-A/N- Not too many more chapters to go—But I plan to bring everything to a close in such a way that the ending of the movie still makes sense, since the 2004 film is the basis of this story. Thanks for the reviews!

P.S- I take a few liberties when I have Christine sing… I fudged a few lyrics (okay, so a LOT of lyrics) to the "Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again" song because originally she's singing about her father…in here, she's singing about her lost love. There's a slight difference in emotions there… Also, I add the song "Learn to be Lonely" in here. For those of you who aren't familiar with it, it's the song played during the credits of the movie, sung by the incredibly talented Minnie Driver.

MISERY

His mouth was hardened in a grimace, his teeth biting down so intensely on his bottom lip that he drew blood. The tiny crimson river flowed past his tongue, but he did not notice or care. Running a trembling hand over his cheek, Erik stared at his own image in the mirror, his eyes glassy and unfocused. He opened a drawer and removed a paper, his hand now shaking uncontrollably. Staring into her eyes, he found himself tracing her outline with his fingers distractedly. He glanced up at his reflection once again, and with a sudden, fluid movement, grabbed the frame of the mirror and shoved it backwards. The dresser swayed unsteadily, rocking back and forth on its legs.

Erik's eyes were engaged in an intense staring contest with his reflection, feeling his own self-loathing crawl within himself, slithering like a snake through his thoughts. 'How could I have ever expected to die a happy man?' he wondered, contemplating his own irrational optimism. And yet, for a brief, glorious time, he had thought he would spend the rest of his life in the company of the one person who made him feel wanted. "You're a foolish man, Erik," he told himself out loud. "You must learn to be lonely…" The words he sang were so soft that they were almost impossible to hear. But he sang them nonetheless, if for no other reason than to verify his own abandoned fate.

"Child of the wilderness, born into emptiness,

Learn to be lonely, learn to find your way in darkness.

Who will be there for you, to comfort and care for you?

Learn to be lonely, learn to be your one companion.

Ever dreamed out in the world there are arms to hold you?

You've always known your heart was on its own.

So laugh in your loneliness, child of the wilderness.

Learn to be lonely; learn how to love life that is lived...

Alone."

-

Madame Giry watched him in silence, her heart going out to him in gentle sympathy. He sat in the shadows, passing his fingers over his latest portrait tenderly. Lately, he had said little; only repeating his words of gratitude to her, and sometimes, in the darkness, she head him sing quietly to himself. But there were no hopes for conversation.

Pulling her wooden chair up beside him, she laid her small, wrinkled hand over his large, strong one. He flinched at her touch, then glanced over at her cagily. "I killed a man, Madame Giry." She didn't answer, her eyes following his hand as it wiped sweat from his brow. "Just before I escaped. He was too close…and he had a gun…" Erik's eyes became glazed and vague as his mind fell deeper and deeper into his ocean of memories. "My hand just flew to my sword. I hadn't even thought about it. It was on impulse, an instinct. And I put that blade through his heart…straight through, no second thoughts, no moment of hesitation." He locked his gaze on Madame Giry, and she watched as a tear slipped down his left cheek. "Why does it hurt, Madame? Now, after all this time?"

She stroked the side of his face, as if he were her own son. "You are human, Erik; but now, for the first time, you are embracing it, with all its complications." A low hiss of a sigh flew past Erik's lips. "Loneliness, guilt…love."

He stood suddenly, violently, and grabbed the top of the wooden chair on which he had just been sitting. With one aggressive, vicious gesture, he threw it across the room. It hit the wall with a resonating crash and splintered apart, lying in pieces on the floor. A moment of uneasy silence passed between them, then Erik slowly sank to his knees, sliding down the wall until he met the ground. He covered his face with his hands, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably. His breathing was ragged, uneven. "Damn this beating heart."

Madame Giry watched as the man who had struck terror into the hearts of all who lived in the Opera Populaire, the man who thrived on their fear, fed off it…broke before her eyes. "You need to let go, Erik."

"I cannot!" he yelled, slamming his white-knuckled fists onto his lap. "She was all I had! She was my life, my love…she was the mask I wore!" He looked up at her, eyes burning, the right side of his face glowing in the candlelight. Madame Giry recoiled. "My music is not simply notes on a staff…it is my mind poured onto a piece of paper! It requires inspiration!" His face began to crumple with emotion, and he hid it within the crevices of his hands. "It requires love."

"Then why are you not in Paris looking for her?"

He closed his eyes. "Because the life of a fugitive is not suited for a Vicomtess."

Madame Giry looked at him incredulously. "Erik, you must have been blind! I saw desperation in her eyes when she was searching for you." She took his hand. "Do you appreciate how much you meant to her?"

"Then where is she now?" he whispered. "Why is she still with her beloved husband?"

There was a momentary pause. "And you expect her to come looking in my dead father's house for you? Erik, sometimes women need knights in shining armor to rescue them. Sometimes we need the men we love to come find us in the darkness."

She stood abruptly and left the room, shutting the door, leaving Erik alone in his thoughts.

-

The window was her only comfort. For hours upon end, Christine sat in front of it, looking out onto the city, her heart pounding painfully in her chest whenever her gaze drew close to the abandoned Opera Populaire.

It had become common knowledge in the household that the Vicomtess did not wish to be disturbed, but Ellen and a few other servants would still bustle into her room, pretending to go about their chores, but secretly attempting to see if any progress was being made in her…mental condition. Raoul never made any attempts to converse with her, instead sitting in the library or study, reading novels or practicing his swordsmanship. Sometimes at night, though, he crept into her room when she was asleep.

This way, he could admire her beauty, but not see the coldness and unexpressive deadness in her eyes.

