With You

Walking down the aisle one month later was much harder than I had ever dreamed. It was a beautifully decorated chapel, and people stuffed themselves into the pews. I did not know any of them, as they were all Raoul's relatives and friends. I constantly got cold feet, making a new decision every day. Betrayal and guilt overwhelmed me when I was not busy with wedding plans, and those were the times when I considered running...somewhere. And that was why I so busily engaged myself in discussing every detail, helping Raoul's mother with nearly everything; I tried to keep my mind occupied with other things.

It was completely obvious that Raoul's family did not hold me in much respect.

"You have caused our family quite a bit of grief," my future mother-in-law said lightly, thumbing through a book of sample tablecloths and avoiding my eye.

"Mother!" Raoul gasped, entering with an armload of paper.

Hot shame swept through me, and my eyes and face burned. "Excuse me," I whispered, hurrying over to the door.

"Thanks, mother," I heard Raoul say coldly to her, and he caught up with me, stopping my flight with a crushing hug. "Don't listen to her," he muttered into my hair.

"But it's true!" I cried into his chest. Someone else entered the room, yet I could not care less and continued. "You wasted four years of your life just waiting...What if I had never come back? Would you have waited?"

The person that had entered the room laughed. "Of course not! Even Raoul was finally beginning to think you were dead."

I felt him stiffen and let out a string of unintelligible words, which ended with him hissing, "Philippe!"

"Well, it's true," his brother said, shrugging nonchalantly and sitting down in the nearby armchair, snapping his paper open and disappearing behind it. Raoul took my hand and led me out of the room, his face red and his mouth thin.

"Christine – " he began, but I stopped him.

"I don't blame you. I was gone for a long time...it was natural for everyone to think I was dead. And I'm glad you waited for that long."

A small smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. "When I saw you at the opera it gave me a kind of charge. I knew he wouldn't kill you. He was too possessive; I saw it, the way he held your arm and led you down the hall..." Raoul's eyes seemed to burn with a smoldering hatred, and I shivered, wishing for him to stop, but he continued.

"He called you his 'wife,' Christine. How – what – ?"

I could not see a way to convincingly squirm out of answering this, so I tried. "He..." I swallowed, feeling a lump rise. "He forced me to..."

Raoul looked horrified. "So he did...he actually did? Even after what you said – ?"

My face burned. "No, he didn't. He was actually very kind to me, Raoul, an absolute gentleman when it came to what I wanted. When I asked him not to, he complied. He gave me everything I wanted." I buried my face in my hands, overcome by memories and emotions, and trembled pathetically.

"I don't understand. Why, then, did he take you in the first place?"

I never expected Raoul to understand. To understand how I felt, what I felt, one has to go through my ordeal. And, trust me, no one should. Nothing will ever be the same.

"He...he loved me." My face burned and I forced my gaze to Raoul, who looked a bit disgusted.

"He loved you," my fiancé repeated.

"Yes."

Raoul looked very skeptical. "The way he touched you, how he wrenched you around, how he...almost killed me...And he 'loved' you?"

My temper flared briefly; Erik had many faults, but he loved me to the point of obsession! This was something Raoul would, and could, never understand. He seemed to love me, too, but Erik's love...it was frighteningly passionate.

"He did," I said coldly. We fell silent as footsteps passed by the room, and resumed only when it was completely silent.

"Did you ever see his face?" Raoul asked me seriously. I remembered, with a squeak of fright, the day when I took off his mask; how he had hurt me, how I had hurt him. There was a tense silence.

"No," I finally said.

He was disappointed. "Nothing?"

I resisted glaring at him. "Once I tried...it was scary; I have never seen anyone that angry. I didn't try again."

After an embarrassed apology, Raoul checked his watch. "My mother should be gone now; some stupid gossip circle with a friend. Would you like to go finish?"

I nodded; this small conversation had actually taken a great deal of weight off, and I found myself enjoying Raoul's company for one of the first times since returning. He was so sweet and very light-hearted; my old feelings stirred, and I remembered the untroubled days four years ago.

