One Night with the Angel of Doom (Phantom of the Opera) (Short Story)

Epilogue

I am Ester, daughter of Yasmin, and wife of Erik Mulheim, a Frenchman.

Our marriage has been a long one though not due to any discomfort between us. My husband recovered wonderfully from his poisoning and to this day bears almost no ill effects of the attempt.

His addition to opium was another matter.

He tells me his voice has never been the same.

I still think it the most beautiful thing in the world.

He abandoned it as my request and never turned back to the awful drug. I do not believe that he has spent our entire marriage completely free of any opiates but to my knowledge he has never taken them as a habit.

We fled from Persia as soon as he was capable of leaving. It was a long road until we reached Paris, where he hoped to attach himself to the building of the Paris Opera House, so he married me as soon as we were over the border into Greece.

He told me on our wedding day there would be no children.

We are the proud parents of seven, four sons and three daughters.

Our first son was an unwelcome surprise and, from the moment he held the babe in his shaking arms, I knew Erik II wouldn't be an only child.

We are now far up in years. My beauty has faded and the long legs and slender waist he loved so much to stroke have now succumbed to time.

He still says I am the most beautiful creature he has ever laid eyes on.

We live alone now that our children have left us in preference of their spouses or professions. Erik planted me a rose garden, filled with red roses.

I fell in love with them the moment I saw them blooming in the gardens of France.

I miss my home country sometimes but whenever I do, Erik plays for me some tune from there and we may spend an evening speaking my native tongue.

I don't miss it as much then.

His chest is weak so we spend many nights at home, simply content in each other's company. Our children may drop by to visit but we are mostly left alone.

We don't mind.

We are still in love and need no one else to make us happy.

We sometimes still chuckle at how our relationship began. I smile and kiss his cheek and whisper that I love him. He returns my smiles and kisses my lips, saying that he wonders how an angel of my quality returned after his manhandling of me. I merely laugh and shake my head.

I do not regret that one night with the Angel of Doom.