A/N: This is complete serendipity. I just woke up this morning with a plot bunny squeaking at me, and this is what came of it. I HAVE NOT READ THE BOOK! Please don't sue me, but flames are heard and appreciated.
DISCLAIMER: I disclaim the need to put in a disclaimer.
It's over now, the Music of the Night
Christine de Chagny woke up suddenly. It was either far too late or far too early to be awake, but Christine had a strange feeling that she had to look in the mirror. She obeyed this strange feeling.
It was the very mirror that, fourteen months ago, had concealed and revealed her angel of music. She ran one hand around the frame, wishing irrationally that it would open. It opened soundlessly, revealing nothing but blackness. She listened for the snoring of the Vincomte—it had not stopped. She picked up the candle from her bedside table and lit it. Christine stepped into the world of night.
As soon as she stepped in, she heard the angel of music singing songs in her head. She walked slowly down the dusty, damp, dark passageway. The candle she held lit little more than the next step she was to take. Suddenly, she missed the floor—she had nearly forgotten the flight of stairs leading to the bridge. She did not fall. Some sort of presence seemed to keep her on her feet. The stairway had thirty steps, she remembered. One, two, three…twenty-nine, thirty. Christine walked to the center of the bridge. With every step she took, the music got clearer. The angel of music was singing to her, leading her to the place sacred to the music of the night. She did not need to pole the boat across the lake, for the angel of music was there to push it. The candles that had once given the lake an eerie glow had long since gone out.
With a grating noise the boat reached the far shore of the lake. Christine stepped out of the boat and walked slowly to the chair where the Phantom of the Opera had been wont to sit. The candle showed that there was nothing in the chair but the white mask the he had once worn. There were tears in Christine's eyes and they refused to stay there.
She knelt before the throne of night. "My angel," she whispered, "I am sorry."
"Christine…" murmured the Presence, its voice echoing faintly.
"I am here." Christine touched the mask. She felt the Presence dry her tears. "Are you dead, my angel?"
"I am," said the Presence. Christine felt it wrap around her, and the singing grew louder. She closed her eyes and leaned against it—oddly enough, it supported her. She let all her memories of those fateful months wash over her as the Presence hummed softly.
"You should go," declared the Presence after a very long time. "Light is returning to the world of day. I will lead you." Gently the Presence lifted Christine to her feet and propelled her back to the chamber behind her room. The singing that had been echoing through her head for the hours she had been in the world of night grew fainter as she came closer to the portal to the world of day.
"Christine, I love you," the Presence whispered as Christine opened the mirror. She felt it vanish.
Down a flight of stairs and across a lake, the mask that had been the Phantom of the Opera's vanished as well.
Christine slowly closed the mirror. "It's over now," she sang softly to her reflection, "the music of the night."
Closing note: The last song in the musical makes me cry every time I listen to the soundtrack. For some reason, now that I've written a sequel, it feels worse. I hope you're grateful. R&R.