The Letter, The Rose and the Ring.
I am thinking about making this my short one shot fanfic with a perspective of Erik writing a letter to leave for Christine with the rose at the graveyard at the end of the movie. I am using the age of 63 for her, though it is on the older side for life back then, it was young to Erik or Raoul who were at least ten years up on her, more near 15 or 20. So, it is from that perspective I write this. With great love, there is never enough time, right?This is a sad one but it is what he could not tell her in life. Don't know if you want me to expound on it through an actual story of the events he writes about or not, let me know in reading and reviewing, please. Merci.
A/N disclaimer… I did not create the Phantom of the Opera, Gaston Leroux did, I also use Susan Kay's idea of phantom some, though the majority is from the version of ALW's movie. I am a huge GB fan and he is the one I see when I write these fics. Hope you enjoy, and please feel free to place any version of the Phantom that you want into this story. I just find the disfigurement that ALW's phantom has to be the most feasible deformity of the bunch; the others seem to be more horror fic types.
I did however create the poem at the end of this letter, hope it does not offend the senses. Enjoy...
Christine My Beloved,
I am sorry for the dried water spots on this letter, though I am sure that you know why they are here. I read of your death in the papers today. It was not supposed to end so soon. My darling Christine, I have waited my whole life to tell you how I feel, written you operas you never sang, listened to your voice in my head until it left me deaf to the sounds of the outside world. If I could have changed anything about our circumstances at any time I would have. Truth is, I knew it was what you wanted, and I could not force you anymore to be with me. I know that I am somewhere in the cause of your death at so young an age. The torment I have caused you has left you frail and fragile, at last breaking your will to live in this world. Would you really have gone away with me if I had taken you with me the last time I visited? It seemed that too much had happened for me to say yes that last night we were together, while Raoul was out of the country yet again. As much as I didn't want to just see you once in a while, I could not take you away from all you had known and left your family with Raoul bereft. Now they are bereft and I wonder if it was your broken heart or the way you demanded I visit you no more that killed you so quickly.
Did you ever tell Raoul that we saw one another through the years, that your fourth child was most likely mine? What would he have said if he had known. Do you know the happiness that I stole from you and he through the knowledge that your son, Garcon was more than likely mine? I feel so guilty for that now, though it seemed funny that Raoul never suspected his genius where architecture and the arts were concerned. Nor his dark features, so contrasting that of your other children. I thank you for that now, Christine, though I never said it while you were alive. I know it tore you apart to betray Raoul the way you did, though I never thought of it as a betrayal, as he had stolen you from me in the first place. Our hearts could not be separated; we were two halves of a whole soul. It was not to be reckoned with by mortal man.
Oh Angel of my dreams, you still come to me in sleep and it makes me feel young again. The last time we were together, when you said your last goodbye for I would not take you with me, I left there intent on killing myself. It was the last sacrifice I had within me. I burned all of the operas I had written for you and had my lasso ready to do its damnation to me, when I realized that would part us for all eternity, me to the great abyss, you to the angels you were temporarily separated from to be on earth. I know that you confessed to the Priest and that you worked the remainder of your life to be worthy of your forgiveness. I want you to know that I did too. I took some orphans in and raised them to appreciate music. Their mother had been killed by a wagon driven by a drunken gypsy. He ran her over and was going to go fetch the two children to work for him as slaves. Well, I could not have allowed that, having been in that position myself, I stole away with the children, brought them to where I was living, in Florence at the time, building an Opera house there, which I never completed. We returned to Paris after I inherited Constance and Thomas. They needed to be where I knew how to be young. We went to the abandoned opera house. I always watched if you would be featured at the Opera Garnier when they built that one in Populaire's stead. It did afford me the surety of being left alone in Populaire, though it was harder to procure what I needed without people living above us. I managed though.
Now, I have to let you know that the young girl that Garcon is seeing is my daughter, I am not sure how to proceed. I know that Constance is not mine by blood, so I am sure that it is ok from that standpoint, though I am the parent and someday there may have to be a meeting of the parents. How do you think Raoul will take that? I wonder. If only our youths would have gotten married at 16 or 18 like custom dictates, we would have been done with this before you failed, and we may have even garnered more happiness from the remainder of our lives. I shall do my best to ensure that they are alright, it appears they are serious, so I shall watch things and protect them both for you.
I guess that this is what I needed to tell you, darling Christine, I know that this letter will not last long, I am using thin parchment to ensure that; the parchment that I wrote you on all those years so you could get rid of them without Raoul suspecting. The problem is, Christine, everything, simply everything in my life reminds me of you, I do not know how I shall go about my life shunning these memories. I am old now; it is not so easy to do this any longer. I miss you, darling and plan to be by you soon. Save a place for me, I plan to make it that way, somehow. Pray for me, Christine, I shall be there soon. All my love, MY immortal angel of music.
God go with you in peace.
Your Angel of music
Dated this 6th day of March, in the year of our Lord, 1919
Keeper of my heart, by E. Dedicated to the keeper of my heart for time immortal, CD, with love and gratitude. Good bye my dear, goodbye.
Though you sleep in death forevermore,
Know that I shall be there so soon my love
Treasured feelings through my scores
Fly to the heavens on wings of doves
To search my soul and feel no fear
For now I know that you aren't here
I rest my self unto your breast
You'll tend to me give to me rest.
This life is almost out of me
There too I go for you to see
Angel of my dreams, my life
Take me now, become my wife.
In death do not deny me still
Now lived my life, though without will
There is a hole deep inside my soul
Your face, your touch shall take its toll
My poor lonely heart with thee shall stay
No finer love along the way.
Goodbye Dear Christine, my darling, my heart
Soon we nevermore shall part.
Finite?