A/N: I know that Halloween was months ago but I had this idea now and wanted to write it out anyway. Inspired by a Tumblr prompt about rejecting death and based (loosely) on the myth of Hades and Persephone.

On one dark December night, an unforgiving hailstorm had trapped the little Swedish village in its icy embrace. Christine Daaé was tending to the hearth as her father, Gustave, lay still on the bed.

For months, her father, the violinist, had been growing ill. At first, he had assured her that what he had was nothing but the common cold. Just his body's natural reaction to the increasingly chilly weather. Gustave would force himself to perform in the cold streets so that they would have enough money for a decent meal. When he failed to collect enough for both of them, he would pretend not to be hungry to ensure that his daughter wouldn't go to sleep with an empty stomach.

Soon, however, his ailment grew worse. Every morning, he would have uncontrollable coughing fits. He would hide his blood-stained handkerchiefs from her and leave the house with a brave smile on his face. His daughter would always beg him to stay home and rest, but he would only tell her not to worry.

"Papa will take care of you, Christine. You must trust me. I will be fine and I will never leave you."

Now, however, as the young woman tended to the hearth, tears streamed down the musician's face. He had failed to take care of his most precious treasure. For weeks, he had been bed-ridden; his lungs were no longer able to stand the chilly air and even walking had become too much of a challenge for his weakened body.

In his heart, he knew that Death would be coming for him soon. And he feared that he would be leaving his daughter with nothing but an old violin, the clothes on her back, and his many medical debts.

"Christine," he weakly muttered, "come sit with me, my dearest daughter."

The young woman immediately ran to his side. Her brows creased with worry. "What's wrong, papa? Are you still too cold? Let me make you some soup."

"No, älskling, I am not hungry."

"Then tell me what you need, papa. Please let me take care of you."

With a shaky hand, he tucked a stray strand of her golden hair behind her ear. "Death will be coming for me soon, Christine."

A strangled sob escaped her lips. "Papa, don't say things like that!"

"But it is true, my daughter. And I need you to be prepared. I'm afraid that I do not own much and I will be leaving you with very little money. But when I'm gone, you can sell my old violin. It is still in excellent condition and may be worth a decent sum. The money will help you get by until you find a husband."

"Papa, please," she could no longer stop her tears, "you're all I have. Don't leave me."

He held her hand as tight as he could, though his ailment had weakened his grip considerably. "I'm sorry I couldn't give you more. I could not provide for you as well as I could. Your mother was right to leave me. I foolishly followed my dream of becoming a musician instead of pursuing a more practical career, a job that could've given my family the life they deserve. I have failed as your father. Please forgive me, älskling."

Gustave could not look his daughter in the eye as he voiced out his confession. He had been keeping these feelings inside for so long. And now the dam that was his heart had burst; the emotions are flowing out like a violent stream. His tears threatened to drown him, pull him down into its vise-like grip.

But Christine placed a gentle hand on his cheek and her touch brought him back to earth.

"But don't you see, papa… don't you see that you are the best father anyone could ever ask for?"

Behind her spectacles, her blue eyes sparkled like the northern star. And it was enough to guide Gustave back home. "We may not have a lot of money or possessions, but you filled our home with warmth and love and music. We survived every hardship because we had each other.

When we had no roof over our heads, you showed me the beauty of the stars. When our stomachs were empty, you filled my heart through the power of your stories. When I thought I didn't have a voice, you helped me sing…

I love you, papa. And I know you did the best that you could."

Father and daughter embraced each other as tightly as they could that night, both crying and smiling. Gustave asked Christine to sing with him one last time, and together they let music and warmth and love fill their home once more.

She fell asleep on the chair by her father's bedside, beautiful melodies filling her dreams. But as the fire in the hearth died down, so too did her father's soul slip away. She was still holding his hand when she woke up and noticed that it had gone cold. A hint of a smile still formed on her father's lips but his skin had already turned pale and lifeless.

