Dear Christine
Authors Note: I don't own Phantom of the Opera. But I do praise Gaston Leroux, Susan Kay, Andrew Lloyd Weber, Joel Shumacher, and, of course, GERARD BUTLER! (heh heh…I'm not obsessed…even ask Olivia and Emily….)
Erik pressed his gloved hand to his heart. His breathing was heavy and labored, his heart beat slowly fading. He didn't have much time.
He struggled to get to his desk. The mob had mangled all his music, destroyed his organ, ruined everything he owned and loved. The only thing left were a few sheets of paper, his quill, his stamp, and his monkey. With a shaky hand, he picked up his quill. In his queer, childlike way of writing and his blood red ink, he began to write:
Dear Christine,
As you read this, I am dead. I just wanted to tell you all the things you would not hear when I lived. For one thing, I love you. I love you, love you, so much it can't be put on paper, nor can it be spoken in words or sung in lyric. As soon as you left me, I prayed that death would soon claim me, as I cannot live without you. It seems now that my prayers are being answered. I must ask you: did you know you were the only thing that kept me breathing? The only thing that kept the music in my heart strong, my angel of music. And all this time you believed that I was your angel, when in fact, without you I am nothing! Without you, I surely would have died long before now, and for that I thank you. You were the thing that gave my life meaning. You gave me my few happy moments. I only wish that you could have loved me for all that I am. But I know now that your fiancé was the one who truly owned your heart. The Victome de Chagny. What a wonderful life he will provide for you! And I am sure that once you are married, not once will your thoughts stray from your perfect life and return to poor, miserable Erik. Poor, unhappy Erik! Poor, unloved Erik! I only wished you could have loved me, or at the very least, understood me! But I suppose no one ever will, for I now am dying, and the world's evils live on. Perhaps I was nothing but the angel of hell, nothing but the devil on earth. But perhaps as well, if the world could accept people no matter what they look like, the world would be a better place! And that, my dear, is something that I believe firmly in. And, oh, Christine, if only people could accept the devil boy as one of their own, perhaps then he would not be so miserable! But as I write this with a shaky hand, I know myself that if the roles were reversed, I could never love a person such as myself inside and out. Oh, but Christine, if you had loved me, alive I would be and happy at that! The cruel hatred from everyone, including you, my dear, has killed me! You've killed me, I am dead now because of you and the Chagny boy! You've destroyed me, betrayed me, deceived me, you minx! You vile snake, you have poisoned me and now I am dead! Of course it is not only you who has killed me, my angel, but the world. And of course, I have killed myself, in no way physical, but because I dared to believe that someone as gruesome as me could be loved. I fooled myself. I am the fool! I am the dim fool who is dead now and truly deserves to be! I only wish I had realized sooner, for now I am truly paying the price!
Oh, my love, this final testament of my adoration for you cannot go on much longer, my hands shake more than ever before, and I will soon be dead. Just know, my love, that it was always you and was only you. I could never love another, for no one but you ever tried to know me! And even if I was a handsome man without a doubt in the world, I would still love you. You are surely an angel on Earth! I thank you, thank you! Promise me that even now that I am gone and dead, you will still have a stray thought or two for me, even a memory, even if it is not as happy as you should like. If you can think of me at least once more before you die, that will be enough peace as I could possibly receive from this grim of all deaths. Please remember to come back to me, now that I am dead, and bury me in the spot that I asked of you. My only consolation , the only pride that I take from this sorry life, is that I found an extraordinary treasure, that treasure being your voice, something that no one cold take greater satisfaction in finding than me. Alas, my love, I am not long for this world. You notice my writing rapidly deteriorates. So I say one final good bye. I love you. Good bye.
Erik
This will be a two chapter fic…more coming soon!