Author's Note: For the record, I don't claim any rights to the characters/themes of any Phantom of the Opera Books/Musicals/Movies currently in circulation that my or may not have effected the plot of this story. They are the sole property of the authors. Also, please excuse the following: My terrible grammer. I try, really I do, I'm just not that good at spelling and such. Also, please excuse how horribly short this is. I wrote it very quickly and wasn't really thinking. I'm not a great writter, but my friend told me to write a fanfic about my favorite book, so here it is Cherry(I won't use your real name, don't worry) much luv, the Drama Freak

The Ghost's Rose

I couldn't help but stare after them as the boy lifted her into the boat. His handsome face was now prematurely aged with lines of worry. He didn't look back once, no, he was too intent upon reaching the other shore as quickly as possible. I couldn't watch any longer. I couldn't see her leave. But as I turned, I swear, I think I saw her look back at me. Maybe, just maybe she did.
I walked up my front steps mournfully as my angel drifted soundlessly into the mist. She wouldn't come back to burry her poor, unhappy Erik. No, he would never let her, but I knew, at least, she had loved me. For one fleeting moment, she didn't turn from me. That's all I needed to die happy.

Now all that's left for me is to wait for death. I've been waiting for almost fifty years. Waiting since the day my wretched mother dragged me in front of her mirror to show me what I really was. I picked up my composition, my life's work. This music to which I have dedicated twenty years of my can never be played. It's a poison. It drove me to my darkest points, and nearly killed her when she first heard it. It no longer symbolizes my struggles. No, Don Juan Triumphant is my madness. I unceremoniously tore the manuscript in half and threw it in the fire. I then proceeded to move about the house systematically destroying everything that was ever dear to me. No record of Erik can ever exist. I simply won't allow it.
Then I reached her room. I hadn't been in it since the night I let her go. It had been empty for nearly a month now. I couldn't touch it. I simply couldn't bear to do it. I went over to what had once been my mother's bed, and what had once been her bed. I ran my fingers gently over the pillow where she had lain. I could still see her sleeping face. I remember the rise and fall of her breasts as she lay silently dreaming. But now the bed was cold, empty. The cotton sheets tucked in perfectly as if they had never been used. But wait. There's something in the folds of the sheets. A single white rose. I fell to the floor and wept. I wasn't ashamed of it. My hot tears flowed to the floor in a river of sorrow. It was true what I had told Nadir before I left his house; I was dying of love for her. Dying of love for my Christine, who cannot even come to burry her Erik! No, I would not destroy this room like I had the others. And here is where I would remain. I had made up my mind. I would die here, in my mother's bed. The bed in which she had given birth to me, and the bed in which the only woman who ever loved me had slept, it would be my final resting place. I placed the rose in a small vase on the side of the bed. I gazed up at it until I had fallen asleep and dreamed of her.

I don't know when Nadir had entered my house, but when I awoke there he was caring for me. I could hardly speak now I was so tired. It wouldn't be long we both knew it.
"Well Daroga?" I coughed, "Have you come to see if I'm really dead yet? It seems you may have to wait a few days more." He smiled at me and lifted me up on my pillow.
"How are you Erik? Do you think you're strong enough to talk?"
"My dear Daroga, you won't be getting any confessions out of me, if that's what you think."
"I didn't mean talk to me." He slowly rose and walked to the door. I sat up completely stunned as he opened it to reveal a small shaking girl hiding her face with a handkerchief. She was crying silent tears. She had always been radiant when she cried.
"Christine!" I breathed. She ran from her spot in the doorway and collapsed at the side of my bed and wept harder than ever. "Oh, Erik!" was all she could say. I wept too, in my disbelief. Why had she come? Why did he let her come?
"I-I thought that maybe, maybe you were already dead!" She buried her head in the sheets once more. "I thought I was too late! Oh, Erik!"
"Come here my child," I reached out to comfort her. "Please, don't cry anymore." But to my horror she shrank back. "C-Christine?"
"Erik, please." I sat there in numb horror. It had all been an act. She had never loved me. She would have said anything to save her damned lover! My breathing became ragged and uncontrollable. This was pain beyond anything that I had ever felt before.
"Leave!" I shouted. "Get out you little whore!" In my anger I felt my strength returning. I began to rise from the bed. She shrank back farther and paled so that she matched the walls.
"No, Erik! That's not what I meant!"
"Not what you meant was it?" I sneered. "Yes, I think I understand it now. You didn't mean for me to continue to think you loved me! Yes, I see perfectly now..."
"ERIK STOP IT!" She screamed with such force that I couldn't help but be silent. I had never heard her speak that way to anyone, let alone me. "I didn't mean to back away from you. I meant, I meant that I'm not a child anymore."
"What?" I said so quietly I wasn't even sure if she had heard.
"You called to me and said 'my child' and Erik that's not what I am. That's not what I want to be to you." I couldn't say anything. I was stunned into silence. "Erik I don't want to think of you as a father. I've grown up. It's made me realize that I don't love Raoul, and he doesn't really love me."
"What?" was once again all I could say to her.
"Raoul and I were living on the love we had shared as children. We can't build a life on that. We've come to realize that. I've broken off our engagement."
"But Christine, how could you..."
"Erik, I want to apologize. That night you asked me to return with my answer to you, and instead I went to Raoul and made plans to leave Paris forever. I should have returned to you with my honest answer." My heart sunk once more. I knew what she was going to tell me, why she had come back. She would have come to me and said no. She knew she could never be my wife. I knew it too. But at least, at least she was kind enough to do this last thing for me. She pulled out a plain gold ring from her pocket. It was the same gold ring I had given her. I reached out my hand to take it back from her. She placed it my hand and I took it up in my fingers and looked at it longingly. Then she reached out both of her hands again and guided my hands in placing the ring upon her finger. "Yes, Erik." Was all that was said before she silenced me with her lips. I slowly took her in my arms shaking and unsure, but she seemed to guide me. And when we woke the next morning she kissed me softly on the lips and all she said was "Goodbye Erik. I love you and I hope you find happiness." And she left the room.
Well Christine I have.

I'm taking my son far away from here, far away from all the memories. I did remarry after Erik's death. It was a very short marriage, though. Richard died only a year later from cholera, leaving me alone with my son. Richard had been a good husband. He cared for me and loved me. He accepted that I would always love Erik over him in heart.
The rain is beating mercilessly upon the window of our tiny train car. I'm watching my son Charles as he bounces restlessly on the seats. I don't think he even remembers Richard. He was so young.
"Yes my dear?"
"Will you tell me another story? Please?" he begged with sad eyes.
"Of course my love. What would you like to hear?"
"Tell me about my father again." I sighed and thought of how to begin his favorite story. Charles sat expectantly on the edge of his seat.
"Your father was one of the greatest men who ever lived. He was a magician and an architect, but most of all, he was a musician..."