-

Christine had never felt so alone, so utterly dead. Her mind was blank; everything she felt was encompassed in shadows. She tried desperately not to think of the future, but it was there, looming above her in the shadows Erik had once loved so dearly. What about tomorrow? The day after? Twenty years from now? Would she still be in this room, watching her life melt away into nothingness? The one throbbing question that pulsed through her veins was consuming her: Why? Why did she leave? Why had he wanted her to leave? Why did he have to die? Why was she in so much pain?

The inky blackness of the sky did not lift what was left of her spirits. There were no stars; clouds had snuffed out any light from the heavens. Christine lay in bed, her hair spilling limply over the satin pillow beneath her head. He cheeks had grown numb to the endless tears that poured from her eyes. She no longer even noticed.

Her lips trembled, the salty water that streamed down her face dripping into her mouth. "You were once my Fallen Angel…you were all that mattered…" She sang quietly to herself, but her words were aimed at a different audience.

"You were once my Guide and Guardian,

Then my world was shattered…

Wishing you were somehow here again-

Wishing you were somehow near.

Sometimes it seemed, if I just dreamed,

Somehow you would be here.

Wishing I could hear your Voice again,

A whisper through the dying trees.

Too many nights I've wasted in sighs.

Please put my mind at ease…

A shattered rose, a haunting melody,

A memory lined with sorrow…

Symbolize a barren life,

As empty as tomorrow.

Too many years fighting back tears-

Why won't my eyes run dry?

Wishing you were somehow here again,

Knowing we won't say goodbye.

How can I forgive when I have yet to live,

Although my soul has died?

No more waking under the starlight's watch

To the comfort of my Angel's touch.

Help me say goodbye…

Help me say good…"

The door to her bedroom opened with a familiar creak. Footsteps drew close to her bed, and she felt the weight of another body lay down beside her. She closed her eyes, her pillow wetted with tears.

Raoul ran his hand over her shoulder, brushing away her hair and clutching her throat eagerly. She was faced away from him, but she knew it was him. Christine had become accustomed to her husband coming in late at night; he had done it almost every night after she returned. Perhaps he thought she was not aware of his presence, but in all likelihood, she was certain he knew.

She felt his lips on her shoulder blade, caressing the base of her neck and jaw line. His hand slithered down her body and past her hip, coming to rest on her flat stomach. He trailed his fingers over her skin, slipping under her nightgown and stroking her unclothed back. Christine remained motionless during it all; she had become an empty shell, aware yet unresponsive to the world. She let him touch her, let him dream she enjoyed his midnight visits. Deep within her mind, she pretended it was Erik who surrounded her in his arms, but she felt the differences in their lips and their embraces. She knew who it really was…and her heart wept.

-

He left while the moon was still high in the night sky. He said nothing, as always, simply departing when he was satisfied. She listened to him close her bedroom door and make his way down the corridor to his study. When she heard the click of the lock, she threw the sheets off herself and got out of bed. The moonlight illuminated the paleness of her skin, even whiter than normal. Quickly, unhesitating, she stripped from her night clothes and put on the sleek crimson dress that Erik had bought for her months ago, the one she had worn the night they had been separated, the night he died…

Christine sat at her desk, a piece of parchment laying on the tabletop before her. Slowly, she removed a jet black quill from the drawer and dipped it in a jar of blood red ink. She paused for a moment, the feathers drifting past her lips. Then she touched the tip of the pen to the paper, and she began to write…

When she was finished, she folded it within an envelope and, taking a lighted candle from beside the window, dripped a few beads of wax onto the back of the letter. She sealed it with her thumbprint and placed it on the bed. On the front, she wrote one word: Raoul.

She threw a cloak over herself and opened her door as quietly as possible. Peering out into the darkened hallway, Christine stepped out and inched down the hall. The mansion was as still as a grave, the silence ringing in her ears. When she made it to the bottom of the grand staircase, she paused, looking around the place she had once called home. How had she lived here? Everything was so cold, so despondent and unfeeling. The sculptures that watched her had stares as icy as winter, sending a shiver up her spine. Opening the front entranceway, she stepped out into the dimness of the night.

-

The letter was found a few hours later. Ellen walked briskly into the room, expecting to wake Christine, but instead, she found the note. Glancing over her shoulder hesitantly, she peeled open the envelope and read the message.

Raoul-

I wish for you good health and a content life, two things I could never ensure for you. Do not mourn me. I have found myself at a dead end, and I did the only thing that guaranteed me the end of my suffering. Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined myself reaching a point that forced me to take my own life, and I pray with all my heart you never find yourself in the same position. It is an awful feeling, helplessness. I do not blame you for anything. This is of my own free will. I thank you for the moments we spent together that made me forget what I could not live without. I am sorry.

Christine, Vicomtess de Chagny

-

She looked down into the black waters, her toes breaching the edge of the cliff. Her horse, tied to a cherry tree twenty yards away, stamped the ground repeatedly with its hooves. Christine looked back over her shoulder, the outline of the mansion barely visible in the distance, before turning her gaze back to the rocks that jutted from the ground beneath her. Waves splashed the shore, and a gust from heaven caught her hair in an updraft of swirling auburn. A sigh whisked past her lips.

The tears that trickled from her closed eyes were a combination of utter grief and hopeful liberation. The icy droplets streamed down her cheeks and fell into the waters below. Her black cape flew widely behind her in the wind, like the wings of a Dark Angel…

"You alone can make my song take flight…" she murmured to herself, half singing, half whispering.

She lifted her arms into the air, spread out from her body.

"It's over now, the music of the night."

Christine leaned forward and let the wind carry her away.