Christine pulled the hood of her cloak low over her face as she walked through the streets of Paris. The sun was just beginning to rise and the city was quiet for once, lacking its usual chaos of carriages and people flooding the streets. It had been nearly a week since the fire at the Opera Populaire, since she had fled with Raoul to the safety of his home. During this past week there was talk of announcing their engagement, but Christine no longer felt the same excitement when she thought of their impending marriage. All she could think about was the last time she had seen her Angel and how she had left him to die at the hands of the mob. Christine did not think she could ever forget the anguish and love she saw in his eyes when he whispered his final words to her.

Christine…I love you…

The words echoed in her head whenever she tried to sleep and there were several nights she would wake sobbing. The memory of his lips on hers was burned into her very soul and she could not even escape him in sleep.

The once-majestic Opera Populaire was now fire-damaged, scarred, much like its phantom, but no less majestic because of it. It was still home to Christine and she was relieved to find it still standing. She made her way to the Rue Scribe entrance, digging out the small key that was the gateway to her Angel's world of darkness. He had given it to her after the first time he brought her to his home, saying it would be easier to have singing lessons if they did not need to worry about being overheard. He showed her all the traps and how to avoid them so she would not be caught in them when she tried to visit alone. She still remembered their locations and avoided them carefully as she made her way to his home.

A cry of despair escaped her lips when she saw the destruction of his magnificent home. His organ was in pieces, badly damaged, and his compositions were ripped and strewn all across the room and some lay in the bottom of the lake. What little furniture there had been was nearly destroyed along with his replicas of the stage and performers. Christine prayed he had been able to escape the mob, she did not know what she would do if he was dead.

She went from room-to-room, searching for him. The Louis-Philippe room, her room, was untouched by the mob and she felt a sense of relief when she saw it. His study with all of his architectural sketches and books was also untouched and she hesitated in front of the door she knew led to his room. Her Angel had warned her many times not to enter his room, but under the circumstances she felt it was warranted.

Christine pushed open the door and took in the darkly masculine room. It was decorated in dark reds and blacks, velvet canopies obscuring what she assumed was the bed. There was a dresser table with no mirror and different color masks strewn across the top of it. A large wardrobe sat to one side of the room, intricately carved, and Persian rugs were strewn across the room. She hesitated with a hand on the velvet canopy, but she had to know if he had survived, and she pushed it aside to reveal a coffin.

Christine let out a shriek when she saw the black velvet-lined coffin and her Angel lying in it. She thought he was dead for one terrible moment, but at the sound of her voice he sat up quickly, his eyes showing confusion before he recognized her and brought his hand up to cover his deformed cheek.

"Christine…what are you doing here?" His voice was filled with anger and shock and she took a step back from him.

"Why are you in that thing?!"

"The dead sleep in coffins, my dear. Now, why are you here?" He demanded, his voice taking a dangerous tone.

"I chose you and you sent me away."

The shocked expression on his face was enough to lessen her anger at him and she knelt next to the coffin. Her hands lightly touched the lining of the coffin that she realized was covered in black silk sheets.

"You chose me to save your boy."

"Only at first, but…Angel…my mind beats against you, but my soul calls me to you."

"Christine…"

"Unless you no longer want me."

"Never! Never say that! My Christine, you are everything to me."

"Angel-"

"Erik. My name is Erik." He interrupted.

Christine's eyes widened when he said his name and she offered him a small smile in return.

"Erik."

Christine went to step into the coffin with him, but Erik did not allow her, choosing to pick her up in his arms instead.

"Coffins are for the dead, my love, and I am very much alive now."

Christine kissed him, loving the feel of his muscular arms around her, intoxicated by his aura of power and sensuality. He nearly dropped her in his shock, but responded with an equal fervor, letting his hands tangle in her chocolate curls.

"Christine…" He whispered, anguish in his voice.