Hello, hello! Well, this is the last chapter, an epilogue. I want to thank you SO MUCH for reading and for reviewing if you did that too! This was my first actual attempt at writing anything besides papers and such, and especially Phan fiction, haha. I hope you enjoyed it, I certainly did, and learned that writing is a lot of fun. That being said, I already have two more phanfictions in the works, one being a sequel to this one. Won't be posted for a while though, simply due to not having a lot of time right now. It takes me a while, I like to write out at least several chapters that I'm absolutely happy with, because I tend to change the whole plot mid-story, haha. Took me several months, I started in March and finished writing/editting/etc in September. I would like to especially thank MrsTiffany Sparrow, also known as Flute Damioh on Fanfiction, for all the help beta-ing and editting, I wouldn't have been able to do with without you! Anyways, thank you everyone once again, it really means so much to me that you're reading, and I hoped you enjoyed the ride. :D

MissCyraf

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

59

Epilogue

"I Have"

"Excuse me, Madame. A visitor has come to call, and would very much like to speak with you." Madame de Chagny lifted her gaze from the window, she had been watching the rain pelt against the panes of glass, the sky opening to sooth the dryness of the land away. She rarely entertained anymore, over the passing years had grown quiet, withdrawn. Raoul hardly saw the point to inviting guests if she did not properly entertain them, so whenever he wanted to socialize, which was often, he left the household. Her children were also gone, her twin boys were in boarding school abroad in England. She was alone.

"See him in, Frederick." She replied softly, curiosity raising her out of her melancholy. Though it did not rain often, and the land sorely needed it, it only reminded her of her long carriage rise back from the Opera Populaire, thirteen years ago, and always would.

Raoul had been most displeased when he had seen the Phantom flee the stage that night, distracted by her wailing. When he had attended her, and seen that nothing was wrong, that she was merely afraid, or so she had told him, he had been furious. He had forgiven her over time, but in the carriage ride home, he had not spoken to her, dead certain that the infamous Phantom would follow them to their graves. Christine had known this wasn't so, and told him often that he no longer needed to worry. Raoul was always loving and comforting over the years, he did not hold the Phantom's escape against her. But they had grown apart. And even after all the time that had passed, he still sometimes spoke of "the demon" that had ruined her life, ruined her. He blamed the Phantom for her turning away from him, believing her to be possessed or fearful of a man's touch. That wasn't the case. Christine had known she was in love with Erik that night, but also had known that it wasn't to be. He had left her then, left her to the world that she had so embraced only months before. He was gone, forever. Happy without her. She had never sung again.

The man shuffled inward, handing his drenched coat and umbrella to the butler. She stood, he took her hand and kissed it lightly, staring up at her until he righted himself. She shifted under his intent gaze, it reminded her of another's. Taking a seat, and waving to indicate that the stranger do so as well, she waited for him to introduce himself.

"Madame de Chagny? I am Gaston Leroux, and I would very much like to speak to you of some events that occurred years ago. You see, I am writing a book." Christine eyed him, her quiet curiosity growing.

"Years ago, Monsieur? I must confess, I hardly ever think on the past." She tested him, discouraged him, but he continued, persistent.

"You were then known as Christine Daae, yes? The glorious soprano that triumphed at the Opera Populaire until the night of a particular disaster, only to return months later for a final confrontation?" She smiled now, a hidden one.

"Yes, that is true." She allowed, waiting.

"I would like to speak to you of the infamous 'Phantom of the Opera'." Frederick bustled in, setting a tea set between them, dropping in a cube of sugar for his mistress.

She lifted the teacup to her lips as he left, eyes on her inquisitive guest. She considered for several moments, sipping daintily at her tea. Setting down her teacup, she spoke, the first real smile dancing on her lips in years.

"Erik. His name was Erik."

o o o o o

I squinted as we strode into the building, Erik squeezed his eyes shut, swearing softly under his breath.

"I will never get used to that damnable sunlight." He growled, rubbing at his eyes, and then blinking furiously for them to adjust. I laughed at him, taking his arm, and pulling him further inward. It still had all of the original gilt carvings and statues, the same marble pillars and floors. They shined with exuberant polish, making the rich colors of the drapings and lavish ornamentation glow. I distinctly remembered being on my hands and knees scrubbing polish into those floors, carvings and statues, the memory brought a smile to my lips. I suppose they use machines now…Before us, the Grand Staircase stretched upward, reaching for the second floor's balconies. Levels of balconies persisted upward, finally cresting into a magnificent dome. I sighed, feeling suddenly like I was home again. The Opera Populaire still stood, just as bold and brilliant as ever. I squeezed Erik's hand, his eyes surveying the architecture.

"It looks very much the same, they have kept it in good condition." He muttered, his melodic voice tinged with awe, deeper with heavy emotion. I'm moved by being here again, but what he must feel…This was his home, the place he had spent most of his life. Now all the people in it that he had known were dead and gone, over a hundred years in the past.

We wandered, ignoring the tour group that filtered in past us. Erik wore his classic white half-mask like always, a consistent contrast to the black clothing he preferred. Ironically, he wasn't the only one wearing a mask. Several tourists were wearing them too, they sold plastic imitations at the gift store. Erik had at first been marginally insulted when he saw this, never forgiving Leroux's novel for being written, especially when it was so inaccurate. Now he ignored them, refusing to acknowledge his fame.

