All I Ask of You

Christine ran out of the dressing room, still holding the flower that she had found in there. She had just put her cloak on when she heard the screams. Beyond the panicking people, she could just make out the shape of a body lying the middle of the stage. God, what happened? Who had done it?

Christine eyes were suddenly drawn to the rose with the black ribbon. Erik? Had Erik really killed a man for her? Christine saw Raoul running towards the dressing room, but quickly made her way up the spiraling stairs beside her.

She needed to be alone, and the best place for that was on the roof tonight. It was the place that no one would look for her, yet it had become one of her favorite places in the entire Opera House, beside the chapel. She made her way up the stairs, frantically running up stair after stair, navigating her way through the maze of the Opera, finally opening up the door that led to the roof.

Christine took a deep breath as she surveyed the night. It had just begun to snow, and the night was cool and calm. She took a seat in front of the Pegasus statue, staring down at the rose. The beautiful rose that sent such a dark message.

The Phantom of the Opera had killed, and would no doubt kill again. He hunted to kill. For her. That echoed in her mind. He hunted to kill, all for her sake. He had filled her spirit with such a strange, yet sweet, sound, and through that music, her soul had started to soar. And in those eyes, those sweet, loving eyes, was all the sadness in the world.

"Christine, Christine," his voice called out to her. It was so distant, so gentle, as always, but so near. That voice that belonged to a murderer. But a murderer who loved her.


Christine. Where had she gone? Raoul ran to the dressing room through the panicking people to find that the door was open, and only Madame Giry stood there. She was looking towards the stairs. Raoul looked up and saw the end of a red cloak. It had to be Christine. He remembered when they were younger, when ever she really wanted to be alone, she would flee to the roof.

He hoped that he was fast enough to catch her.

Raoul jumped up the stairs, taking them two at a time, hoping that he would be able to catch her. When he got to the next set of stairs, he could no longer see the red cloak, and he didn't know the way to the roof. As he tried to find a staircase that would lead him higher, and possibly to the roof, his mind wandered.

When Buquet came falling down onto the stage, he had heard Meg scream that the Phantom of the Opera was there. There was no Phantom of the Opera. It had only been an accident. There was no Phantom of the Opera.

But, why had Christine insisted that he was real? She had told him some of what had happened, but not much. It had to have been a dream, nothing more. Christine had always had an imagination, but now he feared that it was getting too out of control. But, he knew that she hadbeen so frightened of him, yet she couldn't get him out of her mind. Who was this man?

By pure luck, Raoul find a staircase, ran up it, and found a door. He burst out into the cold dark night. He looked around, and saw Christine standing in front of the Pegasus statue. She looked as beautiful as ever, her long, dark brown hair blowing in the gentle wind, the snowflakes landing in her hair.

"Christine," he called out to her. Her head turned towards him, and her eyes reflected in the moonlight.

"Raoul!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"Are you alright?" he asked, putting his arms around her tightly. "I was so worried about you."

"I was just frightened," said Christine. Raoul could see the sadness in her eyes. "I wanted to get away."

"You're fine now," said Raoul. "I'm right here beside you. Nothing can harm you."

She felt so cold in his arms. Raoul would do anything to keep her with him, and that meant distracting her from the Phantom of the Opera.


Damn him! He had been so close to Christine – so close to victory. He hid behind the statue stool and watched silently as Christine was led away from him.

"Nothing can harm you. Let me led you from your solitude," he heard the fool say.

"Say you need me with you now and always," came the voice of Christine. Tears instantly sprang to his eyes as he peered around the statue. He saw Christine with the arms of the patron around her, her head lying on his shoulder.

No! Christine belonged to him. He had given her everything. He had shown her his music, trained her be all that she could be.

"Anywhere you go let me go too. Christine, that's all I ask of you," said the patron. He silently pleaded Christine to run. But what could he do? Could he truly blame her? There was, a distorted man who lived in the shadows, competing with a handsome rich boy who could go wherever he wanted without having to hide his face.

