Epilogue

"Christine and Carlotta became the best of friends, and while Carlotta lived in another town, she found many excuses to visit often, and reveled in the joy of technology that allowed them to be closer together. They often argued and fought but always came back together in a way that no one else could have predicted. For all their sometimes volatile interactions, they were always close, and always chose to come back to each other. It was a strange thing, to learn exactly what it meant to be friends, and the few people who knew the whole story could hardly believe what Carlotta had given up for someone she'd known only a day.

Christine, who had previously been wary of the boy, became good friends with Raoul and his older brother Phillippe. They were kind and often defended her name, for they were noble and good-hearted young men.

Raoul the dog lived to be forty-seven, and had the oddest ability to make stones dance, which neither Carlotta nor Christine could explain, since he seemed absolutely and otherwise a simple dog.

Though she was often still plagued by the loss of her father for several years, Christine persevered in growing up and healing rather than stifling herself in sorrow. She discovered it was much better and easier with those good friends she made, as well as her adoptive family, who always supported her. She decided to be a performer, as her father had been, and became quite a respected singer, along with her most beloved partner, Carlotta. They lived well and did well by anyone and everyone they could. 'Always kind' was their motto, and their kindness was never ill-spent.

Erik could not come through the mirror as Christine had, and had spent a great amount of his power to give Carlotta and Raoul the gift of human life that he could no longer claim, but they often spoke by way of that mirror, and they eventually became the friends they had been in their youth. It was a sometimes strained and troubled relationship, one that was often put to question by haunted memories, but they worked through everything as it arose, and were all the stronger for it.

They talked of their respective worlds, and Christine adored hearing about how Erik's kingdom was changing for the better, and often spoke with Nadir on such matters as well. They traded advice, though Christine found Erik was more helpful with finding what not to do than with helping her find what she should do. It was hard to admit that they loved each other in some strange and nameless way, especially considered that notion could never be explored past the boundaries of silver and wood. When Christine fell in love, it was a hard thing to bear for everyone involved, for it meant she had finally grown past that youthful adoration, and it meant that she and her fairie were just a little more distant than they used to be. For him, there was only her. He knew no other way.

Still, this was just a new mountain to climb, and climbed it was, with time and talk and kindness. As Christine grew older, however, things were harder, and one day Erik, King of the Fairies, Phantom of the Labyrinth, simply stopped talking to her. It was a hard loss to Christine, but she understood. She was growing older, she had chosen mortality over an almost infinite life in the Fairy Kingdom, and Erik would have to live with that decision longer than she would. To him, it must have seemed as though she were decaying before his eyes, and she understood that he could not bear to watch that.

Still, historians and paranormal enthusiasts alike would comment on the shapes that seemed to appear in pictures of her, especially those taken in front of glass and mirrors and on dark nights. Christine Daae became a figure of myth for her angelic voice and seemingly angelic guardian, formed only of shadows in grainy black and white photos. Especially mythic are the letters she wrote to 'fairies' in her final years, most notably the last one:

My dearest Fairy King,

I know you have never written back, but I think this letter is a significant one, for it is the last one I will write with these hands. I am on my way to my father and mother, wherever their spirits may be. I must say that the choice I made so many years ago was a good one. Looking back, you can see that either would have done well, but I am happy with what I chose, and I hope that despite the circumstance, you have been and will continue to be happy as well. I have missed you in the years since we stopped talking, even more when Raoul and then Carlotta passed and there was no one else to remember with me, but I still try to understand what it must have been like for you. Nevertheless, I have missed you, and that bears noting, I think.

I can not decide if I am excited or frightened. Part of me hopes that this feeling of finality is only a fib, and that I will continue on for a little while longer, but my health has been failing very surely, and I know myself well enough to say that it is likely very true. Definitive, even. So, in the face of this finality, I do wonder, what next? Isn't that what you asked me at the end? 'What next'? I don't know this time, to be honest! I hope that I might make a 'pit stop' and say hello, but if that is not the case, I hope this last letter will suffice.

I feel as if there is much I should or simply could say, but none of it seems fitting. I want to tell you that I was very happy, and could only have been happier if you could have come over as well, like Carlotta did, but this life was well enough for what it was, and I regret next to nothing. I think my only remaining wish is that I could see you, yes, really see and hear you, just once more in case I can't make that stop I talked about earlier. So I could say all those things in person, or so you could guess them, since you know me so well.

I'm very tired now, all the time. Especially when I put thought to such things as this. Though you know what's funny? I never have had any of those memory problems you're told to expect when you get older. In light of all that nonsense way back when, I have been rather surprised at this! I'm glad I never forgot anything. I got to remember everything in the purest detail possible, and I am so very grateful.

I think I need to rest now, writing and thinking about such things has been much more tiresome than I care to admit lately, but it is all very worth it, especially if you somehow can read all these.

Remember to be good always!

Fondest memories and eternal love,

Christine Daae-Guidecelli

This letter is dated two days before her death, where she passed away in a peaceful slumber. She was found with a rose tied in black ribbon, smiling gently. The funeral was small, but photographs of the even show an extra figure that no one can account for. Photographs taken of the site today sometimes yield a shadowy presence over the headstone, but always, always there is a rose sitting nearby. Even more than forty years later, this holds true."

"And who puts the roses there?" My friend asks. He knows the answer, but he also knows that the story needs to end. It always has to, but in a way, it never will. As long as I rule this kingdom in her image, in her name, with her kindness in mind, I will place that red rose on that stone every year. She who would have ruled effortlessly and with infinite charity and compassion. My Christine… the girl who brought music, real music, back into my world. I will always feel perhaps less than real, without her, always a bit broken knowing she has passed through the veil and that I cannot follow for the sake of the promise I made her, but it is what it is. She is gone, and I remain, and so her name will always be in my heart, in my mind, on the edge of my lips.

I look out on the kingdom, and feel a little broken indeed. But I hold the violin and I remember every kindness she ever showed me, and I know I can persist. In her name, in her memory, for her kindness..

"I do."

~{(| The End |)}~