"How about this one?" he said, grinning and showing me a truly hideous shade of orange. I stuck out my tongue and wrinkled my nose.

"What?" he exclaimed, seemingly offended. "I liked it!"

We laughed and spent the rest of the afternoon picking out the ugliest napkins, tablecloths, drapes, and flower bouquets. When his mother returned, though, the mood fell.

"You haven't accomplished anything!" she snapped, her matching yellow sunhat trembling on her head. Raoul gave me a sideways glance and snorted. His mother sighed loudly.

"Honestly, dear, I still do not think you're ready for marriage." She said this with the slightest touch of hope in her voice, and my small smile vanished. "You can always wait, you know. Maybe see a few different people. Alice has a daughter around your age – "

Raoul stood suddenly, cutting her off. "Margaret de Chagny, I am marrying Christine Daae in a month's time, and nothing you can say will stop that. So I suggest you simply accept this and stop that stupid scheming."

His mother looked flabbergasted and was silent as Raoul motioned for me to follow him. I did, gladly, and he walked upstairs, his strides long and agitated, not stopping until we were in front of my room.

"Christine, I am so sorry," he said softly. "She takes a while to accept new people. So does my brother..." He gave a grin. "My sisters, on the other hand, will absolutely fawn over you. They love small, pretty things."

I managed a small smile, just to try and placate him. "Thank you for everything, Raoul. I...I don't know what I would have done without you."

He hugged me and let me go to my room, where I collapsed onto the bed, wanting to sob, and yet I was much too tired. I slept wonderfully that night.

----

Long walks became my favorite pastime. After lunch I would throw on a light jacket and head outdoors. To where, I had no idea. I simply enjoyed the crisp air and the changing colors of the leaves. Each day I walked a bit farther, finding myself growing healthier from breathing in fresh, pure air and warming my blood. To my delighted surprise, I soon stumbled upon a small family park. Raoul's brother did not live in New York City, but a few hours north, and it was good to start afresh in a smaller town. Walking around the park aimlessly, my hands in my pockets, I watched silently as mothers shepherded their young children around. Once, a plump-cheeked little boy with the bluest eyes I have ever seen ran up behind me and tugged on my coat.

"Mama!" was the brusque voice that issued from his little lips. I turned around and smiled. He backed away, looking quite heartbroken. A woman with eyes to match his marched up and took his hand. To try to cover the awkwardness, I offered her a smile. She looked at me for a moment, then her lips curled, and she walked away without saying a word. As I walked back, trying to swallow the tears, I realized what had caused the mother's behavior. Contrary to Raoul's belief and hope, I was not unaware of what the press had written about me. I tried to push it away, but the shame and loneliness was quite unbearable at times. Soon, however, it all died down. I became old news, and it was much easier to go places.

The wedding grew closer, and my walks became longer. I spent whole afternoons simply walking around and around the park, not returning home until after dinner. Raoul asked if he could accompany me many times, and I allowed him to once or twice, but it was never as meaningful as it was when I was alone. Soon he stopped asking, seeing that it was my time to reflect and to think, and I was grateful. Then something incredible happened.

It was getting late, and most people were leaving for the night. I had no desire to leave, so I began to make another circle around the park. The sun was sinking behind the colorful trees, and I knew Raoul worried about me when I stayed out past dark. Just as I was about to turn around and head home, a man stepped right in front of me. A startled gasp jumped from my lips, and I took a few steps back.

"Please," he said quietly. "It's all right. I've been asked to give this to you."

He took a step closer and a small streak of sunlight fell onto his face. He was young, probably only a few years younger than I, with darkly curled hair and brown eyes. I had never seen him before in my life, so I eyed him warily, my legs ready to spring into action. The man, however, simply pulled a book-sized package and held it out to me. Making no move to take it, I questioned:

"What is it?"

