Prologue

  Christine was trembling when she walked from the room to leave with Raoul. She turned away from him for a moment to gather her thoughts and feelings. Hastily she swiped at her face, knowing she would never be able to rid her self of the pathways her tears had wrecked havoc on her face . . . And her heart.
  If only she had known . . . If only . . . She shook her head. It was all over now. Erik was dying and wished her to be gone. He wished to die in peace . . . To die in peace, that was what he told her and it had frightened her more than anything else she had ever heard from him. She hadn’t meant for it to end like this. Erik, alone, dying in pain of both the body and the soul. Though she had promised her soul to him she realized, shortly after the . . . Would it be called a wedding? She wasn’t very sure anymore.
  She did, however, know that all she had said and done in her childish fear and naivety had created a wound not even her love for Erik could heal. Another tear slipped silently down her cheek and unlike the others, she let it fall.
  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you, my angel of music. Forgive me. I love you . . . Erik.” Even as she felt her soul tearing itself in two over her guilt a sense of cheerless peace descended upon her, for she knew, even though he lay on his death bed, drawing his last breaths, three closed doors away Erik had heard her. She took a deep breath and regained her composure only to realize Raoul had placed a questioning and worried hand on her shoulder.
   “I’m fine,” She said in a voice sterner than she meant. “I just wish to go . . . Back to our house.” She originally had meant home, but then she had realized she didn’t have much a home anywhere. Her home was lying on a bed waiting for death’s sweet mercy to release him from the life he had known. She knew that she would find no other home as long as she lived. She would be content with Raoul at her small country house in England. Not happy, but content. She hoped she could live with that. She hoped Raoul could live with that. She knew he’d worry about her. Oh why did she have to get things so muddled? She loved Raoul, she did but . . . She shook her head. There couldn’t be any buts anymore. Erik would be dead within the next day and Raoul would live on. She knew his happiness depended on her and it seemed like a heavy load to carry, but she would be grateful, for Raoul’s load would be twice as heavy. And yet . . . Somehow he was still prepared to live with The Phantom’s ghost as a houseguest. She nodded. She was grateful and she would try to be the person Erik and her father had seen in her. She would be dutiful, kind and grateful. If not for Raoul, then for Erik. He had gone through too much to make sure she wouldn’t end up alone.
  She turned towards Raoul, wondering if he would care that the ring on her finger was not the one he placed there many months ago. She looked at him sadly, trying to tell him, wordlessly, how important it was for her to wear the ring from then on. He tensed slightly, seeing the ring and understanding her silent question. He looked away. She was asking another great burden of him and she felt callous and ungrateful. This, however, seemed more important to her. She reached out and laid her palm on his cheek gently, turning him to look at her. Her eyes pleaded with him. He took her hand and squeezed it once in assent before leading her away from the chaotic bleakness of Erik’s destroyed underground palace. She closed her eyes and let herself pulled through the endless night to the light of day.
  If only she had known . . . If only . . .



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