"Say you love me," said Christine. Every word she said to the patron drove daggers through his heart, ripping his soul to shreds. He peered around the statue once again. He looked towards the ground and saw his rose lying on the snow covered roof. He tearing heart dropped, and the tears that had filled his eyes slowly made their way down his cheeks.

"You know I do," said the patron. The Phantom could hardly stand any longer, his knees growing weak, his hands trembling.

He was losing her. Dear, dear Christine, the only one who had ever loved him for who he was. She was slowly slipping away from him.

"Order your fine horses," said Christine. "Be with them at the door."

"Christine, I love you," said the patron softly.

The Phantom's head hung low as he watched them walk from the roof hand in hand. He looked towards the door, where he could imagine Christine coming back to see him. He stared towards the door, but she never came.

He once again saw the rose that Christine had dropped. The rose that symbolized all of love for her. The rose that she had dropped, not realizing how he had felt as if he had fallen off of the roof of the Opera House itself, landing on the ground writhing in his own self-pity.

He knelt to the ground and picked it up. She had no clue how much she meant to him, how much of his soul and heart that he had given to her. He recalled the warmth of her embrace, the wonderful smell of her hair, the touch of her hands caressing him, and the gentle touch of her kiss. He had thought that she would love him alone, but now look what she had done to hurt him.

So, this was how was to be repaid? After doing so much for her, she went with the Vicomte – the ignorant boy who knew nothing of who the real Christine was. The Vicomte knew nothing of their shared passion for music, the need to create melodies, express themselves through the lyrics of the pieces they created. He would never know of that passion, the obsession that their music could become.

He held the rose close, savoring its sweet smell, not wanting to ever be rid of it. His dear Christine – his love, his life – had denied him. He sobbed gently as he knelt there in the cold night. Only the moon and stars to watch the Phantom of the Opera pour out his feelings.

Then, Christine's voice reached his ears. Was she coming back?

"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime," she said.

"Say the word and I will follow you," replied the voice of the patron.

"Share each day with me, each night, each morning," said Christine. How could she have done this to him? All he ever wanted was someone to love and love him in return. Those words were seared into his memory, never to be erased. The words that Christine should have been saying to him.

The tears that fell down his cheeks turned suddenly cold. The sadness that he felt turned suddenly into a raging hatred. The rose crumbled as he clenched his fist, destroying all compassion for the Vicomte. The war had stepped up a notch. Christine's love still hung in the balance, but now he had to show the real consequences of disobeying the Phantom of the Opera. The hatred ran through him, and he jumped onto the back of the Pegasus statue, his cape flying back in the cold night breeze.

"You will curse the day you did not do all that the Phantom asked of you!" he screamed to the night.


Christine walked back down the stairs with Raoul, her hand fitting perfectly into his. They were to be married. She had to convince him that it was to be secret – she wouldn't dare let anyone find out. Bad things could happen if the wrong people found out. She knew that the managers already suspected something, but it could make other things so much worse.

But she felt like she was missing something. She thought back, her mind trying to fight through the euphoria that she felt and think back to what she was missing.

Her rose! Had she really dropped it? She didn't remember doing it, and she certainly didn't mean to.

"Raoul," she said to him, stopping. "I must go back up. I left something on the rooftop."

"I'll go get it," said Raoul, starting to go up the stairs. Christine stopped him.

"No," she said softly. "I'll be right back. I promise."

Raoul gave her a soft kiss on the lips, and she went back up to the roof. The opened the door and felt the cold air rush over her. She saw no one, and walked around, quickly finding the rose.

It was lying on the ground, the petals lying in a crumpled heap, and the stem laying barren, almost completely covered with snow. Had Erik heard them? Had he watched as Raoul had proposed to her, and she accepted?

Christine bent to the ground, ignoring the feeling that he was watching her once again. She picked up several of the petals and took the ribbon off of the stem.

She was in love with two men, each from different worlds. There was Raoul, her childhood sweetheart and friend, and then there was her Angel – Erik – who knew of her passion of music, and understood everything she was, understood her soul. She quickly tied her hair up with the black silk ribbon and held the petals gently before she put them in a book to save them.

What was she to do? Which man was she to choose?