A/N: So this is the official last chapter, and my favourite of the bunch. Man, what a week it's been— the week of Weak-Willed Christine. (Starts humming randomly to herself) Sorry, I was up at three in the morning with my sick dog and so only got about two hours of sleep... I am not quite functioning on all cylinders... but that's okay, because luckily for my kind of writing, sanity isn't necessary. And my dad is taking me to see Phantom tonight, maybe, (for the fourth time!) and I am happy about that...hopefully I won't fall asleep during it... look, I'll stop talking your ear off, okay?

A/A/N: Mwahahahaha!

Chapter Twelve: Correspondence of an Opera Ghost

To the Ballet Corps and Stage Hands, particularly the Younger Generation

Mesdames et Messieurs—

I would kindly ask you to stop swinging on the railings of the balconies. It is very bad for the wood, and warps the aforementioned railings. I know that you are habitually in high spirits, being young, but there is a very real danger that they will give way and you will fall, perhaps breaking some bones. So please, for your own sake, stop.

Yrs sincerely,


To Messrs. Andre and Firmin, Managers of the Opera Populaire

Dear Sirs—

Did I not advise you in no uncertain terms, that you must sell popcorn and peanuts during the intermission? I tell you again, you could make several hundred francs more than usual, provided you keep the prices competitive. Think of this as a friendly reminder— the last friendly reminder on the subject you will receive.

Your obedient servant,


To Random Battlecry, Author and Perpetrator of this Abominable Fiction

Dear Mademoiselle—

I cannot but express to you my extreme irritation with the way I have been portrayed in this "fic" of yours. Despite the fact that I do like my liquor, on occasion, I have never, to my knowledge, been a drunk. Admittedly if I had been, there is a strong likelihood that I would be unable to remember it. Also I strongly resent the suggestion on your part that Cary Elwes be pictured in my role when people read this "fic." I do not in the least resemble Mr. Elwes. If I did, I would have been even more inclined to hide my face behind a mask. Lastly, I must attack your portrayal of Miss Christine Daae as a dithering idiot, specifically your description of her as, and I quote, "dumb as a stick." No matter how true these allegations are, Miss Daae was the true love of my life, and I will brook no defamations of her character and intelligence.

Your portrayal of the Vicomte de Chagny, however, was spot on. And I must thank you for refraining from condemning me to either the "Crawford" or "Butler" version of myself, as neither really holds up under scrutiny. I sing far better than either. And I am very modest.

Yours peevishly,


To the Ballet Corps and Stage Hands, particularly the Younger Generation

Mesdames et Messieurs—

When I said to stop swinging on the railings, I was of course including the banisters in this generalization. Please cease to slide down the banisters— the stairs are there for a purpose. You must learn to descend in a more genteel, adult manner.

Yrs. sincerely,


To Monsieur Raoul de Chagny, Vicomte

Dear Sir—

Kindly return the objects you stole from my home immediately, or I will perforce be obliged to retrieve them myself. I understand you took them under the guise of "souvenirs," but the term does not apply— the lady to whom that underwear belongs to is a very dear friend of mine, and I am certain she would wish me to keep possession of them, and not some stranger whom she has never met.

Once again I warn you that I will retrieve these objects myself if they are not returned to me. Please remember what happened the last time I visited your home. We would not wish to kill another cat. Too many feline lives have been lost even now, as a result of various vendettas between several young men in the city. I have yet to understand why a cat always gets in the way. Furthermore I find myself inclined to wonder— they say a cat will always land on his feet, and they also say toast will always land butter-side down. I then question what would occur should a cat be dropped from a balcony with a piece of toast attached to its back, buttered side up— which of these spurious assertions would be proved wrong? It is a curious thing, and would perhaps benefit from extensive study by a serious student of human nature.

My thanks for your time, sir. I can write to you as I write to no-one. It is greatly pleasing to have a hearing ear, or seeing eye, as you will, regardless of whether or not an absolute fear of me enters into the situation.

Yrs. thoughtfully,


To Messrs. Andre and Firmin, Managers of the Opera Populaire

Dear Sirs—

Please know that I quite comprehend the fascination of the public with my basement lodgings. But I really must protest your recent decision to turn my home into a tourist trap. The constant surge of pleasure-seekers wishing to invade my house is interfering with my work, as well as my peace of mind. I have no wish to kill off these ignorant fools as they come, so please, make them stay away. Also the young woman you have hired to conduct the tours is a bloody nuisance. Twice now she has attempted to bed me, and if she does not leave me alone she will soon meet a most timely demise.

Yrs. faithfully,


To Mademoiselle Alexandria "Chi-Chi" de Phangirl, Tour Operator and Guide to the Underground Labyrinth Beneath the Opera Populaire

Dear Mademoiselle:

I have now fended off your advances successfully five times. I have warned you before of what would occur if you continued to conduct yourself in so forward a manner. I think you will now find that your little dog, abominably misnamed Fluffy, has met with a most unfortunate accident.

