Would she have been happy?
I wonder this and many things, never say it. One word and she will know I am there.
In the bright autumn light, Christine looks even more beautiful. Night never suited her. I never suited her. I watch as she wanders through the gardens of her new home, quite some distance from Paris. The house's massive shadow does not reach where she is walking, the sun slowly dipping down as the afternoon waxes on. The leaves are scattered about everywhere, still tumbling from their branches as she walks beneath them.
The boy provided her with everything she could ever want or need here. As much as I hate him, want him to die for taking Christine from me, I will concede that he takes care of her. When he comes home to her, its as if nothing in the world exists except for them. I would have given her that; I gave her that when she came down to my lair.
I am brought back by the coo of the child. A little girl they named Cecilia after the patron saint of music. Christine cradles her the babe in her arms, smiling down at her and talking softly. I wonder if maybe that child should have been mine. A year passed before I saw her in Paris again. He took her everywhere in the world, a whole year of a wedding voyage. Only days later did I hear that they were expecting a child.
I close my eyes as Christine starts to sing. A smile creeps across my disfigured face upon hearing the tune. Even after all she has been through, she still sings my songs. The songs I wrote for her and no one else. It is just the notes, no words. I remember her in the white dressing gown, a sheer skirt, and a bodice that exposed her then virgin flesh. She sat in the boat, watching me as I sung the same song to her. I carried her to the bed after she fainted, everything overwhelming her at once. So close, so close her. Even then, I knew I could not take her, would not take her.
You alone can make my song take flight. I look over to her again as the words came from her. I did not know she heard the end of the song. I cram the tears in my eyes back. I let them fall for far too long as I left the dying opera house. No matter how far I went, how fast I ran, I could still hear Christine and Raoul singing as he took her away from me. I close my eyes again, her voice intoxicating me, driving me into bliss I had not felt in so long.
"You're back," she said, a bright smile on her face as her husband walks over to her and the baby. I watch him plant a gentle kiss on the child's cheek, softly stroking her curls. Envy creeps into me, rage inflamed as he kisses Christine. I have my sword, my hand clutching at the hilt. I could kill him now, take him from this world. He is defenseless! He would rather die than see Christine or Cecilia harmed.
That is what stops me. I see how happy Christine is when they pull back. The sunlight makes her look like an angel, a goddess. I slip silently from my place and walk beside them, hidden by the large, thick bushes. I watch through the foliage as he guides her back to the house. The door shut to the outside world and I begin to climb to a rooftop entrance.
I am not leaving just yet.