The years went by, and as many things changed, others remained the same. I watched fervently as my son, my Erik, grew. He grew beautifully, having the same charcoal hair as myself and those shining, golden eyes. Christine adored him, and though Raoul was not as joyous as she, he was still tender towards Erik. I knew that Raoul felt an inner grudge against me for spending a night with his wife, and he therefore felt the same betrayal towards Christine. The couple did have problems in those first few months since Erik was born, but eventually they came to a stalemate. Raoul's negative emotions about the whole affair washed away when Christine learned she would have another child, when Erik had grown to four years of age.

Raoul was overjoyed beyond belief. I had never seen him look so happy the day Christine told him she was with child again. To my relief, she was much healthier this time around, and had no problems during her birth. However, I believe that was because they had only a midwife deliver the baby instead of that foolish doctor who didn't understand the female physique.

They named their new daughter Lucille. The girl grew to have the same ash blonde hair that her father had, but she gained a somewhat sour personality. I think it was because Raoul spoiled her so much for being his first child that she grew to have a temper, often throwing fits when she didn't get her way. Lucille would also tease Erik, mocking him for his bizarre hair and eye colours, saying that he didn't truly belong in the family. Another reason for me to feel guilt. However, I hated that girl. It was a fortune she was the only rotten apple in the bunch.

Two years after Lucille was born, Raoul and Christine had another daughter, Marie. She was much less spoiled compared to Lucille, and she ended up being a very sweet child. She earned her mother's chocolate curls and pale blue eyes, and frankly, was the spitting image of Christine. Marie was also a bit of a pushover and she would often side with Lucille when she decided to torment Erik. Therefore, I was not terribly fond of her, at first. It was not until Raoul and Christine had their third and final child that I finally enjoyed the presence of one of their children.

They named him Philippe, their first and only son. Raoul was the one who chose the name, insisting that they honour his elder brother in their son. In turn, Raoul spoiled him all the same. Fortunately, Philippe did not become a rotten child the way that Lucille did. He inherited Christine's brown locks, with the softness of his father's. Philippe was a very quiet, peaceful boy who spent most of his time alone, or with Erik. He and Erik grew very close as brothers, which was astonishing considering their eight year age difference. When he had grown older, Philippe often defended Erik from the harassment that Lucille would try to give him.

I did not think I would be, but I felt at home in Christine's Swedish villa. Staying here was quite pleasant, for a dead man. I had space to myself, and I would often hide out in the attic when I wished to be alone whenever they weren't using it. Swedish attics were strange, as they weren't used for storage, but for social gatherings. Whenever Christine and Raoul would bring their friends into the home, I would instead hide outside, enjoying the noise of the ocean. Staying in Visby was the first time I had ever been able to see the ocean daily. The ocean was not a place for a man who belonged underground.

Years passed peacefully. Christine became an even more successful musical instructor in the village, taking on more than a dozen students. She was a good mother to all of her children, and even Raoul had been a better father than I imagined. He continued to work at sea, so he was not often home. But when he was, I watched him make up for lost time with each of his children. He did everything he could for them.

In my spare time, of which I had plenty, I enjoyed Erik's presence. I was beyond proud to see him gifted with the same prodigy-level of intelligence as myself. He studied architecture, poetry, painting, writing... the only skill of mine he seemed to lack was music. Not that he was bad at music, he simply never bothered to learn it. I could not fathom this, considering that both of his parents were musicians. Christine offered him lessons several times, but he always gave her an indifferent shrug, telling her he would prefer not to.

Nevertheless, he accomplished much in his first few years. All the children had been schooled at home by Christine, but Erik was a prodigy. He had been far ahead the rest of his siblings, and often gained visits from Swedish institutions from the mainland offering him to attend their prodigious schools. He gave them little attention, saying he was happy where he lived. Having dealt with a similar situation in my youth, I related to my son's decision. Though I knew that if his face had been like mine, he would have had no choice but to stay.

