Christine

The Louis-Philippe room had not changed; in five years, Erik had not allowed dust or grime to triumph there, nor had he ceased periodically replacing the fresh white lilies on her mantle or the vanilla-rose sachets in her dresser. Christine opened those drawers now, allowing the sweet scents to reach out into the air and curl around her in gentle wisps, bringing with them a deep peace that she had not felt since entering Erik's home. This room, with its soft smells and silk gowns, silver hairbrushes and old, smooth wood, was home to Christine; it had been the first place she felt whole after her father's death. Her dressing-room at the Opera house and her small apartment nearby had never been homes; it was the loneliness she felt in those places, the sense of merely existing, that had contributed to the emptiness which first attracted Erik to her voice.

In this room, though, she had changed. Every bit of furniture, each candlestick and hanging, the precise shadings and fabrics of every single beautiful dress in the wardrobe had been chosen for her and her alone. Never outside of the Louis-Philippe room had Christine felt so utterly at place in her surroundings, never so well-known or so loved. That had been the first time she truly realized the extent of Erik's love for her, when she entered this tiny, separate apartment and knew that it was part of her own self. He had told her of his feelings earlier, but stepping into the peace of this room, Christine had felt his love, soul-deep and shattering. She had cried herself to sleep that first night, and the tears had not been tears of sorrow, either for her kidnapping or her fallen Angel.

The tears had come from tasting love so deep it hurt.

She did not cry now, as she sat at the dresser and stared into her mirror. This room had seen other metamorphoses, and other tears, but the woman staring back at her with even blue eyes was kinder and gentler for every moment spent within these walls.

And she was no longer a child, as she had still been when she left five years past, unknowingly carrying a precious new life.

Christine had been acting childish.

True, it was hard, and it hurt—every moment watching Erik and Raoul, knowing that she was bound once more to wound at least one of them, no matter what she chose. And she felt an ache within her heart for the last five years, years which should have been spent with Erik, years in which Raoul could have been free and maybe even happy. Even with Erik now, things were not easy; Christine still viewed Erik's deception as a betrayal, but she knew he had only done what he believed best for all of them. It was easy to forgive him five years of mourning when she had surely given him eons of pain; of the times they had betrayed each other, in Christine's eyes her crimes would always be the worse.

But nothing justified her own behavior. The things she had said to Raoul cut Christine's own heart; the way she had callously turned aside Caron's fears to comfort Erik made her cringe in self-recrimination. She could not heal the mistakes of the past; she had learned that long ago.

She could, however, make sure that there were no such mistakes in her future.

Christine knew—she had always known—what choice she would make. As long as there was a chance for their love, as long as either of them drew breath, her choice was as it had always been and always would be.

Erik.

For her heart, for her soul, there would never be another. But Christine was not making this decision for her sake; in the end, what she wanted, no matter how deeply, was not important. And though she loved them both, Erik and Raoul's wishes had no bearing on her choice, because she was not deciding for them.

She was choosing for Charles.

And for Charles . . .

Christine closed her eyes and leaned her head down to rest against the vanity's wooden surface, soft with age, as she considered her son's future.

"Raoul?"

Erik and Raoul, who were quietly sitting at the kitchen table, looked up at Christine's entrance. Similar looks of apprehension crossed both their faces before Raoul stood and came close to her. "Yes, Christine?"

Habit made Christine bite her lip, but she forced herself to relax. Meeting his cautious gaze, she simply said, "I need to talk to you. Could you wait in the sitting room?" With Marie lying in the music-room and Caron close by her sister's side, the small, out-of-the-way sitting room was the only part of Erik's house where they would have privacy. Raoul nodded and brushed past her; glancing at Erik, Christine quietly asked, "How is Marie?"

His gaze was long and even before he answered, in as soft a tone as she had used, "She will recover well."

A painful half-smile lifted Christine's mouth; they remained for a moment, simply drinking in the other's presence as though for the last time, before she turned and followed Raoul out of the room.

Set just off the makeshift nursery, the sitting room was quiet and peaceful; Erik had restrained his more flagrant design tendencies while creating it, resulting in a small, comfortable room of perfect elegance and unusual beauty. Antique silver, snowy white, and navy blue were the reigning colors, offset by graceful furniture in dark, smooth wood. Less used than the rest of the house, the sitting room was chilly despite the fire quietly cackling in its grate.

Raoul stood at the mantel, and Christine watched as he carefully lifted a delicate glass statue from the wood to examine it more closely. She waited until he had set the sharply edged rose down before she spoke; startling him into shattering the piece would hardly be an ideal way to begin this conversation.