The December night felt even colder to her now. She placed her arms around herself in an attempt to keep warm but the chill crept up her spine and wrapped itself around her like an angry viper. She cradled her father's lifeless form and let her tears fall freely.

Then, a voice—deep and sonorous and enticing—beckoned to her. "Please don't cry anymore, Christine. I'm here."

She looked up, startled. And she saw him—a spectral figure dressed in a black robe and wearing a white mask that covered his entire face. Golden eyes gleamed in the darkness, his gaze both comforting and threatening. He was impossibly tall and thin like a skeleton, and his form seemed almost transparent, blending seamlessly into the shadows.

"W-who are you?" she asked, her voice cracking and body trembling.

"Do not be afraid, Christine. I am your Angel."

…

He loved her the moment he first laid eyes on her.

For so long, he did not believe himself to be capable of love. But what he felt for Christine was undeniable. Who would have guessed that Death was capable of forming such utterly human attachments?

He thought that his line of work had hardened his heart, taught him how fleeting human lives were. Centuries had come and gone, and he was still here. He had witnessed countless individuals die in different ways. Some were surrounded by their loved ones as they passed on, others were alone. Some died peacefully in their sleep, others met grisly, violent deaths.

Humans were fragile creatures. Though he comprehended love, grief, and loss on an intellectual level, he could not truly understand these foreign emotions. That is, until he met her…

It was his duty to look after the souls of those who have passed from the realm of humans to the afterlife. He would come to visit when the time has come for them to perish and he would lead them to the underworld.

A few days before the person is due to die, he watches over them, observes how they spend their last moments on earth. Usually, those on their death bed would pray for forgiveness from all of their sins or ask to be given just a few more days of life. But not Gustave Daaé. The man had accepted his fate. He seemed at peace as he whispered his prayers.

"I don't have a lot of time, my Lord. I'll be in Your presence soon. I only ask that you send an angel—your best angel—to look after my daughter, Christine. Please send her your Angel of Music so that she may have a part of me even when I'm gone."

And with those final words, the man closed his eyes and drifted off into an eternal slumber.

Death did not enjoy coming to claim Gustave's soul, especially not after watching his final days with his beloved daughter.

He watched as the man grew progressively weaker, how his only child did everything she could to care for him. She would sing and dance in the streets to collect money and buy his medicines. She would swallow her pride and ask their neighbors to spare them some bread and soup.

His heart went out to the young woman. Such beauty and purity and spirit. He watched awe-struck as she performed in front of passers-by. Her voice was more beautiful than any songbird's, her golden hair danced in the wind as she swayed to a melody that she alone could hear. She deserved to sing on a more elegant stage, he thought.

Something about Christine drew him to her. He couldn't quite understand what he was feeling at the time but something ancient and primal seemed to stir within him. A desire he didn't realize he was capable of having.

He wanted to take her under his wing and care for her, make sure she never wants for anything. But he also wanted to possess her. To keep her away from the world that had been so cruel to her, hide her in his underground domain, away from the greedy eyes of men who could hurt and ruin her.

So, he took a leap of faith and revealed himself to her after he had taken her father's soul. He wanted to show himself to her and let her know that she wasn't alone, that she will never be alone ever again.

"W-who are you?" she had asked.

"Do not be afraid, Christine. I am your Angel."

Although she no longer seemed terrified, confusion was apparent in her features. "Forgive me, but you are not at all how I imagined an angel would look."

Behind his mask, he smirked. "Well, I am an angel of sorts. Perhaps not the kind you've read about in your Bible. But I also serve as a messenger from beyond the mortal realm. And I escort dying souls to their final resting place. So, in a way, I am very much an angel. But more importantly, I am your Angel."

Realization seemed to spark in her mind, and her confusion quickly turned to anger. "Is that why you're here then? You took my father from me?" She ran to him and pounded her fists on his chest, tears violently streaming down her cheeks. "Give him back, I beg of you! Bring him back to me! He's all I have. How could you take him? How could you?!"

