Author's note: Today is a big day for me. It's rare for an author to write a story with one hundred chapters, so allow me to enjoy this moment… Okay, I'm finished. What does Chapter One Hundred mean for you? Well, since I get so much fun and so many ideas from reading your reviews, I've decided to give something back to you. We'll have a contest. All you've got to do to enter it is answer one question: Who is responsible for the attacks on the de Chagnys? Please don't send me answers like "The old man and the young man", for you know that's not what I mean. I want a name or names, or at least a description in terms of relation (the husband of/ the sister of etc.). You can start guessing right now, but I advise you to wait a little, for there will be more clues in later chapters. Each reader can send in one (!) guess (via PM, please), and it cannot be changed later. The contest will end when the person responsible will be revealed in the story, but I'm not sure when that'll be. I'll tell you a few days before it'll happen, so that you have your chance to send in your guess. Of course you can win something: The person who sends me the right name gets a one-shot with their favourite pairing (no self-inserts, though) written by me. If there's more than one correct answer… well, then I'll be a busy girl, for I've decided to write one story for every person who has the right answer. Have fun guessing and don't forget to review! To the next hundred chapters! May they be just as good as this one...

Chapter One Hundred

September 17th 1892: Christine

"I… I don't know," I muttered, entirely confused by her question. "I really don't know it," I repeated, just to hear it once more. It sounded good. Yes, as long as I didn't know it, no one could argue with me about it. Not knowing something wasn't a crime, was it? It was normal. Many people didn't know things, and they –

Yet one glance into Meg's face told me she wouldn't let me get away that easily.

"I don't believe you," she said flatly. "This is not one of the things one cannot know. I think you've just not searched for the answer very well yet. Your heart already knows it. And by the time I'll be finished with you, your mind will know it as well." It almost sounded like a threat.

"Can't we just change the subject?" I asked quickly. "It's really not that important. Why don't you tell me the latest gossip from the opera?"

"I won't do that," she replied simply. I looked for the usual mischievous sparkle in her eyes, but couldn't see it. She was very serious. In this moment I knew that arguing was pointless.

"What are you going to do with me?" I wanted to know, feeling a little nervous.

"There is a method for making decisions my mother taught me," she answered. "It's not difficult. All you've got to do is imagine the consequences of your action in all details." She looked at me expectantly, yet I remained sceptical.

"That's the opposite of what Erik told me," I couldn't help remarking, remembering the day when Raoul and he had tried to force me to make a decision. "He said I should forget everything else and only listen to my heart."

"Hmm…" Meg made. "But that didn't work too well, did it? You still haven't made a decision both your heart and your mind can accept. So why don't you try my method? My mother always says that the listening to your heart approach sounds good in theory, yet unless someone lives in a deserted place without anybody else, there are a lot of things to consider. The best decisions are made by people who have thought about them carefully before."

I nodded slowly. She did have a good point. Besides, what did I have to lose? A little additional pondering wouldn't make my head explode. And it was very nice of Meg to try and help me with more than a few stupid remarks. For the first time I didn't feel alone with my decision. That was surely because my best friend was not one of the persons directly involved in the conflict. No matter whom I chose, it would at least not hurt her feelings. That was a small comfort.

"What would happen if I chose Erik?" I murmured, just to show I had started thinking about the question at last. "Well, I guess I'd move into his house at the underground lake. He still has my old room there. In the evenings we'd sit together and sing, or he'd play the organ for me. I'd love to hear him play again; he does it so wonderfully." I gave a deep sigh.

"But would you really enjoy living underground?" she asked, bringing me back to earth. "I know how much you like the sunshine. And what about a garden? Your beloved roses wouldn't grow there."

"That's true," I admitted. "Maybe he'd give up his house for me and only come back there every now and then, when he'd have things to do at the opera. We could have a house above ground, somewhere in a suburb of Paris, where gardens are large and fences are high. No one would stare at him in such surroundings."

"And the children?"

Her question made me jump. For a few moments I had actually forgotten them.

"Of course I'd take them with me," I replied. "Erik wouldn't mind. On the contrary: He loves them as if they were his own children. And perhaps…"

"…perhaps you'd have children with him as well one day," Meg finished my sentence.

I nodded, blushing. That was exactly what I had just thought.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" she asked quietly.

