She sighed, walking through the graveyard, eyeing the stones. She came to a stop at one, seeing the name written there. Erik Destler. The dates put him at hardly a week old. She smiled to herself, recalling the time she had gone exploring outside of Paris-had happened upon the stone….

"What is this?" he asked, eyeing the mess in the kitchen.

"Oh. I tried baking."

"My dear it looks more as if you were attempting to protect the house from a burglar. What could possibly compel you to attempt baking of all things?"

"I might've gone exploring...and found a gravestone…."

"Did you?" He walked over to the table and picked up one of the blueprints. "I do hope you didn't get anything on this. The designs are complicated in themselves…."

"Why is there a stone with your name on it?"

"What do you mean?"

"There's a gravestone. With your name on it. With the name Erik Destler on it."

He set the plans down. "It was a long time ago. Facades are not easy to keep up, and people would question why a mother had not bothered to bury her own child…." He turned to look at her. "You still have not answered my question as to why you attempted baking."

"There might've been a date on the stone-and that date might've been today's date." She sighed. "And don't people normally bake cakes on people's birthdays?"

He chuckled and shook his head in disbelief. "If you are so determined, then perhaps you ought to run down to the bakery and buy a cake instead of making one."

"I also got this." She held out a wrapped thing. "For you."

He paused and took it from her, undoing the wrappings to reveal a pen. He examined it, eyeing the surface.

"The man said it was really good-and you did keep getting frustrated at all of your other ones, so…."

"You think I deserve something this beautiful when I already have you?"

"It's just a pen!" She blushed. "I'll go and buy that cake before the shop closes."

She sighed and knelt down before the stone, placing the flower she had brought in front of it, seeing the tied piece of parchment.

"Adellade?"

She turned, sighing with relief when she saw that it was only Christine.

"Am I interrupting something?" she asked as she approached. "Erik Destler? Wasn't he your brother? The one who died? The one you imagined?"

"I know he's not real, but the one I did pretend to know-he feels real somehow. I wrote him a letter-almost as a way to pretend that he's real-that I can still talk to him…. Forgive me: I'm interrupting your own visit. Might I accompany you, if you don't mind, of course!"

Christine nodded and led her to another grave. Adellade read over the name. "Charles Daae? Your father?"

"Yes. I was hoping to ask him for guidance. The opera ghost wants me to be the lead soprano in his new opera-yet I don't know if I could, Adellade. I still see him sometimes when I close my eyes…. I can still hear his voice-can still feel him singing to me…."

"The same way I can still feel my brother. As if it's a whole other life…. He told me things-stories, mostly. A story about a demon who loved someone when he thought he couldn't love himself…."

"Did he ever come to love who he was? The demon in those stories?"

"I suppose I'll never know." She shrugged. "He was a nice demon, Christine-and he always was. They only saw the worst of him first, I suppose…." She sighed and turned to go, pausing before she left. "I'm certain he can't be all that terrible. After all: how horrid can an opera ghost truly be?"

He approached the stones, seeing a small speck of color before one. He knelt down and picked it up, seeing the parchment attached to the flower.

He sat down and undid the strings, unfolding the parchment in order to read.

You once told me a story, and now it is my turn to tell you one.

There was a demon who looked out at the world through a crack in a window. He looked out of the crack and saw everyone-and hated himself because of it. Everywhere he went, he hated those around him because they reminded him of who he was.

He had been cursed. An evil monster had placed a curse on him so that he could only see himself as a demon-so that a demon was the only thing anyone else ever saw. Everywhere he looked, he saw himself-he saw what he couldn't be.

So he ran. He ran and he ran. He ran so far that he hid himself away. He hid himself so far away from the world. He tried to be what he couldn't be-to show the world what he could be-what they refused to see.

The world heard his music and saw his art. They claimed that a genius could craft the marvelous things he did-and they wanted to see who it was. He refused to let them see for fear of being rejected.

He turned to the only person who could see beyond his curse and refused to leave for fear of what they would say.

She went up to the people and told them of who he was. The monster who created the demon found her and took her. The monster placed her in chains and made her promise to never seek out the demon again, for if she did, they would both suffer….

I didn't want to tell you this story, but I knew that you would come here and that you would find this. You deserve to know….

I'm sorry, Erik. So very sorry.

But this is the end of our story.

Where she remains locked away, bound by chains to never see her demon again-to never tell him who he truly is beneath his curse.

He is a great man. I can promise you that. He is a great man and he is far from being a demon. So very far from being a demon. If only he were brave enough to show that to the world. So that they may love him as I have.

This is the goodbye that I never had a chance to say.

Goodbye, Erik.

May you stay safe from the monster that cursed you.

She went to gather her things and change in the dressing room. Adellade paused, seeing the note sticking out of the corner of her mirror. She reached up and grabbed it, quickly stashing it in her dress before going out to join Madeline in the carriage.

They reached the flat and she went up into her room, closing the door behind her to read the note, something telling her who it was from….

Know that wherever you may be, wherever you may think me: I am always there. I am always watching you, always protecting you, always keeping you safe.

You were wrong. This is not the end of the story.

That I can promise you.

Whatever it takes: this is not the end.