"Raoul." He turned when she said his name; slowly, Christine walked forward until she stood squarely in front of him. Gently, she lifted her hand to his cheek. "Oh, Raoul. You have done so much for me, for Charles." Tears began to form in her eyes, but Christine made herself continue to meet Raoul's gaze; he deserved her full attention, now most of all. "I know you love him," she whispered, "even as much as if he were your own."

"I do, Christine. I always have. I always will." Raoul took her hand between his, his touch tender.

"I know you would, Raoul."

He stepped away from her then, his features tightening in pain. "Would," he repeated flatly. "So you have made your decision. I can't say I'm surprised."

"Raoul, I will never be able to repay you for the love you have given us these last five years. I know that it is nothing—less than nothing—in comparison, but all I can give you is your freedom." Christine swallowed hard, hating herself for hurting him.

"Can I at least ask why?" Raoul answered. He turned away from her to study the rose on the mantel once more. "Not," he added softly, "as though I don't already know the reason."

"You, more than anyone, deserve to hear why."

He glanced at her again, a wry cast to his features. "I thought so, too."

Christine came up beside him and lightly ran her fingertips along the petals of the glass rose. "I know that you think I'm doing this for me—because of Erik. That's what it must look like, especially to you."

"Aren't you? Isn't it?"

"There are many reasons. Some are for you, and some are for me, and some are for him—but greatest of them, the one that made my decision, is for Charles." She lightly touched his chin, drew his attention back to her. "You could not have loved him more, Raoul. But there is so much that neither you nor I understand in his mind. Given a choice, how can I let him grow up believing he is the only one who thinks the way he does? Charles needs to know Erik, Raoul. He needs to. You said it yourself, a few days ago; Charles deserves to know his father. And prolonging our current arrangements would do more harm than good to everyone concerned.

"And you—Raoul, you deserve to have your own life." Disgust at her own actions of the past five years twisted her mouth. "I was never what I should have been for you. You needed someone who loved only you, and you gave that up for me and for my son." Hesitantly, Christine reached out to him, running her fingers lightly down his cheek in a farewell when he did not pull away. "Thank you, dear friend. Thank you more than words can say, but for all our sakes, it's time for me to set you free."

Raoul nodded and stepped out of reach, heading towards the door. His voice was rough with unshed tears when he stopped, just inside the doorway, to ask her, "What about the girls?"

"I'll find them another position, somewhere. I can't turn them out, Raoul, but…I don't think it would be wise for me to keep them here, either."

"No, it likely would not." He looked away from her for a moment. "Charles would have made an excellent Comte."

"Yes," Christine answered quietly. "He would have."

Now Raoul did turn to meet her eyes. "And you honestly believe that he will fare better as a child of the Phantom than as the heir to the Chagny estates."

"I'm sorry, Raoul, but yes. I do."

He nodded in resigned acceptance. "Then I guess all that's left is for me to tell him goodbye."

Christine closed her eyes and swallowed, hard. "He'll miss you," she whispered to Raoul's back as he left the room. "And so will I."

Erik

He watched as she came into the kitchen; there were tearstains left on her cheeks, but her eyes were calm. Christine came to him, taking his long, skeletal hand in hers and gently caressing his fingers. Erik had forced himself not to listen into the conversation in the sitting-room; from the peace of her features, he had to assume that some sort of decision had been reached.

Erik would miss the boy. What he wouldn't give, for the opportunity to raise Charles with the love that Erik himself had not experienced until far too late in life; he longed to teach his son all he knew of music and beauty and learning, while sparing Charles the cruelty of the world that had accompanied so much of Erik's own learning. But Christine had clearly come to her senses; she had realized that the doted-upon son of a Comte would have many more opportunities than the child of an old ghost.

"When will you leave?" Best to slice the knife through his heart quickly, so that he wouldn't feel the pain until the Chagny family was long out of reach.

Christine had been watching his hand as she tenderly massaged the joints; now her eyes rose to meet his, still even and peaceful. "Raoul is packing his things," she replied softly.

"Soon, then." She had meant, of course, their things.

"Yes," Christine answered. "We should be able to get the annulment this afternoon."

Erik tightened his fingers into a vice around her tiny hands. "You what?" he demanded, certain that his extraordinary hearing was failing him at last. "Christine," Erik warned in a low voice when she didn't speak. He resisted, as always, the urge to shake her. "Christine de Chagny, I could have sworn that you just mentioned the word 'annulment'. I am quite sure that I am mistaken, however, because you cannot possibly be thinking of staying here with me."

Now the calmness of her face dissipated a little; not into pain, as he had been half-expecting, but into fire. "No, Erik," Christine retorted smoothly. "I am not thinking of stay here with you. I am. And don't you dare try to tell me that this is the wrong decision for me and our son, or that you won't let us live with you. We both know you would be lying."

