Gaston Leroux is the author of The Phantom of the Opera.
Dearest Angel of Music,
It seems like a lifetime since we last saw each other. As I left, you told me to come back when you were dead. I am a woman of my word, and I have returned to sing you the requiem mass and give you your final rites of passage before you return to heaven.
How do I know you are going to heaven? How do you not know you are going to heaven? It is not your fault that you were scorned. No man should be condemned to the torture that you were put through. By staying alive, you have proved your worth. You have no reason to regret any action that you have done in your life, for it was done to defend yourself. Angels do need to defend themselves.
Even if you still doubt yourself, I know you are my angel. As you said, "No emperor ever received so fair a gift." You said that about my soul and my singing, but it truly is the other way around. You gave the gifts that I will never forget. You comforted me when I was young and cried for my father. You gave me the understanding of the language of music, which helped to free my soul and helped me to find a childhood friend. You gave me a life with the man I loved, though it broke your heart in the process. Only an angel could be that generous.
I know you considered yourself a monster during your lifetime. You had lost your wings and had no heavenly wind to take you back to where you belong. Yet you survived, though you were hated and feared by all that heard of you. The Lord knows when He makes His judgment that survival is important, and all you did was try to live in a world of hate. I know you created weapons of death in your time in Persia, but the death gave you life. Would anyone consider it a sin to want to live?
You were my best friend, my teacher, and my reason to live. As I see your dead body, lying in peace for the first and last time, I know that a little part of me is lost with your soul. I will miss your golden eyes, Erik. I will miss you forever.
Love (and love it truly
is),
Christine