I was proud of my son. I was proud of Christine. I may even have been proud of Raoul. My heart that could no longer beat swelled at this family I partially belonged to. Seeing them all together, I was proud of myself for giving Christine up, to let her live this life that she deserved.

Living here, as a ghost, I was... happy.

This was not a familiar sensation for someone like me.

After twelve years since they moved to Visby, the formula changed.

Christine, suddenly overcome with a wave of nostalgia, came to Raoul and told him she missed the life of opera that she left behind. My attention was immediately caught from this change of heart from her, and I was overjoyed. Finally. My angel of music would become a star, just as she deserved to be.

Raoul wasn't convinced. "Where would we go, Christine? Can we really drop everything we have here for that?"

Christine bit her lip as she pondered over her husband's words, "Stockholm built a new opera house a few years ago. My students told me. It's... worth an attempt?" she gave him a shrug and smirk, but he still wasn't going to lean to her side.

"Our children, Christine. What about them?"

"What about them? They're perfectly capable of moving with us."

Raoul groaned, "But there are the issues of their education, we would have to find schools for them... you wouldn't have time to teach them anymore. There's also where we would live, not to mention my line of work and—"

Christine pulled his face to hers for a chaste kiss. Raoul couldn't help but let a soft smile seep out as he took in her embrace. She pulled away first, holding his cheeks in her hands.

"We'll figure it out, my dear. We always do."

Raoul sighed again, finally nodding, "Very well."

I was more intrigued than anything else.

After all, this was what I had hoped for. Christine's voice was astounding; it was everything I had dreamed of hearing onstage. However, I was deeply concerned for her. She was not as young as she used to be, and with her years without proper training, even I could tell she had lost her touch. She still sang daily, especially with her students, but she was out of practice nevertheless. To try and gain back her promising career in opera, it would be very difficult. Opera was a cruel place filled with rejection, and it pained me to imagine how she may respond to it.

I was almost convinced she was unaware of this, until I learned otherwise. When around Raoul or her children, she spoke of returning to opera with enthusiasm and optimism. But when she was alone, I could see how anxious she really was. Her eyes screamed out of fear for her unknown future. I could admit, I was just as worried for her. She had a naïve spirit, even while middle aged, and being rejected for something she hoped so strongly for would break her.

Even knowing this, it only took two months for them to find somewhere in Stockholm to stay. Their old home was kept as a summer home, but also in the case if they had to return permanently. To be honest, I was positive they would have to. There was too much at stake with this move. Raoul had to leave his fishing work, and Christine left a dozen promising students behind. They were terribly upset, and I could feel the guilt that burned in Christine. I could tell she was already beginning to regret this.

I did not wish to follow Christine as she went to the opera, but I truly had no choice. Just the thought of staying home caused that age-old pain to begin swelling again. Raoul stayed home to watch over the children, and so it was just myself and Christine going to the Royal Swedish Opera, called the Operan in Swedish. Seeing the Swedish opera, I was particularly unimpressed. The lackluster interior design and architecture of the building was nothing compared to the one in Paris. I suppose a small northern country did not care as much as the pompous Parisians did.

I followed Christine to the area backstage, where there were dozens of young women waiting for their time to audition. Christine was nervous beyond measure. I could see how her eyes darted around the room, the way she tied her sweating palms together. In a brief act of comfort, I placed a hand upon her shoulder.

I was shocked to see her calm down almost instantly.

When it was finally her turn to sing, I felt my chest ache.

"Christine Daae, is it?" a man who I assumed to be the Opera's director spoke to Christine, his eyes wavering above his half-moon spectacles, "It says here you'll be singing 'The Jewel Song' from Gonoud's Faust, correct?"

"Yes."

I could hear her voice break in that single word.

"Carry on, then."

And so she did.