"To be honest, I've no idea," he admitted. "I was just told to give it to you."

"By whom?"

A small smile stole across his face. "I'm going to set it on this bench. If you want it, just pick it up." With slow, deliberate movements, he walked over to the wooden bench nearby, set the package down, and stepped back. Without another word, he turned around, shoved his hands in his pockets, and strolled away leisurely, whistling. When he was no longer visible, I walked over to the package warily and picked it up. It was relatively heavy, but not unbearably so. After shaking it a few times, I ripped it open. An envelope fell out and fluttered to the ground. Snatching it before the wind could carry it away, I squinted at the small word. Christine.

I knew that handwriting...

With a sob I tore it open, letting the box fall to the ground with a thump. To my dismay, the light was so poor I could hardly make out the first sentence. I gathered the parcel on the ground and hurried back to the house, the letter clutched fiercely against my violently pounding heart. The door creaked slightly as I opened it, and I stole in as quietly as I could, having no wish at all to be questioned. As quietly and quickly as my feet could manage, I made it to my bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind me. Trembling so badly I almost ripped the letter in half, I began to read.

My darling Christine,

Alas, the bliss I have enjoyed for that short period of life could never have lasted. Fate has never been kind to me, my dear, and so I dared not to think that it would be this time. My death will not come as a surprise to me, and I write this in hopes that you will learn to forget all about your Erik. It is only a question of when this will be found that concerns me, but I am confident that you shall receive it.

I was never meant to hold a woman in my arms, but the love you have shown me has taught me many things on life. Things even I did not know. I have experienced all joy life has to offer, and leave with the full experience of mortality.

Do not dwell on me, Christine. It would not do for either of us. I do not deserve to be remembered by anyone, especially someone as breathtaking as you. I wish you to marry someone that deserves you – though I must admit I hardly believe anyone does. Once I wished for you to be mine and mine alone. Now that I know it is impossible for us to be together for always, I wish for your happiness only. Please, darling, find someone.

Lie to them. They will not understand it any other way. Even as much as it pains me to instruct you to do so, it will be much easier for you. Do not go into details, Christine. A few tears would help. You are quite talented in that performance.

Do not weep for me. I was never worth a single one of your tears. I caused many. It pains me greatly to think that I caused you many sleepless nights of fear and terror. I was terrified to approach you like a normal man. Mankind was never compassionate towards me. I was stupid enough to think you would be the same. Taking you was the only way I knew how. I do believe I ruined your life, Christine Daae. Worry not. When you read this I shall be gone forever. By your reaction I shall see what to do with my afterlife.

You have given me life. I was dead before I saw your face. A living shadow of a man, skulking around the earth, and your clear innocence gave me a sudden burst of oxygen. This world is a horrible, disgusting place, and you were a magnificent flower in the midst of a wasteland. I am a selfish man. I plucked you from the midst and carried you home to keep by my side for what I hoped would be forever.

I love you. I have never felt any emotion as strong as I have while simply being by your side. Hate, grief, jealousy…nothing can compare to love. I have now done everything I set out to achieve in my life. It is over now. You have given me everything I could not attain by myself. Once again, do not weep for me.

Erik

But I did weep. I had never though it possible for someone to shed so many tears in a lifetime as I have in mine. In a matter of minutes I had read the letter over and over, and in a considerably short time I had it memorized. Everywhere I go, this letter goes with me. Even now it is pressed against my heart. After hours simply pouring over this beautiful letter, I remembered the package that I had unceremoniously discarded on the bed. A gasp of surprise escaped as I tore open the paper and found my journal, bound neatly in an emblazoned cover, which read Christine. While at Erik's, it had merely been a messy stack of papers, and I ran my fingers over the smooth exterior many times. During the confusion of being returned, I had all but forgotten my memoirs, and then, when I remembered that I had left them, it did sadden me. As I clutched it to my breast, a note fell out of the pages.