The weight of her fists on his chest did not bother him but her words, however… they stung at him, consumed his thoughts. "I cannot bring him back to you. What has perished cannot be brought back to life."

She had ceased hitting him and instead clutched at his robes and rested her head on his bony chest. "Why did you take him? Why? He was all I had. Now, I'm alone. I have no one. Why did you have to take him?"

"I'm sorry, Christine. I did not want to take his soul but it was simply his time."

He could not see her face but her tears were like fire on his cursed skin, both hurting and cleansing him. A part of him yearned to place his arms around her but he worried that the coldness of his flesh would startle her. He contented himself with the feel of her head atop his clothed chest and her pretty little fingers clutching at his robes.

With a voice as sweet and rich as honey, he sang to her. Letting the only beautiful part of him warm her soul and bring her peace. Soon, she stopped crying but did not move away from him.

"Let me be your Angel, Christine. I cannot bring your father back but I will take care of you and never let you be alone. All I ask is that you be my living bride."

…

She did not know why she went with him—this strange, mysterious being who claimed to be an angel. But she didn't know where else to go. She had no living relatives, no friends, no prospective suitors, no money. So, when he extended his hand to her and promised that he would never let her be alone, what else could she do but follow?

The underworld was a dark and dreary place. Eternally cold and lifeless. She walked carefully because it felt as though the ground beneath her feet would, at any time, wake up and swallow her whole.

He brought her through a giant iron gate and then led her to a dock where a gondola waited for them. As he rowed the boat, she looked down into the murky lake. She could've sworn she saw something move within its depths.

She clutched at Death's robe and felt him panic just the slightest bit.

"Forgive me. I know that my domain is, ah, quite frightening to mortal eyes. But I promise that I will give you a place to call your own. Somewhere that will be most pleasing to you. You will feel at home here, eventually. Would you like that, Christine?"

She could only nod her head.

Sensing her fear, he continued speaking. "They won't harm you, those beings in the lake. I would never let them."

"W-what are they?"

"Those are the souls of some of the most wicked beings to ever grace the earth. Their punishment is to spend eternity drifting aimlessly in this lake of sulfur. It will burn their bodies until they are nothing but bone but then their flesh will regrow and they will have to go through the whole process again and again."

Her eyes widened in fear but her expression quickly turned melancholy. "I feel sorry for them. I don't think anyone deserves to be punished for eternity."

He continued rowing the boat without turning to look at her. "We all reap what we sow."

…

He kept his promises. He created a place in the underworld that was just for her. Unlike the eternal winter of the rest of his underground domain, in the home he made for her, it was always springtime. Beautiful meadows with lush green grass and the most fragrant flowers—tulips and roses and daisies—adorned her special palace.

She was never hungry or tired or alone. He would always bring her the freshest fruits from the world above and ravish her with the finest wine. Every day, he would come to her and keep her company. Her favorite pastime was when the two of them would play music and sing together. It was the only thing that brought her joy, reminding her of all the times she and her father would perform together.

In the evening, he would stand by her bed and stayed with her as she attempted to rest. But her bed was far too large for her, and she had trouble staying asleep. So, one night, she asked him to join her. He was hesitant, at first, but he lied down next to her and let her place her arms around his long, bony frame.

Soon, her touches became more frequent and less innocent. A hungry peck on the neck, a leg clinging to his waist, a hand on his chest, the other reaching to disrobe him.

He did not know that it was possible for him to feel such wicked desires but she awakened that in him. With the intensity of a thousand suns, he kissed her on the lips, savoring the sweet taste of her and the warmth of her body on his.

She let him touch her everywhere he wished, and he worshipped at her feet. When at last they joined, his hardness meeting her softness, he could barely contain his joy. He never thought that he could even feel such ecstasy. But here she was—his living, breathing bride. She never flinched at his cold flesh, didn't seem horrified of his scarred body.

