Notes: Eek! Sorry Juliana! Lol, I'm sorry, Ill proof read. I wasn't the best English student. :) I'm sorry you guys, but this is it! I didn't promise you a happy ending, and I still won't. Don't cry too much! Nad xxx

"Mother…are you ready?"

Meg stepped into the parlour where her mother had entered to tie her black bonnet in the long mirror. As she came into view of her, the older lady wiped her face quickly, as if ridding herself of any evidence of tears. Meg sighed and moved over to her, holding her hand comfortingly. Madame Giry's eyes were clearly red rimmed; proving her sadness, although she had tried to tried to hide it.

Meg had not wept for anyone apart from Christine. She was broken hearted to see her friend waste away every day like a dying rose. As for Erik, she had felt no sympathy for his fate. But if his safety confirmed Christine's happiness, then she would have done anything to help him keep in hiding. But now, she could do little. Not only did she feel terrible guilty that she had aided in his capture, but she also felt she had betrayed Christine.

Once again, the hot tears welled in her eyes, as did her mother on seeing her daughters sadness. The held each other for a few moments, contemplating and understanding each others distress.

Madame Giry was the first to straighten up.

"Now, come, ma petite fleur. No more tears, there is nothing we can do now…It's time."

The two women straightened their dreary black clothing for the occasion, and made for the front door. In the hallway, they stopped, with shocked expressions complimenting each other.

Christine stood at the door, dressed in her best dress, an outdoor cloak and a bonnet. Her face was pinched and pale, yet a lot more full of life than what had been for the past few days. She looked defiantly at the 2 women.

"Christine…where are you going?" Meg spluttered. Stupid question really. They both knew exactly were she was going.

Christine took a deep shuddering breath, wavering slightly on her weak legs that barely supported her. Madame Giry and Meg both flinched towards her, holding out their arms to hold her. But Christine stood up straight again.

"Don't try and stop me from going…" She spoke, in an unusual croaky voice, cracked and unfamiliar to that of the young soprano. "I'm going, with your company or not."

Madame Giry and Meg gave each other grave glances. Madame Giry held Christine's arm gently, and stroked the girl's cheek.

"This is not a good idea, ma Cherie. You know this."

Christine did not respond apart from staring into Madame Giry's eyes, her lip slightly trembling and her head furrowed into a deep frown. Madame Giry saw such sadness in the girl's eyes, and a last strength of determination, she could not refuse her. She tightened her grip on her arm, and took some of her support from her weak stature. Meg quickly responded in supporting the other arm, and holding the cold hand in comfort.

---

The glare of the sun would match that of the experienced sun of Persia, gleaming down on the crowds that had gathered in the grounds of the Parisian Prison. The crowd was tense and hushed, even the journalists that stood waiting tensely with their large cameras on stands, surrounding the raised platform that grimly stood in the centre of the large square. The crowd consisted mainly of the wealthy that had attended the Opera and the members of the Opera Populaire, who wanted to see their terrorist sent to his death.

Unlike French tradition, there was no guillotine on the stand. Ironically and probably planned before hand for this 'particular' execution, there was a noose.

It hung lifelessly, like its promise to its visitors. The grim knot of rope was to seal the fate of the man who had used the very same as a partner in his dark deeds.

Madame Giry had not taken them into the crowds. They stood one of the private boxes that surrounded the square plaza, which was, until a few years before, purchased by some to witness the gruesome executions, usually victims who wanted justice. The boxes were just far enough for details of an execution to be lost on an unwilling witness.

A sickening, icy feeling came into Christine, as she felt it was like watching a stage production from one of the private boxes of the Opera house. How many times had Erik watched her from his box in the Opera House, watching her perform from a child to her last days there? Now, it was her turn, and it would be the final performance. Christine hopelessly wished that this all was a performance, a production where the curtain would come down, and the roaring approval from the crowds would be directed to the lead actor, who would get up from his make believe death stance, and bow professionally to them, smiling slightly at his good work.

Life is not a stage. Some things are far too real. This pain Christine felt was all to real to be a make believe act of some foreign play, which she had had little time to rehearse for. No, this was real. Watching Erik being pushed out of the main doors into the glare of sunshine was real.

Was it an act? Christine whimpered as the man she loved fell to his knees as they pushed him cruelly through the makeshift path through the taunting crowds, who were now screaming abuse and jeering in the criminal's direction. He stood up, and glanced around, as if dazed.

Christine felt her heart ebb away, as the once proud man she had known lost all identity, and was half dragged undignified to the deadly platform. She saw the dark, black mask that he had brought from Persia sit across his face, obviously a request of his to die in his former life, behind a mask.

As his crimes were being read out, a list which brought the penalty, he was dragged upright on the platform, and shoved onto the trapdoor, were once again, his legs seemed to give way. He was obviously in a deep state of distress, putting his hands to his face, and trying to back away with his bound hands as the police guards grabbed him once more to fore him to stand upright. Some of the rougher parts of the crowd began to throw dirt and rocks at the platform, as if egging on the execution, unwilling to wait anymore for their sick pleasure of watching the man hang.

Christine had both hands over her mouth, breathing heavy into them and gasping every so often. Tears soaked her face, hands and arms, as she boldly stood watching the final undignified moments of her lover's life.

The rope finally came over the Erik's head, and was secured around his neck. Even from her far position from him, Christine could see that he was shaking. In all her last remaining fragments of her heart, she dearly wished she could have held him one last time, to comfort her dying lover and to promise…to promise she would see him once again.

But all too soon had the crowd fallen into a deathly silence…

The journalists had lowered their cameras unceremoniously to witness a part of grim history. The police guards backed away, and the executioner moved to the unlocking lever of the trap door…

Erik lowered his head, in a final acceptance of his fate.

The executioner put his hand on the lever.

Christine, although her body shuddered in desire, refused to close her eyes.

I love you, my angel.

The crowd held their breath.

……………………………………………..

The trapdoor swung open, and the Phantom fell.

Christine, in her last moments of consciousness had heard the crowd's cheer of approval, and the furious clicking of the photographer's cameras. She heard the terrible scream of Meg before she buried her face into her mothers shoulder. Then, there was nothing but darkness.

Erik was cut down from the noose, and carried away in a body bag and stretcher. The cheer of the crowds could be heard for miles around, with the happy ideal that would defiantly be echoing in the newspapers that next morning:

THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA:

THE FINAL CURTAIN

The masked terrorist of the Opera Populaire is dead.

Note: OMG, guys I'm so sorry I had to put you through that! I cried myself, I love Erik, I really do, but I bet you all hate me now. Well, please don't give up on me yet. The story is not finished! Please, please read on, you may like it…even though you all want your beloved Erik…sigh. I love you lot though, those who have left reviews, your all so brilliant and have defiantly helped me to carry on writing this story.

Nad xxx