I enclose this in hope that it will give you some comfort. Yes, I was highly aware you kept a journal, though never made any real effort in discovering it. I thought, for once in my miserable life, I should respect your privacy.

I reread my journal again that night. Surprisingly, it did give me some comfort. Only when I looked at the calendar did my face fall; there was less than one month till I would be married.

----

The three weeks passed by in a blur. Raoul's mother was sullen and irritable and avoided me; I did all I could to encourage this action. A week before the wedding, Raoul's two sisters appeared on the doorstep. They were both older than I, and the elder, Nicolette, had children of her own, yet when the three of us were alone, they acted like teenage girls, giggling and gossiping over the silliest things. I had not been in a situation like this in the longest time, so I sat, smiling uncomfortably, while they "oohed" and "aahed" over the dress I had bought the previous day.

"Christine, you're too quiet!" Arian said sternly. "You haven't told us anything!"

"What is there to tell?" I asked politely. The two gave each other furtive looks and giggled.

"You know..." Nicolette grinned.

"I always thought Raoul would be horrible," Arian said thoughtfully. "He's so calm and nice all of the time. No – " She clawed the air and let out what was supposedly a growl.

Finally understanding what they were talking about, a blush inflamed me. "We...we haven't," I said, seeing their eager faces, which turned to disbelief.

"Hmm, that suits him," Nicolette scoffed. She then shrugged and the two of them began to decide how I should wear my hair and what jewelry would match. I was starting to get a headache and closed my eyes as they started debating over what I should wear the night of.

"I have this nice, silky gown."

"No, it would drown her, she's too tiny. But I have a negligee that would be perfect."

"If she's going to wear a negligee, she needs one of her own. I know! Let's all go downtown and shop!"

I didn't think I could handle this and excused myself. They didn't seem to notice, now happily fighting over what color would look best with my skin tone. I nearly ran into Philippe in my haste.

"Sorry," I gasped quickly.

He gave a cold glance at me and then to the door, where his sisters' voices could be heard. After rolling his eyes, he said, "They're at it again. A word of advice: don't go back in there."

Without another word he strode off imperiously. I was wandering aimlessly, avoiding everyone I could and trying not to think, when I saw Raoul through his opened bedroom door. I entered quietly, watching him think. He was really very handsome, with soft blond hair that fell with a casual elegance, a straight nose, deep blue eyes, and a finely sculpted mouth. Suddenly, I wished he was ugly. I wanted him to have thin, dark hair, golden eyes, slight, shapeless lips and no nose. Almost desperately, I walked over and wrapped my arms around him, willing myself to open my eyes and find Erik sitting there, giving me a bemused look, reading a book in German, with his long legs situated comfortably underneath him.

But it was only Raoul, looking outside, reading no book, his blue eyes sparkling.

"Have they driven you crazy?" he laughed. "I'm sorry for letting them be alone with you. Once they start they just can't stop." He sat up a little straighter. "But I have good news! We're going to Paris!"

He said this as if hoping to excite me, but I felt the blood drain out of my face.

"Paris?" I repeated quietly.

He nodded. "For our honeymoon," he explained, frowning. "What's wrong? You don't want to go?"

Paris. I felt dread bud in my chest. "Please, can't we go somewhere else? Anywhere else?"

He looked a bit disappointed. "If you really want to...Philippe has a friend who has an estate in Italy..."

"Yes!" I exclaimed. "Yes, Italy would be perfect. Just not Paris, please."

"All right, Christine, if you really want to."

I gave a nod and we fell into a silence before Raoul broke it, saying, "I'll go get those two out of your room so you can sleep."

----

The week seemed to slip beneath my fingers, no matter how desperately I grabbed at the time. The day before the wedding found my mother-in-law frantically making last-minute phone calls, checking the guest list, making sure the chapel had been booked properly, and all sorts of last-minute details. Raoul and I sat in the dining room, listening to her voice rise shrilly. It sounded as if the caterer had been planning on serving the wrong kind of wine. Raoul rolled his eyes and grinned at me. I, however, frowned.