How he loved her, how he cherished her!

He watched in awe as she reached her peak, digging her nails into the small of his back. Her cheeks flushed, eyes blown with lust, and golden curls all a mess. After they were both satisfied, she fell into a deep sleep, still resting in his embrace.

How could he ever let her go?

…

For a time, she was content in this little world that Death had created. But a part of her yearned for more. Everything in the underworld was devoid of life. She knew that the flowers and grass outside her palace were nothing but mere illusions. A trick of the mind meant to keep her sane.

The fruits and wine he fed her helped retain the impression of life. Using a seed from one of the apples he had gifted her, she tried to plant a tree. But within days, she watched the small sprout wither and die.

She realized then that nothing can blossom in this place of death.

He noticed that she was becoming restless, so he tried to shower her with more gifts. Fancy dresses, the finest jewelry, all of the sweets she never got to taste. But none of it was enough.

Her skin had started turning pale, her blue eyes no longer held that sparkle and wonder he once saw, and even her golden locks had lost their luster and shine. She still lived but her soul was dying before his eyes.

"What can I do to make you happy, my Christine? Please tell me." He pleaded.

She sighed, and it looked as though a heavy weight had been lifted from her shoulders. "I want to feel alive again."

"How can I help make this wish come true, love?"

"Please take me back to the world above."

His lips tightened into a straight line. "No. You will stay here. You promised to be my wife and this is the cost. I have given you everything you could ever need!"

"But I am dying, my love. This is no place for a living being and you know it. I need to be around other people, to see the sky and the sun and the stars, to explore the world, to live."

She held his cold, bony hand and he knew that she was right. He couldn't keep a living soul in the underworld forever. "Perhaps we could reach a compromise… I could bring you back to the world above for a week. But you must promise to return to your husband by midnight on the seventh day." With a snap of his fingers, he conjured a golden ring out of thin air. "Wear this on your finger at all times, as a promise to me. I will be waiting for you by the gate."

A wide grin formed on her lips. He hadn't seen her smile in a while and it brought such joy to his heart. "It's a deal!" she exclaimed as she took the ring and placed it on her finger.

He kissed her cheek softly. "I can take you anywhere you want to go. Is there a place you've always wanted to visit?"

She thought about his question for a while and then smiled wistfully. "Paris. Where my father and I stayed one summer. It was one of the happiest times of my life, and I should like to see the city again."

…

Christine had not seen Paris since she was a little girl. Much about the city has changed but the important things—the memories it brought back and the happiness it gave her—had remained. She enjoyed getting to see the world above once more, enjoyed the freedom of being able to go anywhere she wished.

Death had given her a lot of money, enough so that she could spend her week's stay on earth realm in luxury. But she truly didn't need so much. She was content roaming the streets, taking in the sights and smells of the city, sampling freshly baked goods from the bakery, looking up at the stars at night. These were all things she and her father used to do together, and remembering these beautiful memories brought a bittersweet feeling to her heart.

On her second day in Paris, she decided to go to the Opera Populaire and see a show. She had always dreamed of becoming a prima donna and watching the performers onstage brought back that desire. She loved singing with her husband and listening to the music he played for her, but nothing could compare to the joy of singing and dancing in front of an audience.

She tried to push these thoughts away from her mind, knowing that she couldn't stay. Once the week is over, she'll need to return to her husband and the underworld.

As the performers took their final bow, everyone in the audience gave a standing ovation. Christine stood as well, struggling to keep her tears from falling. She started walking out of the opera house, wanting to clear her head.

But a voice called out to her. "Christine!"

She turned and saw an impeccably dressed gentleman with sandy blond hair and a thin mustache. At first, she did not recognize who he was but as she looked into his beautiful blue eyes and saw his sweet, boyish grin, her head was filled with thoughts of summertime. Of playing by the ocean and sandcastles and clear blue seas and red scarves.

"Raoul? I can't believe it's you!"

