A/N I've been getting lots of feedback from you guys…thanks! And yes, I'm aware that suicide is not the favorite subject among our readers. DON'T WORRY! I could never write a story in which a main character kills him/herself. Remember, I'm a sucker for happy endings. Though I can't guarantee a "happily ever after" every time, depressing endings just make me feel so…depressed. So don't expect one from me. There may be many miserable parts in the story itself, but I hate ending it like that. And I'm sorry if using suicide bothered you…it was necessary for the plot. You'll understand why later.

P.S-I know that Raoul is not very likeable. Believe me, no one hates that dude more than me. But I want everybody to realize that at least in this story, he is not evil. Most of the things he does are out of jealousy or desperation. I'm not trying to defend what he does, I'm simply giving explanation. So don't completely despise him, just dislike him. A lot. Like me. Grr….

P.P.S- I love cliffhangers! They're so much fun! Sorry, everybody. It's how my demented mind works.

ILLUSION

When Ellen entered his room, he knew something had happened. Her normally rosy complexion had been drained of color, and her eyes were nervous, frightened. "Monsieur Vicomte…"

She held out the letter, extending her arm with deliberate, apprehensive anticipation. His eyes skimmed the lines, catching only certain phrases. "Do not mourn me…end of my suffering…take my own life…helplessness…my own free will…what I could not live without…" Raoul sank back into his chair, the note quivering violently in his hand.

"Oh God…" he whispered, his eyes glassy and bloodshot. He glanced up at Ellen. "Call the authorities. Immediately. Maybe it's not too late." The maid nodded curtly before hurrying out the door.

Raoul pressed his fingers to his thin lips until the skin beneath his nails turned a ghostly white. "Why, Christine…?"

-

Upon his approach, he had, at first, been unaware of her intentions. He trailed behind, hiding in the trees and watching, gazing upon her dark beauty as his heart beat painfully quick in his chest. 'What do I say?' he thought dejectedly. What if she is content here? What if her Vicomte had taken Erik's place…or what if there never was a place to take? Maybe Christine had been in love with her husband all along…perhaps they had gotten into an argument and she had left in rage, not in hatred. The uncertainties that passed through his mind filled him with doubt, left him feeling weak and hesitant.

But when she lifted her arms up, making a cross with her small body, all those thoughts vanished in a flash of horror. She was committing suicide…

Erik ran forwards, his cloak waving madly behind him as he sprinted towards her, his pale white mask glowing in the moonlight. He watched as she fell away from him, towards the empty space of death, and he lunged, his scream filling the air with a ringing cry.

"Christine!"

He saw her turn her head a moment before she disappeared. And in that split second, he saw complete shock in her eyes, utter astonishment. Erik caught a handful of her cape, the fabric seized between his fingers, and a burst of relief exploded in his chest. The joy was short lived, however, for the material proved too delicate. The cloak tore at the seams, and in a flurry of black velvet, fluttered into the shadowy stillness of night. He reached out to her arm desperately and, feeling her flesh against the leather of his gloves, locked his knees and dug his heels into the soft, muddy ground.

Christine looked back at him, the tears that streamed from her eyes shining vividly in the soft moonbeams. "Why will you not leave me? I don't want your ghost, your spirit, your phantom!" she spat out the last word venomously. "I want you." Erik fell to his knees with a groan, his legs no longer able to support him. "Stop haunting me…everywhere I turn, you're there. Your voice…it's always in my head. But I can't have you. You're dead, Erik. That's all I wish upon myself."

She tried to yank herself away from his grasp, but with a strength that surprised even himself, Erik dragged her up over the side of the precipice. They tumbled back together, Christine landing sprawled on top of him. He held her tightly by the arms, forcing her to look into his eyes. "Dead? Christine…I'm right here." He pulled her to her feet, clutching her shaking frame in his arms. Then he realized it was not her who trembled; it was him.

She wrenched away, sobbing into her palms. "How can you do this to me? What have I done to condemn myself to a lifetime of never-ending torment? Leave me to my own discontent!"

With one smooth motion, Erik reached up to his own face and ripped the mask from his face. Christine's eyes widened in recognition, and she took an involuntary step towards him. Picking up her hand in his own, he drew her fingers over his flesh, running them over the lines and cracks of his skin, the crevices familiar to her touch. Hesitantly she brought her other hand to his left cheek, and she stroked his face, her expression one of revelation.