"I feel horrible," I confessed suddenly. "I haven't paid for any of this! And the bride's family usually pays for the wedding." My face burned.

"Don't worry about it, Christine," Raoul answered soothingly. "It isn't a big deal. Besides, we are your only family." I suppose it was meant to sound reassuring, but it made me even more upset.

"Your mother is very angry," I said quietly.

Raoul laughed. "You're worried about my mother? She'll accept it...just not right away, I'm sure. And she would be acting this way if I got married to a girl she chose; she doesn't want to see me move away, since I'm the youngest."

I gave a tiny nod, not completely convinced, and listened as Margaret banged about the kitchen, trying to find a number.

"Christine, she is a perfectionist," Raoul went on, seeing my discomfort. "She needs everything to work smoothly, and not for her own benefit. Her friends are...judgmental, to put it lightly."

We were interrupted by Arian, who was carrying Nicolette's two-year old son. "What are you still doing here?" she demanded Raoul, who looked confused. "You can't be here tonight!" She impatiently adjusted her nephew on her hip and continued. "Spend the night at my house; it's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding, and we don't want to take any chances."

Raoul heaved a sigh and stood up in defeat. "Fine, fine. I know there won't be any way to persuade you otherwise. Christine..." He looked at me, his blue eyes shining, and I felt so guilty that I was tempted to get up and run away, away from the sorrow. Raoul swallowed and tried to speak a few times, but nothing came out.

"Goodnight," he finally blurted, and he left the room quickly.

Later that night I did my routine for bed. As I was turning down the sheets, familiar prickles on the back of my neck made me stand straight up, looking around frantically.

"Erik?" I whispered breathlessly. It was silent. Holding my breath, I walked slowly around the room, though I knew I would not be able to find him unless he revealed himself to me. "Erik?" I repeated, my excitement slowly dripping away. The tingle that had been running down my spine ceased, and I fell, heaving with disappointment, onto the bed. My fragile happiness shattered, and the pain was so fresh and raw that I wanted to rip out my very heart. I could not trick myself into thinking that Erik could be only a happy memory; I wanted – I needed – him to be more.

Slight pattering reached my ears, and I looked up to see rain starting to fall. It cried with me, a slight trickle entering the room through the open balcony door and soaking a patch of carpet. Erik had told me once that he loved rain; after a beautiful, yet violent, storm, everything seemed so fresh and alive afterwards. I stumbled towards the balcony, ignoring the chill that crept into the room. My tears mingled with the rain, and I let the water envelop me. As I took another step, I slipped on the surface and clutched the guardrail desperately, sinking down onto the cold wood, shaking with sobs that even I could not hear.

I do not know how long I stayed like that, huddled on the wet balcony, weeping pathetically, before Nicolette came in. She gave a small cry and pulled me out of the rain, shutting and latching the balcony door firmly behind us.

"What are you doing? You'll catch your death!" A warm nightgown was thrown at me. "Get out of your wet clothes, hurry!" I waited for her to leave so I could switch clothes, but she did not. Finally, she impatiently walked over.

"What are you, five? We're both girls." She pulled the sopping wet gown over my head and pulled the new one on. I blushed fiercely, feeling extremely childish. The tears had not stopped and I quietly watched her turn up the heater.

"Now, what were you thinking, exactly?" she asked again, turning around. Seeing my tears, she stopped short. "Oh. Oh, Christine," she said softly, pulling me into a motherly embrace. This tenderness and parental-like love was overwhelming, and I sobbed into her shoulder, making no resistance as she sat us down on the bed and stroked my hair.

"Do you want to tell me what's wrong, Christine?" Nicolette asked gently.

"How can I do this to him?" I burst out after a minute. "He made me promise...but I can't! I can't forget! And poor Raoul...how does he put up with me?" I stopped short, overcome with fresh sobs. Nicolette did not understand what I meant, I know, but she did not ask further questions.

