanish in a puff of smoke. Better for both of them really. No point in living now, no return... she began to sob again.

Meg found her like that, on the floor, face red and eyes wild. She called to some stagehand or another to pull her up and get her out of there before the mob descended on the Phantom. Christine didn't look behind her. She felt herself being lifted into the cursed gondola, and rowed away. They didn't get far before the cheers of the mob behind them gave the three inhabitants of the boat a clear idea of what was finished. Christine screamed with every fiber she had left. Her angel was dead, her demon released.

Christine couldn't understand why they hadn't killed her with him. Couldn't they see the fault written on her every part? She didn't deserve to live, and who was there left to live for? She had killed all of them. She could almost hear each of their voices, condemning her. Viper, Pandora, Delilah, Christine. All brought death. Meg and the stagehand were probably in danger even being in the boat with her.

She stood up uneasily. The water looked deep here, and she had never learned to swim. She thought of the red scarf Raoul has run after for her. She could have never gotten it on her own. This dress was heavy, it would probably hold her down. She ignored the stagehand telling her to sit down, Meg's pleadings with her to be reasonable, and stepped off the side of the gondola.

In the last moments that she was conscious as the cold water embraced her, she thought of her father, happy, healthy, playing the violin. She saw Raoul, smiling and spinning her in circles. And she saw someone she half recognized, with a complete face and the traces of a smile. She smiled back and reached out to embrace her phantom image of a life.