And so my skin seeped inside my chest and ripped my heart apart. She sang with her usual grace, and suddenly I could see the beautiful young soprano back in the Palais Garnier. Each syllable and each note floated from her lips gracefully. Her tone was a miracle of silk spun into gold. At its peak, her gorgeous voice breathed a new level of life back into me. It felt as if we were back in Paris, and I could feel my surroundings return to box five as I was surrounded by red walls. Christine was back on stage, spinning in joy as her vibrato reached to the audience, the stage lights dancing around her form.

After a gruff voice called out, "Enough!" the illusion shattered.

Her voice caught in her throat, and had been shut down.

The opera manager was glancing over his notes. He seemed displeased with her performance. How dare he.

"How old are you, Christine Daaé?"

"Thirty-two."

"When was your last performance?"

She hesitated, "In 1881... twelve years ago."

"I see," he glanced up at her, expression void from his face, "You have a lovely voice, but it sounds untrained, and not what we're looking for. I think you may fit in the chorus, but your voice needs more work."

Glancing at her face, her blank stare forced my stomach to turn.

"I understand," she spoke so low she was barely audible.

"We'll contact you at a later date. You may go."

Christine spent the rest of the night sobbing in their bedroom. She had Raoul and the children leave her be, but I was there, with her. I had always been there, hadn't I?

She was slumped in a corner, her chocolate curls a tangled mess. I was sitting beside her, my wings wrapped around her frail form and I wished so desperately for my body not to phase through hers. My arms would have been wrapped around her if only I was able to interact with the world around me. All I could do was watch her helplessly, and after some time, I began to sing a soft tune for her.

It took several hours for her to calm down, until it was finally dark. When the crying ceased, she spent at least another hour staring blankly at the wall beside her. When her mind grew bored of that, she lifted herself off the floor and lit the candles in the room, standing before a mirror that took up half the wall in their otherwise tiny bedroom. I remained seated, watching as she continued to stand before the mirror and gaze blankly at her own reflection.

At this, I went to be by her side. I saw my own reflection in the mirror, something I did not understand, considering I did not truly exist. Or perhaps I did, in some form. For when I approached Christine, she jumped and backed away. Her eyes widened and her hand went to cover her mouth to keep from shrieking. I furrowed my brows at her odd behaviour.

She took slow, cautionary steps back to the mirror, "Who are you?"

I froze. No, no... what was this? Could she see me? That was preposterous, for I was dead. I no longer existed in the same realm as she did.

She turned around to face me directly, testing to see if I was there. She still couldn't see me, I knew. For her eyes darted around in what she saw as blank space, searching. She spun back around to the mirror, her finger prodding at the reflective surface.

I decided to take my chances, and I obliged her. "Your angel of music."

She shook her head, "I don't believe that. I had one once already, but I know he's dead," she rubbed her temple with a sigh, murmuring to herself, "strange. You wear the same clothes Erik did."

I nodded, but I knew it was difficult to recognize me without my deformity, "It is I, Christine. Your Erik is here."

"Oh my god... Erik? No, I'm definitely having a dream. This is too much..."

"I swear to you this isn't a dream. Listen to me, Christine," I stepped closer to the mirror, "It is true that I have died. My soul lives on now with you. I have been watching over you since my death."

I could see my face shining brightly in the mirror, the happiness I felt was evident in my expression. Finally, after all these years in solitude, I was with Christine again. I was unable to touch her, but through this mirror, she could see me, and we could communicate. There was little more I could ever ask for. Joy was one of several emotions I was feeling in this moment.

She still didn't seem convinced, "I buried you, all those years ago. Returned your ring. I had hoped that would be the end of it, Erik."

"Christine," I placed my hand upon the mirror, and she glanced at it anxiously, "I wanted everything to end with my death. If a god truly exists, he gave me this afterlife for your sake."

She was silent, still glancing at my hand against the glass. Slowly, her hand rose to meet with mine. In her eyes, she was meeting with my reflection, but for me, her hand was phasing through my own. I exhaled carefully, my joy mingling with a fear of what may happen now.

"I saw you," she spoke solemnly, "on my wedding day. All this time, I thought it was an illusion, or a hallucination, but..."