"Christine, listen to me," she commanded softly. "You have every right to be the way you are right now. Only you know all that happened when you disappeared, and you don't have to tell anybody. You don't have to, but you should. It would make you feel better."

I shook my head frantically. "I can't...nobody would understand. They weren't there; they don't know how strange and wonderful it was, how his music seemed to guide me, how much he loved me."

Now, with a clear mind, I know that I would not have revealed that much had I been given that moment back. But Nicolette was so understanding, so loving and compassionate, that I could not help myself. She let me cry uninterrupted for endless minutes, and eventually they subsided into small whimpers.

"Do you feel better?" she asked kindly.

I nodded and hiccupped slightly. A small smile escaped as I remembered the time Erik had scared away my hiccups.

"There you go," Nicolette said encouragingly. "You should sleep, Christine. You have a big day tomorrow."

"Thank you," I said quietly as she stood up. "Very much."

She laughed. "We're family. It's the least I could do. Goodnight, Christine."

When she made it to the door I called out one more time. "Wait! Don't...don't tell Raoul," I begged. "Please."

"I wasn't planning to."

----

I sat upright in bed, panting and shaking. After peering at the clock next to the bed, I realized there was only thirteen hours until I would be married. My mouth became extremely dry, and I swallowed a few times before finally giving up and heading downstairs. After at last finding the light switches in the kitchen, I looked around hopelessly. There were quite a few cupboards lining the wall and spreading out underneath the sink. Giving a small sigh, I began my search, my head pounding slightly as it always does after I cry. There was a small noise and I whirled around, a small cry of fright escaping my lips.

A blush began as I saw Philippe standing in the doorway, wearing a grey robe over his pajamas.

"S – sorry," I muttered. "I just wanted a glass of water."

He took a few steps towards the fridge. "How about some milk instead?"

Taken aback, I thanked him politely and watched as he pulled out the carton, easily located two clean glasses, and poured the milk to the brim. This was...very different from the Philippe to which I had become accustomed. He yawned widely, shoved the milk back into the fridge, and sat down across from me.

"Couldn't sleep either?" he grumbled.

I nodded and sipped the milk nervously before hurriedly saying, "Thank you very much for letting me stay here."

He gave a jerk of his head and sighed. "I should be thanking you, Christine."

"What?" I almost spit milk everywhere and hurriedly set the glass down a safe distance away. Philippe would not look me in the eye as he continued.

"For Raoul. I've never seen him so happy. When you disappeared, he was...devestated, to say the least. It was a bit annoying, actually. I didn't think he cared for you that much. And, when you hadn't returned after four years, I tried to convince him that you were dead. He started to believe me. It was horrible, the way he spoke and acted around everyone." He finally looked up from his glass. "The change was incredible when you came back. I have never seen him happier than he is right now. He – he loves you, Christine."

I swallowed. "I know."

A pregnant pause followed, and Philippe stood up. "Goodnight," he said gruffly, and left hurriedly. I cleaned up the glasses and returned to my room, now wide-awake. It was incredible, the feeling that filled me. How could I be loved by both of these men? I was unworthy of their attention; they both could have done so much better. It was hard to comprehend, as I was nothing special. I spent the next few hours sitting over this question, staring at the floor and watching sunlight slowly and gradually stain the carpet. It smelled wonderful; the rain seemed to rejuvenate the earth, and I breathed deeply, letting the air calm my nerves.

There was a loud knock on the door. "Christine? Are you awake? Today's the day!"

Nicolette entered, followed by Arian. Nicolette hugged me gently.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"Better," I said truthfully. "Thank you again."

She nodded as Arian called out, "I filled up the tub. Hurry, we're going to be late!"

Hours flew away; I hardly had time to think about what I was doing. Nicolette and Arian were running everywhere, shoving things into my hands, pulling at my hair, and generally battering me about.

"Here, eat this," Arian said, putting a banana in my hand. "It helps. Besides, you don't want to eat anything more. Everyone feels sick before their wedding."

