A Phantom Christmas Carol - *Phantom of the Opera*

Chapter Fourteen

A/N: We've arrived to the last chapter! :) (*sound the Christmas trumpets!) - This chapter and the written chapter END DIFFERENTLY - and there are other differences besides. For one thing, I gave the video version more closure than I did the written one, since I made a sequel to this written story.  So I recommend if you're not thrilled with the written ending here, to watch the video version above for a much more satisfying feel (especially if you don't plan to read the sequel.) Credits for video story: Phantom of the Opera 2004 movie, Sleepy Hollow, Gospel According to Scrooge. E/C manip in intro- made by me. Music from Phantasia... as always, asterisks (*) are unspoken thoughts.

Again, when I started this story, I had thought it would just have the usual Christmas Carol ending. I had no idea it would expand into what it has- lol- But I tried to settle the written ending in a satisfactory way that would tie in with beginning of next story... Because this was intended as one novel, I started Christine's POV here. But now I've split this up into two stories (the sequel- Symphony in the Twilight - is rated MA, the chief reason I felt the need to split). For those who don't read adult stories, I recommend that you watch above video for closure. To watch it on the Youtube channel (and get a bigger screen) click the Youtube logo in-screen.

Also, I know this one scene in her POV looks a bit strange when none of the rest of story was written like that, but it wouldn't be written any other way. And now...

We Must Return
XIV

.

Bathed in an iridescence of the sweetest music that flowed outside her chamber, Christine slowly awakened from a dream. Without lifting her eyelids, she took a moment to orient herself before she recognized where she was. To her relieved approval, she noticed that he had exchanged the enraged chords of his organ for the soothing strains of his violin.

Erik. His name ... was Erik.

Christine opened her eyes and stared up at the graceful folds of the transparent black drape he had not lowered around her this time. She had no idea of the number of minutes or hours that elapsed, or whether it was morning or night or even another day. Nor did she care, she acknowledged with a little smile of mischief, pleased that she'd finally done what she wanted and not as she'd always been told.

Had he found her here, on his bed? The possibility made her cheeks warm. Or had he stayed entombed in his self-imposed isolation, engrossed in his music, and not even realized she'd left the main room? She frowned at that thought.

Fatigue and hunger had earlier battled for control over her actions. She recalled finding a bowl of fruit then sitting on the bed with her apple, wincing at the harsh discord he inflicted in his anger but too weary to give his musical outrage further consideration. The strenuous all-day rehearsals and chilling nocturnal trek to his lair had physically drained her. The ambiguity of their future together and their unique quarrel also aided in her exhaustion.

Subject to the venom in his voice on numerous occasions, she could scarcely believe that this time she had stood up to him and defied his command. His command to leave.

The stanch courage to rebel, to confront him, had increased layer by layer with each day he'd inexplicably remained absent from her. With the passage of each bleak night that gave way to yet another gray dawn, she had awakened subdued and sadly reconciled to never again seeing him, never again hearing his voice in her dreams or out of them. She had resigned herself that his absence was punishment for her folly. Until yesterday, (had it been only one day?) when Madame told her of his effusive praise of her voice to the managers, then later handed her his contradictory note of farewell.