A/N: Thank you so much, everyone, for reading and reviewing. It's been great, truly. I am currently working on a new Leroux story, as I've said previously, so perhaps you will be seeing it soon.


Oh, Christine, read the final note he ever wrote to her. She had found it among the enormous stack of manuscripts he had instructed her to sort through, upon his passing. Obviously he had meant for her to find it at this point in the proceedings.

If you are reading this now, love, it will mean I am gone from you, forever. But do not despair, my wife, for you must have learned, by now, that I never truly leave you. I have always been there, whenever you called out my name, I was there for you. Nothing has changed now. I watch over you from wherever I now am, and my love for you grows with each passing day, as I think of the time when you will join me.

Tears gathered in Christine's eyes. "Oh, but why can't I join you now?" she whispered.

However, you have a long, full life ahead of you. I am sorry I could not join you in it. You have my permission to do whatever you wish to make your life without me as happy as possible. Leave the house, never return, leave France, even, if that is your wish.

But please, Christine, remember these last things, before you go and begin your life anew once again: Keep the gold ring with you forever more.

Leave all my music, my paintings, anything which I have created, where they are. The world may never see them. They were meant only for our eyes and ears. You may sell any of the other belongings.

Notify the Daroga of my passing; his flat is located on the Rue de Rivoli, and if you ask around, you are sure to locate him. He will take care of any further arrangements.

My Christine, pay me this finally tribute: never forget the sound of my voice. Each night, imagine me singing you to sleep, singing you a lullaby, and you never will forget me, I never truly will be gone. I love you.

--Your Erik

Tears were now streaming down Christine's cheeks, spilling down onto the note. Quickly she blotted the moisture away, and clutched the parchment to her breast.

"I will never forget you, Erik. . . I cannot. . ." she whispered. "Forever you will have my soul."