"You're WHAT?" asked Erik as he woke in Rose's arms.

"My womb bursts forth with new life as a result of our shared passion."

"But…it's been, like, a week! How is this even possible?"

Readers: Just what we were wondering. How does Rose know?

Author: Rose +knows+ these things. I've imbued her with mild psychic powers, like any self-respecting Mary-Sue...+realizes that the phrase 'self-respecting Mary-Sue is an oxymoron.+ My point still stands.

"Oh, Erik!" pouted Rose. "Aren't you even happy that you and I are going to have a baby?"

"How do I know it isn't a bastard of that Raoul—your lover?" Erik loved this woman and would give anything to have children with her, but we need some angst and he needs some justification in his Raoul vendetta.

"Erik, my love, Raoul and I only had sex, like, 3 times, not including him dry-humping my leg! Everyone knows you can only get pregnant after, like, ten thousand unprotected times! Or from a toilet seat!"

Author: Oh geez. She's turning into a 13 year old ho-bag who forgot to pay attention in Sex Ed.

Readers: Eeeeeee +are afraid to use the toilet+

"And besides, the only baby I could ever have in this story is the baby of my True Love, which is you, and it was conceived on our first night together, because that's just so PERFECT and we're PERFECT, but most of all, I'M perfect!" Erik nodded at this.

"You make a good point."

"Of course I do, silly! I'm so witty!"

"You dazzle me, my love," beamed Erik, amazed at the brilliance of his true love.

"Hey, shouldn't we get, like, married or something?"

"My goodness, you're right! What a PERFECT way to end our day!"

Erik took Rose to a small chapel, and there they were married in the most beautiful, simplest ceremony ever seen. As they repeated their deathless vows, they held hands and stood in front of a beautiful stained glass window and sang a duet that made the nuns cry and the priest hang himself out of pure bliss.

Erik hired a cab to drive them back to the Opera house, and he and Rose were so engrossed in each other (read: sexing it up in the carriage,) that they didn't hear the horses neighing in terror until they felt the carriage take off like a bullet, careening madly through the streets of Paris. With a sickening crunch and splintering wood and glass, the carriage overturned and tumbled into a conveniently placed ravine. Erik leapt out of the twisting carriage and landed on his feet, quick like a cat.

Readers: Ohhhh sexy!

Author: And how!

As Erik stood on the edge of the ravine, he watched his new wife and true love plummet towards the sharp rocks below.

"Nooooooooooooooooooooo!" he cried out in solemn, echoing slo-mo while the camera panned around his desperate face in an extreme close-up shot to reveal his horror and terror. Lighting flashed, thunder boomed, and rain began to fall in sleeting, cold, silvery sheets as Erik stood at the edge of the ravine, his cape billowing behind him with the Utter Angstyness to End All Angstyness. He began to run masterfully, heroically, but most of all, sexily, down the steep ravine, towards the broken mass of carriage. He slipped and tumbled the rest of the way, head over heels, his mask tearing away in the process.

"Aaaaaaaas yooooooooouu wiiiiiiiiiish…!" he called out for no apparent reason.

Readers: Oh that was really bad.

Author: Heh. I know.

As he regained his footing and replaced his mask, however, he continued down to rescue his love. Tearing the door off its hinges…

Phangirls: He's so strong! Do the shirt next! Do the shirt next!

Author: Okay, fine!

Erik then tore off his sopping wet billowy white shirt, proceeding to haul Rose out of the carriage and into his arms. She lay, white and unconscious in his arms, as if dead.

Author: But y'all know she's not…

Readers: Damn.

Author: Yeah.

As Erik sobbed over her body, he gathered her into his arms as though she weighed nothing (which she does, as a matter of fact,) carrying her all the way back to the Opera house.

"Call for a doctor!" he bellowed magisterially, laying Rose on the bed where so recently their passion had made a child. The doctor rushed in to examine Rose, who lay as though sleeping, gorgeous in spite of the thin scratch across her cheek.

Readers: What if it scars?

Author: Scars are sexy.

Readers: Only on bad-ass men!

Author: True. +heals the cut+

The doctor looked grim and rose, turning to Erik.

"How bad is it, Doctor? I can take it," insisted Erik, though tears of fatigued worry slipped down his face.

"Well, I'm afraid she's miscarried…"

Readers: Isn't there usually pain and blood with that?

Author: Technically yes. But Mary-Sues don't feel any unnecessary pain and blood is just gross. We'll say the baby got vaporized during the carriage wreck.

Readers: Awww! Baby!

Author: No, see, this is a good thing. You get all the emotional/angsty attachments to the baby, and yet there IS no baby anymore, so nothing can interfere with out virile couple's incessant sexing-up. She'll probably conceive again the moment they kiss or something. These two are like rabbits. We don't want Rose to turn into a Sloaney milk-sack right out of the starting gate. To quote the Princess Bride (again!): "Inconceivable!"

"And?" wavered Erik, mourning but a moment for the baby before moving on.

"She'll never walk again!"

"I DON'T BELIEVE YOU!" cried Erik, wrenching himself away from the doctor, running to Rose's side. "I'll help you through this, sweetheart. We'll make it…together. Our love will see us through!"

"Whatev. You people are nuts. Fuck y'all and this popsicle stand! Peace, out!" As the Doctor turned to leave, Erik shot him in the head with his pistol.

"No one," he panted, "calls ME insane!"

A week later, Rose was up and walking, in spite of the Doctor's educated opinion.

"What do doctors know anyway?" she said brightly. "I'm a genius!"

"It's a miracle!" they said.

"No," said Erik. "It's true love!"

"Erik," said Rose happily, as they starred together in the first of many outrageously successful operas, "I'm pregnant again!"

Author: Now, in the manner of most Mary-Sue stories, I'll just let the Raoul side of the love-triangle fade into the woodwork, because after writing this drivel, I feel no obligation whatsoever to tie up the loose ends and fill in the plot holes. He can always come back in the future to create more angst by impregnating Rose while she and Erik are on a "break."

Narrator: "And off they went, riding into the sunset, to spawn a horrid brood of gorgeous children with magnetic animal-lust charisma and genius talents. From thence would spring a series of equally disturbing sequels and seizure-inducing spin-offs. Rose and Erik themselves would eventually retire to a villa in the south of France, or a yacht in the Mediterranean, and although they had massive hoards of children (a side effect inherent to perpetual sexing-up,) neither of them grew older. Eventually, reconstructive surgery gave Erik the face of a hard-bodied Greek god. Raoul popped in to visit and sex up Erik's wife from time to time. Between the various episodes of angst (often induced by the swarming droves of Rose's would-be rapists, including mimes, rabid dogs, scary hobos, and a pissed-off raccoon seeking vengeance for past wrongs,) they were blissfully, blissfully happy."

The End (for real.)