"Yes, it would be nice," I answered. "It would also be nice to have the part that comes before being with child…"

Now Meg's cheeks were slightly redder than usual as well.

"It's good to know that you're adopting my frankness in talking," she muttered weakly, yet her eyes darted through the room and stopped at the door. When we had been younger, we had gossiped about such things all the time, but now we were married women. We had a reputation to lose. Yet since the door was locked, my friend grew calm again. "Well, you'd get that part of a relationship as well then," she said. "Do you know what it would be like?"

"How am I supposed to know that?" I asked. "I've never even seen Erik… you know, without clothes. So far, we've just kissed a little… and touched each other a little…"

"Yes, but what do you imagine it would be like?" she persisted. I felt as if we were young girls again, chatting about men in excited voices.

"I think it would be nice," I replied.

"Just nice?" Meg raised an eyebrow.

"Well, maybe a bit more than that," I admitted. As if someone had given the signal, we both burst into laughter.

We laughed long, a girlish, high-pitched laughter no one would have suspected to come from women such as ourselves. It only stopped when I brushed a strand of hair off my forehead and my skin came into contact with my wedding ring. I held my hand in front of my eyes, as if I were seeing it for the first time. The ring's pale gold colour was glistening in the sunlight.

"Raoul," I breathed. I was shocked by the realisation that while I hadn't thought of my children for only a few moments, I had forgotten my husband all the time.

Meg grew serious as well.

"That's another factor, of course," she stated. "And it's more important than most others, even than the legal problems. If you go to Erik, you'd have to leave Raoul."

"He wouldn't be able to cope with that," I whispered, all joy having left my body. "We're married for more than ten years. We've got two children together… Oh, the children!" I threw Meg an anxious glance. "I'd have to take them away from their father. It would break their hearts… and his, too. I… I couldn't do that… I just… couldn't…"

The world grew blurred in front of my eyes as I thought about the life I had just imagined in all details… the life of Erik and me… the life I'd never have. It had been such a beautiful dream, and now it was gone, vanished like a rainbow after the rain ended. Before I knew what was happening, raindrops were rolling down my cheeks. No, it were tears. So I was crying.

Slowly my best friend's voice became audible through the mist that seemed to envelop my head.

"…true that it would be difficult for your family," she said. "But at the end of the day, it's your decision, the decision about your life, and you shouldn't make it in the way that you think best for your family, but for yourself. You're the one who'll have to live with it."

"And what was that talking about ´considering all the consequences´ for, when in the end just my heart decides?" I asked, unable to keep a slightly bitter undertone out of my voice.

"I never said it was a perfect method," she defended her approach. "But it made a few things clear for you, didn't it?"

I nodded.

"I know now that no matter what I do, I'll hurt someone," I told her, wiping the tears from my eyes with my fingers. "Erik, Raoul, the children… and in any case I'll hurt myself. But that's all right. After all, I'm responsible for the trouble." I gave a sigh. "If only I knew what living with Erik would be like! There are so many ´maybes´ in my fantasy…" I muttered.

Meg frowned.

"I've just had an idea, but it's rather unusual," she warned me. "While Erik lives here, he has taken over the role of your husband. As far as I've understood it, that's what he wanted anyway. Then why don't you do it completely? Give him all the privileges a husband has… but also the duties."

"That's a good idea, Meg," I said. "I'd do it at once. The problem is that Erik would never agree with it. It would be even harder to let me go after a few days than after a single night."

"Yet maybe he wouldn't have to let you go at all," she pointed out. "Don't you think he'd regard it as a unique chance?"

"Yes, I would." A voice from the door made us nearly fall from our chairs. Erik crossed the room quickly and knelt down in front of me. "I've heard enough to know what you were talking about," he assured me. Then he seized my right hand and removed the wedding ring in an elegant, fluid motion, placing it on the table.

"Christine Daaé," he started, his voice as soft as velvet. "A long time ago I allowed the boy and you to play a very special game. You pretended to be engaged under the roof of my opera. Will you allow me to play a similar game with you now, till your husband comes back?" He showed me his right hand, and for the first time I noticed that he was still wearing both rings, his one and the one I had given back to him on the first night of ´Don Juan Triumphant´. He took off mine and brought it to my finger, but stopped before gold and skin touched. "Christine Daaé, will you be my wife?" he whispered.