Elaborate Lives

Life is a terrible, funny thing. That is to say, funny is a God plays games with your head sort of way. I was a wanderer for many years before my beloved Opera Garnier, and a wanderer I became again afterwards. I slid so well back into the shadows I had come from that not even the Daroga was able to obtain information on my whereabouts.

I built a wondrous life for myself, journeying to parts of the world the no civilized European would want to step foot in. I did find some suffering in my journeys, and much loneliness, but the things I'd seen made up for it. I saw art and architecture that most could only dream of, and heard music that sounded as though from another world. The orient managed to take my breath away on a daily basis.

After years of this wandering, I returned to Europe, via a route through Greece. When I made my way into German the papers cried out the news the imminent death of the great diva Christine Daaé. My heart felt as though it would cease to beat, my mouth went dry. I returned to Europe just in time to have my heart ripped out anew. Why still Daaé though? She must have kept her maiden name as a stage name. I never thought that the fop would let her sing again, but it seemed I was wrong.

I quickened my pace into France, determined to say good bye to the one person in this world I truly ever loved. For three days I rode endlessly, nearly killing several good horses, until I reached the outskirts of Paris. My horse tore across the stone roads, bringing me to the Garnier, where I hoped I could find out Christine's location. There was no need for the opera house though; the front page of the Époque told it all, Christine Daaé, La Divina, dies in sleep. I felt the my tears washing over my face before I even knew that I cried, they felt strange rolling down my face for the first time in years.

I found a boarding house and drown my sorrows after a meager meal. After interrogating the land lady, I learned that Christine's funeral would be a public affair at Notre Dame itself. The entire city was on its knees in grief for her, and important man of the church would conduct the service.

I waited and waited until the day grew late and I knew that most of the mourners would be gone. It was then that I headed to Notre Dame with a dozen red roses for my lady love, and the intention to give her one last kiss. I left my room unlocked, knowing that I would not return and did not wish to trouble the landlady.

Silently I padded into the holy sanctuary, nearly deserted by this hour, and made my way to her beautiful coffin which had been left open. I laid the roses on her chest, she still looked angelic, despite age and the withering disease which had killed her. It made me loathe thinking of how I must look after all the years, my twisted death's head now full of liver spots. Her light had been so quickly smothered, like so many before her, by the terrible coughing sickness. The tears had begun to flow when a voice from behind caught me off guard.

"Mon Dieu! Is that you Erik?" I whirled around and came face to face with Meg Giry, who stared at me in the most curious manner.

"Yes, yes, the Phantom, is here, don't alert the authorities, if you could be so kind. Where's De Chagny?" I found it odd that I had not seen hide nor hair of her beloved Viscomte.

"Raoul? He's come and gone already."

"Ah, I understand, his wife is not yet in the ground, but he has more pressing matters to attend to."

Her eyes narrowed. "His wife, what are you talking about? They were never married."

Pain shot through my mind, traveling down to encompass my chest. "They didn't?"

"No Erik, Christine sent him away. She never married anyone."

"I don't understand, I thought she was happy with him. Why did they never marry?"

She was the soul of patience. "It was because of you Erik; she was always waiting for you to come back.'

I gaped at her. "A lie, an impossible lie!"

"Look at her hand." I followed the woman's gaze, there on Christine's left ring finger, was the plain gold band I had given her so long ago. More tears threatened, I swallowed them though, pushing the truth that threatened to overwhelm me far into he back of my mind.

"She loved you Erik, but you never came back, not even to say good-bye."

I laughed in her face, a howling, terrible laugh. "Lies, lies, she felt nothing but guilt she wished to appease." I gathered myself and stormed out of the church. One for then, none for later, I would not kiss Christine good-bye, she wouldn't have wanted me to.