Slowly, he cupped her chin in his hand and kissed her fully on the lips.

Christine held his porcelain mask in her hand, but when she felt the warm touch of his tongue to her lips, her fingers, as if led by invisible strings, released it into the waters below.

-

By the first light of dawn, the police had come to the seaside cliff. They found the Vicomte's horse tethered to a tree nearby, and they had their speculations as to what fate had met the beautiful Vicomtess.

"Over here…!"

The soldiers' gazes followed the pointing of a young officer, down into the bowels of the sea, along the maze of stone that jutted out from the precipice. Their suspicions had been confirmed. A cape fluttered aimlessly in the morning breeze, snagged on the steep rocks a few yards below.

"Yes." Raoul held the cloak between his fingers as the few officers on the porch watched his face, studying it. "Yes, this was hers." The captain turned and nodded to his men.

"We've put your horse back in the stables, Monsieur," he said, his voice gallingly authoritative and commanding. But at the sight of the disheveled man before him, the captain's eyes softened, and he bowed his head to Raoul. "I am sorry for your loss, Vicomte."

Raoul thanked him, his voice strained and choked, before shutting the door on them. He leaned against the wooden frame, hands pressed against the paneling, before continuing down the hallway to his study.

-

As the Vicomte de Chagny fell into his armchair, the same look of disbelief lining his seemingly aged face, Erik held Christine in his arms, his horse galloping through the early morning mist. Her arms were wrapped around his waist tightly, fiercely, as if she feared he would fall from her grasp.

Her legs were folded neatly beneath her, and she sat in a huddle on his lap. She buried her face against Erik's bare chest, beneath his coat, listening to his heart pulsing to the rhythm of the horse's hoof beats. She had no idea as to where they were, but in her blessed relief, she would have ridden to the gates of Hades with him if he had asked it of her.

Whenever she looked up at him, the same smile of comfort lingering on her lips, Erik's face would remain unresponsive, focused on whatever their destination was. But when she looked away, he stole a glimpse at her, resting against his torso, and felt a wave of…love, perhaps?…sweep through him. He fought down the tears that lined his eyes as he gazed upon her beauty. And yet, in the pits of his stomach, a surge of nausea throbbed within him. How close he had come to losing her…for good

Christine's eyes drifted shut, and he heard her breathing become steady, regular. Erik slowed the horse to a lighter trot, and under his breath, he sang to her, his voice deep and hypnotic.

"Face of true beauty, you've chosen,

But has your mind grasped what it's seen?

My fate held no hope for a lover,

Yet you're here, with me…

Angel of Music, your soul beckons,

Sing, your voice sets you free.

Angel of Music, your protector,

Waits for the whisper of twilight."

They passed beneath a grove of weeping willows, the branches brushing past Christine's face as she slept. Droplets of dew fell gently onto her skin, shimmering in the fog. Erik swept the branches aside like a curtain, revealing a long dirt pathway divided by a tall iron gate. He pulled back on the horse's reigns firmly, and it came to an abrupt stop. Drawing Christine's body into his arms, he gracefully slid off his horse, clutching her frame to his chest protectively.

Madame Giry was waiting for them, a small candle held tightly in one hand, its flame illuminating Erik in the darkness of the clouds. She pushed open the entrance, the rusty creak of the hinges resonating through the valley. "Welcome back, Erik." He nodded to her, his face impassive, before climbing the stone stairway to a majestic Victorian style manor. Madame Giry led him to the door, twisting the knob and stepping aside to allow him through. His lips echoed the vaguest reflection of a smile before he disappeared up the grand stairwell.

-

She stood on the far end of the catwalk, the blazing red lights casting crimson shadows across her face.

It took Christine a moment to realize she was dreaming, but even after this recognition, she went through the motions of her vision anyway. She gazed across the bridge, a dark, shadowy figure approaching her slowly, the black cape drawn over his face.

"The final threshold…" she breathed, a whisper to herself, the words tickling her lips.

"The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn!" the man before her sang, his voice brash and forceful. It was not the rich, seductive voice that sent chills of desire up her spine…

Raoul stared at her penetratingly, his eyes burning with a passionate longing. "We've passed the point of no return…" His hand shot out from his cloak suddenly, gripping her wrist tightly. "Your chains still are mine; you belong to me!" he hissed, teeth bared.