…

It was midnight on the seventh day. And Death waited by the iron gate. Waited patiently for his living bride to return to him.

He missed her so much. Although he wanted to keep a close eye on her during the entire week, he knew that she wanted a bit of space and freedom from him. So, he focused on his work, checking on dying souls and leading them to the underworld.

But now, he couldn't wait for his beloved to return. He stood by the gate, imagining the look on her face when they see each other again. He pictured her running to embrace him, him carrying her to the gondola and then to her palace where they could make love until the sun rose in the world above.

He waited and waited and waited.

Soon, the sun started to rise and he prepared to retreat to his domain. Anger and sadness and frustration bubbled up inside him. His wife had forsaken their deal, her promise! How could he have allowed her back to the mortal world, full of temptations and greedy, cruel men? How could he have trusted her to keep her word? Then again, what if she was hurt? What if someone had taken her?

His powerful emotions caused the ground beneath his feet to tremble and quake. But then, he saw her figure in the distance, slowly walking toward him. Anger turned to relief and he ran to embrace her. She let him hold her but he quickly noticed that her eyes were filled with tears.

"My wife, what's wrong? Have you been hurt?"

Christine held him tighter, burying her face on his chest. "I'm sorry."

"What on earth are you sorry for, love?"

She pulled away from their embrace, body still shaking and tears still falling. "You have been good to me. You've cared for me when no one else could. But this week has taught me that I cannot stay in the underworld. No living being can. I need to be here on earth. I need to be free. Please… please release me from my vows."

Death was familiar with pain, knew it better than anyone. But this pain, what he felt when Christine asked to freed from her vows, he could not bear this unspeakable pain.

Behind his mask, he felt his salty tears burning his flesh. Rage bubbling up inside his heart. "No. You have promised to be my wife. Our marriage has been consummated and our bond is sealed."

"I know," she cried, "but you can choose to release me still. Please. I can no longer be a songbird cooped up in a gilded cage."

"A cage?" he scoffed, "I gave you a palace. I gave you the finest of everything when you had nothing. And you repay me by running away. Tell me, is there a better man who has taken your fancy?"

"This isn't about Raoul. This is about my freedom!"

"A-ha! So there is a gentleman! Tell me, is he handsome, hmm? A better lover than your poor husband? This disgusting corpse who loves and adores you and will never leave you?"

Death turned from her and moved to the gate. She held his wrist to stop him. "I love you, I do… but I want to be alive and live a full life. Please forgive me. I want to live." She took the golden ring from her finger and tried to place it on his palm. But he balled his fists and pushed her hand away.

"If you want to live so badly, then live. I release you from your vows… but you should know that this means I'll also be released from my vows. Goodbye, Christine. I will never return to you."

He walked through the gate and disappeared into a cloud of smoke. She held the ring tight in her palm and held it close to her heart.

…

"I will never return to you."

His words still replayed in her mind over and over, as it had for the past few decades.

She has lived a full life across many lifetimes. He kept his promise and did not return to her. After six centuries, she still lives.

Her Raoul, her childhood friend, had been a good husband and they had four wonderful children together. She lived to see her grandchildren and the children of her grandchildren and so on. The most painful part of living was watching her loved ones each pass away while she continued to stay alive.

Though she continued to age, her body refused to perish. No matter what ailments she acquired, Death seemed determined not to come and collect her soul.

But now, as she lay in a hospital bed, old, alone, and in pain, she beckoned to him. She had lived and now she was prepared for the natural next step.

She closed her eyes for a few minutes, willing herself to fall asleep. But then she heard a familiar voice calling to her. "I'm sorry, Christine. I thought I would stay angry forever and never let you rest. I see now how I've made you suffer and I can no longer bear it."

Her eyes shot wide open. And she looked once again into his masked face. She weakly extended her hand to him and he quickly held it.

The golden ring on her finger gleamed, still as beautiful and bright as it was centuries ago.

"Hello, Death, my husband. I'm ready to come home."