Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera
A/N: This is Erik writing a letter just after Christine left with Raoul. He is bitter at firrst, but slowly accepts her decision.
Do you even care about me, Christine? Have you ever thought about the hold you have on me? That I cannot stand being apart from you? I thought not.
What do you have to say for yourself? Are you even sorry for breaking my heart? No, you did not break it, you crushed it. Shattering it into a billion tiny pieces. Not even you, if you came running back to me, could ever make my heart whole again. You left for that boy. Of course, how could you resist his innocent looks and perfect hair? No, the entire female population of Paris has been scrambling and fighting over that fool.
What a shock for them to find out that a chorus girl struck his fancy. Actually, I am sure chorus girls strike many a rich man's fancy. What surprised the whole of Paris was the engagement.
You probably think him brave, standing up to his parents when he proposed. Was he romantic? Or did he simply kneel and ask you to be his wife?
My proposal, if that is what you want to call it, did not turn out nearly as well as I had planned. I would have been perfect, Christine. I was going to ask you after the premiere of "Don Juan Triumphant."
Did I tell you how beautiful you looked that fateful night, my dear? I do not recall, I was too preoccupied with how well the performance was going. I let my guard down. If I had not, maybe this whole mess never would have happened.
Alas, I did, and you unmasked me, revealing the monstrosity that is my face to the audience.
It was in that moment that I wondered where the little girl who prayed for her father in the opera chapel went. Instead, I faced a person I had never seen before. Or perhaps I chose not to see you. I never thought you would purposely humiliate anyone—you, the girl who cried herself to sleep when the ballet rats made fun of you when you first arrived at the Opera Populaire.
Or maybe, you were not acting of your own accord that night. Perhaps you were merely fulfilling the wishes of your precious Raoul.
Upon looking into your eyes, I saw regret. For what, I still do not know for sure. I like to imagine that you regret unmasking me, for breaking me. But then my rage took over and we plummeted to the depths of my cavernous dwelling.
I never thought I would have to force you to wear that dress, Christine. I envisioned you choosing to wear it on our wedding day. I suppose I was foolish for believing you would ever want to marry me.
Forgive me for not seeing the truth. The night I first revealed myself to you, I truly thought you could love me, not just as your Angel of Music, but as a man. I admit, I never planned on falling in love with you.
For years, I was happy, just raining you to sing, watching over you, and protecting you. Then one day I looked at you and you were no longer a little girl. You were a woman. You took my breath away, but your beauty is not what made me fall in love with you.
It was your kind and gentle personality. You care about everyone, even if you are not particularly fond of them. Along with growing up, you grew more independent, striking up debates with me. Never in my life has anyone questioned me. You began to tell jokes. Did you know that I had never laughed until I met you?
You brought joy into my life, and that is what made me love you.
I grew tired of only watching over you. I wanted to touch you, to feel your lips on mine, even if for the briefest of moments.
So I made a decision. After your exquisite performance in "Hannibal," I would finally introduce myself. I would show you where I composed all that I wrote for you. When I showed you the wedding dress, I did not expect you to faint, though looking back on it, I can understand how you could be overwhelmed.
I did not plan on proposing that night. I planned to return you to your dressing room. Unfortunately, as we both know, few things ever go as planned.
I did not want you to see my face until I thought we were both ready. Clearly, I underestimated your curiosity. I truly am ashamed of my reaction towards you unmasking me.
But you must understand, Christine, that you took away the one constant in my life. You are the only living thin that has ever been to my home. I am not used to entertaining. I had been up all night, which is not unusual, worrying about what to say to you when you awoke. I turned to composing to busy myself.
I could hear you approach me, and I thought you would say something. When you touched my face, I lost all thought. Never did I think you would actually caress my face.
When I felt the cool air against the hideous side of my face, I was instantly reminded of my childhood, something I have tried to repress. My rage took over, and I do apologize for my inappropriate reaction.
In that moment, I learned what hate truly was. Not at you, my dear, but at myself. If I had controlled my temper, perhaps you would not have looked at me fearfully.
I never wanted you to fear me. When I was your Angel, you never feared me. In fact, we were quite close friends. However, what was worse that the fear was the pity that followed. Ever since I escaped the circus, when I made contact with the outside world, I made sure that no one pitied me.
I built up a reputation as the infamous Opera Ghost, an intimidating figure. Everything I did made the Opera Populaire more prosperous. I did not mind if the managers feared me, it only served my purpose better.
But I cannot bear to think of you fearing me. Admittedly, it is entirely my fault. I know you well enough to know that my face would not frighten you, shock you maybe, but it was my violent rage that made you fear your once kind Angel of Music.
I realize now that I pushed you into the arms of that fop, Raoul de Chagny. The two of you do make a handsome couple, and I am sure you share many childhood memories, but beyond that, I do not know what you see in him. Security, perhaps.
He seems to be happy all the time, though maybe that only bothers me because I am rarely cheerful. He does not seem passionate about anything, even you.
Do not misunderstand me, I have no doubt in my mind that he loves you, but I think eventually he will bore you. You were never content to just sit still and look pretty, as the wives of noblemen tend to do, nor are you particularly fond of gossip.
You like to sing and dance and run around and have fun. You are too full of life to be happy as a member of the stiff upper class. Needless to say, I was shocked to see the engagement ring around your neck on the night of the Masquerade Ball.
I must admit, I was jealous with that boy of yours holding you in his arms. And then he kissed you. I had seen you kiss him before, that night on the rooftop, but in public seemed to make it real. I could not stand it. I wanted to kill him, and fully intended on doing so until I saw the fear in your eyes reemerge. I could not go through with it, so I chose just to give him a little scare.
Of course, when he followed us to my lair he was asking for trouble. He walked into a trap, something he should be used to, having to deal with politicians all the time. I gave you an ultimatum—save his life and stay with me, or watch him die so you can leave.
I knew you would choose to stay, not out of love for me, but to save his life. I expected you to watch him leave and then never speak to me again. Never did I expect you to put the ring on your finger and kiss me. You were my first kiss, Christine. You were, and are, the only person I ever want to kiss me.
I knew that I could not force you to stay with me. I wanted you to stay with me of your own free will. I hoped that once I released you, you would tell the boy to leave and you would stay, but it was wishful thinking.
I do not deserve your kindness. You belong on Earth among the living, not in Hell with a demon. You deserve someone better that me.
Know that I will always love you. I will always protect you. I will always be your friend, your guide, your Angel of Music. Your Erik.
-Erik
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