I had nearly forgotten that. I was just as perplexed as she had been that day, and now I understood. Mirrors seemed to be my one affinity, in both life and death. How ironic that something I once used to force others to end their lives would end up becoming my only window into the world of the living.

"Christine," I spoke with an air of authority, and she pulled her hand away from the glass, much to my dismay, "You need lessons once again. I was there for your audition, and if you wish, I will tutor you once again... like old times."

She paused. Her mind was evidently racing, and I was sure unpleasant memories were flooding through her. I didn't blame her. There was much that I did to her, and if she instead chose to shatter every mirror in sight just to keep me away, I would be content with that. I was a murderer and a liar, and I was not to be trusted.

Despite my fears, her face lit up and she nodded vigorously, "Very well, Erik, I accept your offer!"

I felt my cheeks heat up, and I rushed to cover them knowing I no longer wore a mask. She only laughed at my flustered reaction. Interacting with her like this, again... it seemed as if nothing changed.

With the passage of time, her voice finally returned. It took several weeks of vocal training, but her growth was evident. She worked so hard to get her voice back to how it was twelve years ago, and she was truly astonishing. Each night, after Raoul and the children had gone to bed, I would meet with her in the spare room of the home where we would practice. She had moved the mirror there just so I could interact with her, in a room that was otherwise nothing but storage.

Raoul had noticed, of course. I would see him rise out of bed at some times, and he would wander their temporary home just to find Christine sitting before a mirror by her lonesome. He was concerned, I could tell, but he never took any action.

There were several moments in which I noticed that only Christine was able to see me. Raoul even looked at me directly once while I was before the mirror, but he made no comment or action. I could understand why I only appeared to Christine, as I knew our spirits were already connected. Internally, I had hoped my son would be able to see me through the glassy surface, but he was never able to.

During the months of practice, there were several moments in which Christine wished to speak with me rather than focus on our lessons. I refused to admit it, but I enjoyed those moments most of all. She asked me so many questions. How I died and what happened to me took up most of them at first, but then she went on to ask me about the life I lived before we even met. Which was something I had refused to share back when we were in the opera house in Paris. It was not a pleasant topic, but I had nothing now to lose, so I indulged her.

There was one night when our conversation took a more intimate turn. Or as intimate as we could have been. With only one night shared between us, there was little for us to explore.

She was sitting on the floor, leaning against the glass. I sat opposite to her, in the same position. This was often how we sat during these late-night conversations.

"Do you remember, Erik? That night we spent together?" she spoke quietly, her naïve nature seeping through.

I forced a laugh, "I try not to."

"Why?"

I shrugged, "It... was a foreign sensation for me."

"We have a son, you know... because of that."

I swallowed hard, nodding, "I know."

"Yes, of course you know... I love him so much, Erik. Raoul did not, at first. I named him after you, but you probably knew that," she paused, and I nodded to keep her going, "he reminds me of you. He's a genius. I hope... I hope you're proud of him."

I smiled softly, tears threatening to drip from my eyes, "You've no idea, Christine."

She grinned, nodding. I saw her cry all the same, despite her attempts to hold in her tears.

She sniffed, "I've missed you, Erik."

I froze. I never expected her to hold any feelings such as that towards me. With all the horrors I had delivered to her doorstep, she still cared about my well-being. It was strange... save for the Daroga, I did not think there could ever be a soul who cared for me. She even missed me. I had to release a heavy breath before responding, for my mind was swimming.

"I... thank you, Christine. I've missed you as well."

"You've been with me this entire time," she laughed lightly.

I grinned, "True, but I missed... this. Singing with you, sharing time together."

"If you had not died, I wonder what may have happened to us," she seemed to be speaking half to herself, her eyes hazy as they gazed into empty space. I chose not to answer her. Mostly because I did not know, either.

"We'd best begin tonight's lesson, my dear."

She nodded in agreement.