To be honest, I did feel a little queasy, especially when they pulled the wedding dress over me. I looked down. It was different than the dress Erik had given me, and a lot less pretty. It seemed very extravagant, a mass of ribbons, lace, and bows. For a second I wondered what on earth had possessed me to get it. Arian and Nicolette, however, stepped back and gave a big sigh.

"She's so pretty," Arian said dreamily. I blushed and quietly stood while they sat me down and attacked my face with makeup. It hurt quite a bit, the way they pinched and pulled. I was grateful when they stepped back, but they weren't done.

"What about her hair?"

"I called for an appointment, but they were full!" Arian wailed.

After a few minutes Nicolette had forced Arian to run upstairs and grab, by the sound of it, a rather expensive clip of their mother's. Ignoring my protests, Arian furtively darted through the door and back downstairs, clutching the hairpiece to her breast protectively.

"Don't worry, Christine," Nicolette assured me, putting it into my hair. "I'll tell my mother that we forced you to put it on."

To save my hand, I shall simply say that the next hour was spent doing touchups, and the next hour was spent getting everyone to the chapel. I waited, terrified, in a small room, pacing back and forth, chewing on my lip. Erik would not leave my mind.

"Please," I whispered insanely. "Don't do this to me...you made me promise! I've tried so hard...I can't bear to look at you now." I shut my eyes fiercely, willing myself not to cry. The door creaked open softly, and I turned quickly.

"Christine?" Arian said softly, opening the door wider. "It's time."

I choked slightly and took a few jerky steps towards the door. Arian took my hand to steady me, and we slowly made our way towards the chapel. My other hand came to a rest on my heart, by which Erik's worn letter was resting.

Arian tried to comfort me by whispering words that did not make me even glance at her. I suppose I should be more sympathetic; she tried very hard, but it was standard advice, something every mother or sister would give her kin before a wedding. I was silently praying for strength to not flee out the door the minute I stepped into the aisle. Taking a deep breath, I tried to wipe my mind clean.

We stopped in front of the doors. Philippe suddenly appeared, and I felt my stomach flip. Since I had no father or other family, Raoul's brother had grudgingly agreed to escort me. Arian hugged me, whispered "Good luck," and was gone. I thought I was going to faint and leaned heavily on Philippe's arm.

Erik, what would you have said to me? What if you had been there, next to me, watching as I took the steps that would make me someone else's wife? Would you have intervened, even after all that had happened? You did not, Erik. You did not stop me. You did nothing as I faced Raoul and said, "I do." You did nothing.

But am I completely going insane? You are dead! I never thought death could stop you, Erik. I suppose I was wrong; Raoul and I flew to Italy that afternoon, and still you did not come. Nothing stopped us...You did not come.

And yet I still love you, Erik. I love you more than music itself, for you are music, and how I miss you! I find it cruel how you left me in that way, yet I cannot be angry at you for long. I want to tell you, Erik, that I am sorry. I'm sorry it took me so long to finally love you. Sorry for all of the anguish and sorrow I caused you, for the physical and emotional pain I put you through. And though I know you'll never read this, it gives me comfort knowing that it is on the paper from your house; you let me have a few more pieces. They are all the physical memories that I have of you. And now they are almost gone. Perhaps I shall lock this horrible journal away somewhere where no one will ever find it...no one. Maybe, when it is crumbled to dust, it will join your opera. It will never be as magnificent or horrible, but it is your life; this is mine. My own Don Juan.

Raoul has given me a new journal, which is good, since this is my last sheet of paper, and it is almost gone. I close this now with the hope of a better future, though it will never be wonderful, since it does not include you. My heart is in constant pain, and I wish you would let me join you. But you have made me stay in more ways than one. Even in death, you plan and guide me. You will never be completely gone, but you will exist in the cruelest way possible. Endlessly teasing me with your presence, but never appearing, you will soon take me with you, Erik.

I see black light.

Christine