"It is the wrong decision." He chose to ignore the second half of that statement; it was strange, after five years apart, how well she knew him. Erik's first thought had been to tell her that they couldn't stay with him, though he knew that if she pressed the issue at all, he would be helpless to deny her wishes.

Christine shook her head at him. "Not for me. Not for Charles." When he didn't answer, she looked up at him coyly, the warmth of her voice making him shudder. "Don't you want me with you, Erik?"

He leaned down threateningly, letting his golden eyes pierce her gaze. "Cease playing games with me this instant, woman, or I swear . . ."

Lips twitching in amusement, Christine asked, "Yes?"

"That I will adore you until the day that I die," he finished softly, leaning close to her. "Christine, please, do you mean this? You will stay?" Unable to meet her suddenly soft stare, Erik glanced down. "I will be able to raise my son?" Needing reassurance of her sincerity, he forced himself to look back into her gentle blue eyes.

"Yes," Christine whispered, and then it was her turn to look away. "And . . . if you wish . . . his brothers and sisters."

Unable to speak, Erik gathered his singing rose into his arms and held her tightly.

Author's Note:

Apparently, I am an incurable liar. Or, at the very least, powerless to resist Erik when he chooses to drag me back into his world.

So yes, to all you wonderful, wonderful people who have reviewed and asked for updates: I am finishing this story. Things may not happen in quite the same sequence as I had originally planned, but the majority of them will still happen. I hope that you have enjoyed this chapter, and that Christine's choice both made sense to you and seemed realistic. If not, please—I love detailed reviews. Please, tell me what felt right—or wrong—about the elements in this update, so that I can know what's working for you. Thank you all so much!

P.S. And yes, I will be finishing my other stories—Voice is already completed and posted, with a sequel (I'm terrible, I know) going, and Gloriosa should have another post up within the next week. Updates will be SLOW, because I'm in school again, but they'll be there.

Oh Shut up Savy: Thanks as always! I'm glad you're enjoying it. Yes, a little ECR, but . . . I think this chapter fixed that problem rather permanently.

naomipoe: Eeerm. Gymnastics. Maybe I should have waited to post, as there are probably not enough of those in this chapter. I hope that I will be able to work things out in such a way in later chapters that things make sense; I can't live with RC or EOW, I just can't, so . . .

And thank you, for your support of my decision to leave—it is SO difficult to quit, isn't it? You can tell that I'm failing . . . oh, btw, if you ever want to chat, my msn username is Thank you! Seriously, it's awesome to get a nice long review like that—and I'm glad that you like the details. I'm a big fan of the 'rose' explanation myself ;)

DarkmoonlightBright: Here's another chapter for you—thank you for your review!

Terpsichore314: snort LOL. No, unfortunately, I can't script your conversations with your husband. Sorry! And I hope that their fights aren't coming across as too civil . . . Thanks!

Mominator: Thank you, thank you, always for your lovely reviews. I've never seen Christine as much of a cook, lol, so that part of the conversation seemed to fit pretty well. I mean, she's really all they have in common, other than being French. And I'm kicking your ECR ideas firmly in the behind with this chapter. :D

hisinspiration: Thank you! No, Charles doesn't know yet . . . mwuahahaha. Lol, the singing rose thing seems to be pretty popular—I'm glad you all liked it so much! Me too :)

phantomlovin4ever: Thank you, steph. And look! Voice is finished, and has a sequel going :D Just for you.

angelmuse: Wait and see, m'dear, wait and see. And thanks; I love the rose and nightingale part, too :D Wow, you read it in one sitting? Wow. Thanks evermuch, as always!

Phantomluvr: Thank you for supporting my leaving . . . though, as we can all see, it didn't last long. sigh I'm quitting when they're done, I swear I am.

Phantomphile: Oh dear . . . huh, the email address should still be right, I'm getting email from here there . . . uhoh. And so, so very sorry for not answering this! I turned off my review notification, but I should have been checking just in case. A million apologies! If you still want the summary, I will send it to you—though, as you will now have the story . . . shrug

northern lights: Thank you so, so very much for your kind words! Wow. And please, forgive me for not responding to you; I had my review replies turned off, and so did not see your request. Unless I did see it later and answered? I hope I did, but if not, again, sorry. I should have been checking. I hope that you find this chapter as satisfactory as you did the others; and once more, I would just like to say thanks for that incredible review, and apologize for not answering.

CleverLass: Thank you for running through the first bit of this! You gave me the necessary confidence to continue it. Brava, m'dear, brava, and merci!

MelodysSnog: wink. Thanks for your enthusiasm, my ego booster:) Hope you like!