Christine turned her face away, feeling the coldness of his fingers press into the flesh of her neck and trail down her throat, the pressure of his touch physically painful. "Erik…" she called over her shoulder, all the while trying to pull away from Raoul's grasp. "Erik!"

"He's dead, Christine. Killed. Shot down like a dog on the road," Raoul murmured into her neck, his lips pulling on the lobe of her ear. "I'm all you have now. I was never one for being the second choice…but I wasn't really, was I? You picked me first."

"No, I…"

"Yes, you did, my dear." Raoul laughed into her face. "Can you not remember? After you kissed him in his lair six years ago…so fiery, so tender. He released you, and you didn't question it." His eyes burned with a swift anger. "You never kissed me as you did him, Christine." She felt his hands work their way down her body. "What does he have that I lack, Christine?" He put on a mocking smirk, his fingers dancing across her hip. "The voice of an enticing demon? The face of a monster? The soul of a murderer?" he growled. His composure changed suddenly, a satisfied smile lining his face. "It matters not. He is dead, and I am waiting for you." Raoul took her hand gently. "Come to me, my Angel."

Her eyes flew open. "Erik!"

-

He sat next to her bed, the rays of sunlight peering through the clouds and into the window, illuminating the many colors of her hair. A few golden red strands burned like a fire against the pure white satin pillow on which her head lay motionless. Erik watched her sleep, her face calm and peaceful. Then, in her slumber, her brow furrowed, and her mouth opened slightly.

"No, I…" she murmured.

"Christine?" Erik leaned over her, taking her hand in his own.

"Erik!" Her eyelids fluttered open. She sat up, pushing herself up against the bedpost. When she saw him above her, she flung her arms around him, hiding her head in the comfort his shoulder. "Erik…Erik…my Angel…" she whispered against his powerful arm. Erik ran his fingers over her back, breathing in her aroma, absorbing her presence. His eyes closed, each breath from his lungs long and drawn out, his chest heaving.

As she lay in his arms, repeating his name over and over in her mind, she felt him shudder against her. Christine looked into his eyes and saw tears flowing down his cheeks, his body trembling. A racking moan escaped his lips, and she pulled him to her. His tears fell silently onto her neck. "Oh, Christine…what were you doing? Do you realize what almost happened?" He clutched her shoulder against him, his sobs becoming more and more desperate. "I could have lost you!"

Christine touched her lips to his temple, running her hands through his straight black hair and feeling her own eyes dampen. "You were dead, Erik!" she whispered, entwining her fingers in his as if hardly daring to believe he was truly there. "They said you died…they killed you! Your body was found in the vaults…"

He looked up at her, eyes bloodshot. "And who told you this?"

Christine's gaze flew over his face rapidly. "Raoul…" Erik stared at her expectantly. "Oh God…" she said softly, horrified at the realization which had only just occurred to her. "He lied. He lied about it all." She glanced up at him, her breaths accelerated. "I was such a fool..."

There was a soft knock on the bedroom door. A moment later, Madame Giry stepped inside, watching them apprehensively. Christine's eyes grew wide with astonishment. "Madame Giry…?"

The old woman's lips curved into a smile, but her face as a whole remained anxious. "How are you feeling, my dear?"

Christine took Erik's hand and placed it on her cheek. "Much better now, thank you." Slowly, she slid off the bed and stood before Madame Giry. "Were you the one who helped Erik? Did you assist him in his escape?" Madame Giry nodded. Christine walked towards her, embracing her tightly and murmuring words of gratefulness in her ear. "You cannot possibly comprehend what this means to me, Madame," she whispered when she let go, a single tear rolling down her cheek. "He is my world, my angel, and you brought him to me."

"You are like a daughter to me, Christine. My father's home is always open to you," she said, holding her hands out in front of her, indicating the walls that surrounded them.

Erik watched in mute silence, mouth opened slightly, Christine's words ringing in his ear deafeningly. "He is my world…my angel…" He sat down on the chair beside him solidly, his eyes looking but not seeing. My world…

He felt her hand on his shoulder, and he glanced up at her, lips still parted in voiceless disbelief. Madame Giry had left, but he had not been aware of her departure. "Christine…"

She sat down on one of his legs, her arms wrapped around his neck, and kissed him passionately. Erik responded with everything he had, clutching her hips to him, zealously pressing himself against her. He ran his hands down her body feverishly, pulling her up into his arms, her legs wrapped around his waist, firmly and securely. "Oh, Christine…"