This is my first attempt at writing. I used the timeline of the movie, but the fate of Erik from the novel.

Disclamier: Everything belongs to Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber. I also credit reading a story where Chrisitine named her son Erik, brillant idea to whoever thought of that.

Remember

Paris, 1917

I carefully make my way through the sunny salon and sink my tired body into an armchair, and closed my eyes. I never imagined that a body could feel so worn down and old. I look down at my hands, wrinkled with age and smile. I had aged fairly gracefully, or so I am told, yet the signs are there. It is made worse by the sickness that is ravaging my body. Each day it becomes harder to move about. I know that soon I will be gone, even though my family tries to tell me otherwise. My family, I think fondly. My dear husband, my Raoul, has been my rock thoughout the years. Always protecting me and guiding me, always dependable. I have never wanted for anything, and my life has been a happy one. Raoul and I have several beautiful children, two girls and one boy, all married and with children of their own. The proud de Chagny line will continue for a good time to come. I hear a noise come from outside the window and sit up straighter to look out. It is my son, Erik, chasing his little girl, Anna through the lawn as my Raoul watches contentedly from the porch. She is the most adorable thing. Small, with long brown hair and blue eyes. She looks like her father, who is a combination of my looks and Raoul's stature. I laugh to myself. It is not often you see a nobleman playing with his children, let alone running after them. It is nice to know that his privileged status does not influence his nature. Erik is my firstborn, and I could not be prouder. I recall that when Erik was born, Raoul nearly had a fit when I said I wanted to name him after my Angel. Understandable, after all that we had been through, but I was determined that my Angel, Erik would not be forgotten. He deserved that much at least. I told my children stories of the Angel of Music, and of the tragic tale of the Angel falling in love with a mortal. Of course, I could never tell my chidren the whole truth of it. The truth would have been stranger than the story itself. Erik, I sigh as a tear comes to my eye. I have had a good life, a happy one at that, but after all this time, I still hear him, calling. I wonder what has become of him, and if he is happy. He owns a part of me that Raoul cannot get close to--my soul. Life is not a place for what ifs, but sometimes I think about what could have been if circumstances had been different. But I made my choice, and he made his. It never could have been, and I pray that he has forgiven me for what happened. I pray that somehow, he has found redemption and learned to live life to its fullest. I pray my dear husband knows how much I love him, and that he made me happy. Things are as they should be, and I could not ask for more. I lean back in the chair again, suddenly feeling tired. I close my eyes and drift off to sleep, hearing the strains of music. I hear a voice calling to me from somwhere and I open my eyes. I see mist, a figure, and a familiar mask. Joy fills my heart as he holds out his hand to me, just like he had done so many years ago. I take his hand, and he leads me off to where we could be together. I look back only once, enough to see my dear family one last time and know that they are happy.