Finally, her second chance arrived. With three months of training her voice back to how it was twelve years ago, and then some, she was finally ready once auditions were once again open. That director never contacted her as he said he would, and so Christine returned to the opera voluntarily. This time, the entire family joined her, and I knew that their presence gave her an even greater boost of confidence.

Before they left, she came into that empty room hoping to see me. I obliged her.

"Will you be there, with us?"

"Of course," I grinned at her reflection, "I'm always by your side."

She was still anxious upon returning to the opera house in Stockholm, clearly still feeling unprepared for what may arrive. Raoul squeezed her hand whenever her nerves would force her to shake as if she was a tree caught in heavy wind. If I were able to, I would have easily done the same. When Christine went backstage, Raoul took himself and the children to the auditorium to view her performance. I stayed with her backstage, my hand resting against her shoulder.

Only three months ago, I was in her presence without her knowledge. For twelve years, I had done so. It was still difficult to believe she knew that I was here. That I was beside her, watching her... protecting her. I felt as if I had finally been freed from a hell I never asked for, and I was living in paradise. Christine knew that her angel of music was here, beside her, and there was little else I could ask for.

I watched with tears slipping from my eyes as she stepped onstage, ready to perform. She was just as exquisite as she has always been. Every time I witnessed her sing on the stage, I could feel my soul flutter with delight. Today was no exception.

The director of the opera, the same man as before, greeted her cynically, to my distaste. But once Christine projected her gorgeous voice into the auditorium, the man's displeasure shifted. He still did not seem entirely convinced, but he was less unenthusiastic as he had been previously. After her song, he clapped, much to my surprise.

"That was much better, Fru Daaé. We may have a position for you in our chorus."

I froze, albeit for my hands that were trembling in my fury. The chorus? Christine was no longer a chorus girl, she was a star of Paris! She was worthy of any lead role that came her way!

Christine was unsettled, as well, "I... was looking for more than the chorus, sir."

The director nodded, "Your voice is astounding, Daaé. However, your age... is a little too much for the lead of this new production."

Her age?

My blood was boiling. I wished for nothing but to snap the neck of this foolish, foolish man! Christine had the voice of a goddess, she deserved more than the chorus!

As I stood there in my unbridled rage, the lights in the room began to flicker and dim. My wings were curling around me, their feathers unfurling themselves outward. The dozens of women waiting to audition were screeching, and the opera itself began to shake. Christine, I barely paid heed to her, but I saw her eyes darting around the auditorium in horror.

"Erik?" she whispered, just audible enough for me to hear.

The director was trying to ignore the strange events, "Listen, Daaé, there's nothing I can do for you. You have the choir, or nothing. Paris may take your talents, but I'm looking for something fresh."

The lights finally went out, and several women screamed. Somehow, I was still able to see in the pitch black space. My wings beat against the floor, and I rushed to where the director was seated. I chuckled internally to see him shaking in terror, his clammy hands gripping the seat's armrests. Once I had reached him, my hands went around his neck. Amazingly, they did not phase through, but I had been too furious to notice.

The lights began to flicker again, and I reveled in the sight of him clawing at the armrests, his voice choked away the same as his life would be, momentarily.

"Take her!" I shouted, tossing his neck back and forth as if he was a ragdoll.

"Erik, stop it! Please!"

Christine's pleas snapped my senses back to me, and I quickly pulled away from the man. He wheezed and choked, nearly fainting from my release.

I sighed, and stroked a hand through my hair. Before I could even process what just occurred, someone screamed, "The lights!"

I spun around, witnessing the stage lights ripping from their ropes that connected to the ceiling. Christine was standing right below them. I cursed, silently praying that my wings would bring me to her. I heard the lights tear from their bindings, and Christine screamed. In a leap of faith, I jumped towards her at the last moment.