He had done as he promised, he had taken me all over the world. Paris was our last stop. I had never thought it could happen, never thought that he could really make good on his promise. When he first arrived, he hadn't any money, any clothing, any anything. But we had discovered, much to my utter and complete shock, that a bank account had been created for him, an inheritance of sort, a hundred and thirty seven years ago, holding a vast account that had only increased exponentially over time. It had been under my name, though, so when I went to the bank a week after he arrived, the teller told me. Somehow, they hadn't found it until just recently, he had said. I had thought then what a funny, strange thing time really was. There was a note though, insisting that I couldn't access it until I came with "Erik". It was all very strange, the teller said, but he had to follow the directions. The teller told us that it would take a few days for the money to get transferred, as it was a European account. I wondered aloud to Erik how it was possible, he thought it was because he had given Christine the money, and the only way he could get it was with me. Raoul did know my full name, he theorized, and it wouldn't be too difficult to set up an account. He wasn't all together too surprised by how it was done, more so that she had done it for him. It had also come with a letter, which had to be sent in the mail. When it arrived, the only thing that it said was "Opera Populaire, Box Five." We were curious, me more than Erik, actually, he said he was content to never return. I didn't think that was true, but he had continued, taking my hands and staring into my eyes with his cloudy green ones.

"I once promised you that if I had the opportunity, I would take you anywhere in the world at a moment's notice if you so wished it. I can see it in your eyes, Gwendolyn, and with this money, we now have that opportunity. We will go, and well will return to the Opera Populaire."

Thinking on that moment still made me melt a little, he had been so sincere, so heartfelt. Now we had gone everywhere, all over Europe, everywhere I had wanted to see. Although he had told me of all the traveling he had done in his past, he was just as enthusiastic, especially fascinated with the planes, despite the horrible airport stays. He had plastered himself against the little windows, content to stare at just clouds and ocean, the way the bright sunlight danced on them, for hours at a time. Throughout our time together, I must have only fallen further in love with him. He wasn't the same as he was at the Opera Populaire, his past no longer dogged his steps and weighed him down emotionally. He was lighter, his darker side only coming up occasionally. It was wonderful, he was more affectionate, caring, passionate, understanding…perfect…than I ever could have imagine. Well, not perfect…

We still bickered, often, but it was never serious, and I think he liked that about me. I challenged him. I liked it about him too, I needed to be respected and challenged as well. And usually, he ended up defusing the arguments anyhow, generally with a charming Shakespeare quote, knowing it would delight me. The last one had been the best, "teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made for kissing, lady, not for such contempt…" I grinned giddily at the memory of the passion that had followed. Besides, what doesn't kill us only makes us stronger…

Snapping out of my rambling reverie, I focused back on Erik, who was now leading me up the Grand Staircase, running his hands over the balcony lovingly, as if in a trance. I wrapped my arm around his waist, all of a sudden very proud of him. I was always proud of him, how far he had come, what he had accomplished, how very, very intelligent and talented he was, but now, it seemed all the more obvious. How anyone had not seen his gifts was beyond me. Well, I distinctly remember hating his guts when first experiencing him…He turned to look down at me, a glowing smile playing on his lips. Tucked under his arm, he pulled me in closer. We reached the second floor, I broke away to walk over to a familiar portion of the wall. It was blank, no mirror. I ran my hands over the wall, like I had done a hundred and thirty seven years in the past. It was unbelievable. Erik came up behind me, placing light hands on my shoulders and squeezing gently. I turned to smile up at him, without saying anything, I knew he understood.

We progressed past another tour group, a young boy staring up at Erik as we walked by. He didn't cringe, or turn away, just gave the child a warm smile and kept on. I felt another swell of pride for him, stretching up to quickly kiss his cheek. We reached the box, it had a velvet rope slung across the entrance way. Erik hung back, considering, but I climbed right over it after checking to see that no one was coming. I didn't feel bad about it at all, pulling him over the rope. I felt a little like it belonged to him anyway, we weren't committing any crime. He stepped over it, his long legs easily stretching over it though it was at my hips. I took his hand again as we moved into the Box, it was dark, the power wasn't on as no one was allowed in there. We strode past the velvet curtains over to the rail, I was careful to climb the steps, remembering my tumble in the past. He leaned over it, brows furrowing as he took in the view.

"It is like no time has passed at all…" He muttered, running his hands over the rail. I wandered through the interior of the Box, looking for anything that might be unusual. And then I found it. Whipping around to grab his arm, I hauled him backward to where I was. He started to protest, but then cut off when he saw what I was pointing at. A black plaque with gilt lining was mounted on the wall. There was only one line, plain and simple. But as I embraced him, I knew it meant more to him than seeing the whole building had.

"To my Angel, forever and always. I hope you found your own angel." He turned to face me then, leaning away in the embrace so he could look down at me, gaze flickering over my face, eyes quiet, taking me in. Running a single finger down my cheek, he gave me one of the most gentle, loving smiles I had ever received.

"I have."