Epilogue:

The Giry's really had gone off to get help, but they were beyond too late when the police arrived. Meg had confessed everything and was put into prison. But on the day of her trial, they found her on the floor of her dirty cell with her wrists slit and pouring out blood. She had also left a note saying: "Forgive me, Christine."

Father was never able to forgive Madame Giry for letting her daughter go that far or for even coming to him for help to rescue Meg. Madame Giry resigned from Phantasma in disgrace and returned to France, where she now lives a quiet life cut off from the world as she drowns herself in morbid despair.

Mother was buried next to her Father, Gustave Daaè, in their homeland in a little graveyard by the sea. The attendants at the funeral other than the Vicomte and Father and myself were the manager of the New York Opera House, Mother's other friends from the corps de ballet, her old employers Monsieur Firmin and Monsieur Andre, and countless others whose names I've either forgotten or who wish to remain anonymous in this story.

A while after the funeral, Father came back to tell the Vicomte the truth. Mother had written him and me a letter that had originally not meant to have been opened until the right time, but the time had come quicker than we'd have ever thought. The night before Mother married Raoul ten years ago, she decided to find Father when everyone thought him dead and tell him she had to leave. But when she did find him, one thing lead to another and Mother realized that her real true love was Erik. But, ashamed of himself for letting himself go this far, Erik disappeared and Mother was left alone.

When I befriended Erik, he realized the truth and confronted Mother. She confessed and they both decided I wasn't to know until I was mature enough to handle the story of my parentage. Mother decided to write it down as a letter, believing that when the time came, she wouldn't be able to get the whole story out.

The Vicomte gave up and let Father take me away. I felt sorry for him; he had lost everything that mattered to him and was now bestowed with nothing. And in honor of Mother, I changed my last name from de Chagny to Daaè so I'd never forget. We couldn't remain in Paris for Father was still sure that someone was still after him and trying to kill him. So, we went back to Coney Island and we now live their permanently.

Father still owns Phantasma, but is less involved with it than he was five years ago. A year after Mother died when we had settled here, Father built the Daaè Opera House and is the soul owner of it. The place is like a cathedral and you feel glorified whenever you step foot into it. Father's portrait of Mother is also there, with a small dedication to her which simply says, "Love Never Dies - Christine Daaè." He writes music for all of the opera's and also welcomes young, new composers to share their work with the world as well.

The opera house opened on the anniversary of Mother's death and it's a huge success. People keep coming back over and over and always applaud the loudest for Father and I up in Box 5.

Father is now immersed in music, but is still filled with life. He rarely draws back into his grief, but he always comes out when he does. He is the most wonderful Father anyone could ever have in their life.

I help Father run Phantasma now and I even star in some of his opera's, which make me feel closer to Mother than I ever felt before. We both live in our manor by the sea on Coney Island.

But the most important change that came was the mask. When the audience was ready, we handed them a small book on one of our anniversaries titled: "Once Upon Another Time," a brief history of Father's life, from his successes to his failures. But we also talked in real detail about his deformity and that was why he always wore a mask, because of the way people treated him. That same night, Father unveiled his face, but the audience still kept coming and treated him with respect. It was a large overwhelming love that Father had never felt before, except from me and my Mother and he remains eternally grateful to his patrons for their love and support.

Erik never wore the mask again.