I felt my wings curl around our bodies, blocking the lights away as they crashed into the wooden stage. I heard sparks flying and women screaming, but my only concern was Christine. We rolled down from the stage until my back hit a row of seats, and I immediately looked down at Christine lying in my arms. She moved her arm to rub the back of her head, and I sighed in relief. Then, my breath hitched from realizing her proximity, and I could feel my cheeks flushing. The moment was short, for when I tried to touch her, my body had gone back to phasing through. Once she regained her senses, she lifted herself off the floor and away from me. I laid there for a moment, aching for what I could never have.

"Is everyone well?" a woman called out, one of the employees of the opera. She checked first on Christine, and then on the opera's director.

"What happened?" one of the women who was previously waiting to audition (which clearly would not be happening now) was glancing in horror at the shattered stage lights.

The director pulled himself from his seat, and I could see red marks gleaming around the skin of his neck. He pointed a meaty finger to Christine, and hissed, "Leave. My. Opera."

Christine held her hands in defense, "I—I don't know what happened, sir."

Another woman came to her aid, "How could she have done this?"

The director scoffed and pointed to his neck, "She tried to kill me in the dark! You'd better leave before I have you arrested!"

Christine burst into tears, and Raoul rushed to her side. The children followed, with Erik comforting a terrified Philippe. Lucille was enthusing over the phenomenon to Marie, who was silent. Christine pulled herself into Raoul's arms, eventually forcing the tears away for them to exit the building.

I followed silently, shame and guilt sweeping over me.

They returned to the home they had rented during their time in Stockholm, and Christine was rushing about, packing all of their belongings. Raoul sent the children away to bed, and watched in an empty sort of horror.

"Christine, what happened?"

"I—I don't know, Raoul! Everything went dark, and, and..." she began crying again, and Raoul swept her into his arms, running his fingers through her curls.

"It's alright, Christine, shhh," he soothed her, and she calmed down rather quickly.

She pulled away, leaving only her hands on his chest, "There's nothing left for me here. My... my time in opera is over. Let's just... let's just go back to Visby, back to how things were."

Raoul nodded, "I think that would be best, my dear."

When they kissed, I did not even feel slightly disgusted.

I felt hollow, empty. Some kind of guardian angel I was, putting her in danger that way. It seemed that my temper was still uncontrollable. Nothing about me had truly changed, had it? I was the same... an angry, childish man who could not take 'no' for an answer. I had not the slightest idea how I was able to interact with the living world in that rage of fury, and I barely remembered strangling that man. I should not have been able to touch him at all... what happened to me?

I felt the most ashamed over Christine and her reaction. She went to the mirror that night, her face covered in tears she had pushed away. I stood beside the mirror, but I refused to stand before it. There was nothing I had to say to her, and I especially did not want her to see me.

"Erik, please come out... please," she begged, her hand pressing against the reflective surface, "I know it was you. I know what you did. Please... let's talk, Erik."

Still, I refused to reveal myself to her. But she was stubborn, of course. She sat there for hours, waiting for me, until she finally dozed off and slept against the glass. I stroked a hand through her hair, and decided to sit beside her until she woke.

Internally, I wished to never let her see me again.

Sorry for the delay, this one was difficult for me to put out. Also, I fixed the last chapter from all the historical inaccuracies in it. This chapter might have some too, apologies if so. I know the Royal Swedish Opera was not finished until five years after the events of this chapter but shhhhh. Also electric lights were still becoming a thing in the late 19th century, and I've no idea when Sweden got them. For now I'm going to keep the lights in the opera as electric until I find out otherwise how accurate that may be.

So Christine has been focused on the most, but the chapters from now will focus on Raoul and their kiddos more! They were introduced in this chapter but there wasn't really any room for them with all this opera stuff. I don't usually like making up characters to use in my fics, so I hope nobody minds the kids either. I'm trying really hard to make them interesting, haha.

The idea that Erik could be seen through mirrors was borrowed from ArtistForever! Bless her soul tbh

Thank you as always for the reviews and kudos! There are three chapters left, everything has been planned out, so now it's just a matter of finishing this project. Stay tuned!