Ha ha! Hahahahahahaha! Hahahahah!

Yrs. murderously,


Post script— and no, this does not mean I love you.

To the Ballet Corps, exclusively


Stop. Sliding. Down. The. Banisters. Now.

I mean it.

Yours irritably,


To Messrs. Andre and Firmin, Managers of the Opera Populaire

Dear Sirs—

I have now written you several notes of a most amiable nature. I think you would agree by this point that I am a fine writer with a great future ahead of me. I must perforce advise you that my memoirs— entitled "Behind the Mask: Recollections and Reminiscences of an Opera Ghost and Disfigured Musical Genius"— will soon be on sale at the local bookstore. If it is not a standout bestseller, I will be most displeased. And if it does not out-sell that infernal trash by that Rowling woman, I will be even more most displeased. I must therefore ask you each to purchase a copy, and apprise the inhabitants of the Opera Populaire that, should they wish to enjoy good fortune and health, they should purchase a copy as well. In the event that there is need of a second edition, I will of course reward your dedication and loyalty to me. However, if these demands are not met, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur. I will embark on an author's tour and demonstrate devastating imitations of you all in front of the public. I will furthermore eviscerate you in print. Ye be warned.

Yrs. sincerely,


To Monsieur Andre, Manager of the Opera Populaire

Dearest Andre—

I wait for you on the roof. My libido is already engorged.

Yrs longingly,


To Monsieur Firmin, Other Manager of the Opera Populaire

Dearest, dearest Firmin—

I await your presence flamingly at the Rue Scribe. I know it is a long ways away, but it will be worth it if we can be alone together— I promise you.

Your ever loving,


To Monsieur le Phantom, Opera Ghost

Note to self—

Fake letters to Andre and Firmin were a brilliant success, resulting in confusion to all parties involved. Must not forget to try same thing next month.


To Madame Carlotta di Pissi, Diva

Dear Madame—

I must congratulate you on your upcoming nuptials to the brother of the beloved deceased, Ubaldo Piangi. I admit I was fully culpable for Monsieur Piangi's death, and feel compelled to apologize deeply and sincerely. I hope we can put the past behind us, and hope also that you take my best wishes for your continued health and happiness exactly as they are meant.

Yrs. truthfully,


Post Script— You look like a monkey and you smell like one too. Trust me. I should know. And I hope a carriage smashes your Chihuahua into a little doggy pancake.

To Madame Christine de Chagny, nee Daae

Dear Christine—

I must ask you to please stop leaving me notes in Box Five. Yes, we were together, yes, we had a good time, and yes, I loved you as I've loved no one before or since, especially on the third night, following the introduction of the black satin underwear. But now, alas, it is over. Over.

Or— is it?




A zillion thanks to all my reviewers, who included the following: Velf, babymene17, aries-chica56, MindGame, Joanieponytail, Songwind, hikari-no-tsubasa (yeah I'm a huge Douglas fan, by the way), Baffled Seraph, KeeperofBoxFive, YoukoElfMaiden, EriksAngel1870, Super-nitrous-Supra, Jessica Darque, Amaruk Wolfheart, Beads, gavvie, Invader Vega, ENTR'ACTE, Librarian of the Deep, butterflywings32, jadedrose01, adison, phantomy-cookies, Circe Rose, La Foamy, sparklyscorpion, AllThatJazz77, EmailyGirl, Christine Persephone (btw, I found a phic of yours that I can't recall the name of but there were several references to barnyard animals, I think... I nearly DIED when I read it! That was hilarious! Um... at least, I think it was yours...), Padfootz-luvr, andiavas, Han Futsu;Anti Normal, Frogboy Lives, wildpixiechild16, Mena, Sephira Netzach, Alexa, Miss Elderberry, Neonn, itaje, EvilStorm, Crimson Syirean, Nade-Naberrie, ChristineAngelOfMusic, Saber, Kristiana Marie, Fishy, Artful Dodger, Vega of the Lyre, Pyxelle, Weapon of Choice, convoitez, Christine, Spideymaan, bleephappy, Mountain Bluebird, anna, WritetotheDeath, Doomed Delight, DeemedMegByChristine, All Apologies, and finally Rue Marie. If I missed anyone's name, I'm sorry.

You guys are awesome, but I've said that already... and phantomy-cookies promised an after-party at PFN... and I'll put up the first chapter of my new story in the next few days... and yes, there IS life after "True Saga..." Plus, you guys helped me get 200 reviews, the first story of mine to reach that much ever, and I am thrilled to death about that. Of course, if you want to go for 250, you could always go back and review the chapters you happened to skip... hint hint hint hint hint...

oh and if Meta-Chi is out there reading this— hey Meta-Chi, gimme a review already:)

Okay, now its really the end.

You can look now.

And stop reading.

Did I not just tell you to go away?

What are you still doing here!



Erik, the Punjab please—

Thank you.