The Angel's Shadow || The Phantom of the Opera || Book Two

Epilogue

A/N: Photo credit to artist (whoever he or she may be XD)! Also, after this chapter, there is still one more chapter: The bonus chapter! *excited squealing* I'll try to post the bonus chapter as soon as I can!

Epilogue

Erik

With a smile playing on my lips, I bounded up the back steps of the Opéra Populaire. I carefully held the two roses in my hand, making sure I didn't damage or drop them as I slunk through the backstage area. I quickly maneuvered through the crowd of performers and stagehands, my legs not carrying me back to my girls fast enough. It was difficult to believe that I have only been away twenty minutes. From the way my heart ached to see them, one would think I have been gone for an eternity. Because of my foolishness, I had spent three months away from my wife and, at the time, unborn child; there is no power on Earth that can take me away from them a moment longer.

"Monsieur Destler! Monsieur Destler!"

Ah yes, unless that power is one of the Opéra Populaire's managers.

I stopped and turned towards the voice of Eugéne, the shorter one of the two managers. He hurried as quickly as his large stomach would allow him, his feet barely lifting from the ground as he shuffled over to me. Panting from the short distance of physical exertion, he paused a moment to catch his breath, his big cheeks now a bright color of red. Holding up a bundle of papers, he said with thin breath, "This is the new opera for Madame Mélodie. And this," he handed over another bundle of letters tied together with a string and finished, "came for you."

Tucking the sheet music under my arm, I took the letters in my other hand, "Mélodie and I weren't expecting any lett-"

"No, Monsieur," he looked at the letters in my hand and back to my eyes, "it's for you." He pushed his glasses up his nose and peered around my side, his eyes growing wide, "Tiens (hey)! That doesn't go there-" he cursed under his breath and glanced up at me, "Pardon me, Monsieur." Without waiting for a farewell, Eugéne walked around me and began yelling at one of the stagehands.

Flipping the letters over, I read the envelope on top:

Erik Destler

With the sheet music safe under my arm and the roses in my other hand, I continued to one of the secret doorways, my eyes glued to the letters in my hand. I reread my name on the top letter over and over again as if the next time the ink would somehow rearrange itself:

Erik Destler

I would know her handwriting anywhere.

I mechanically shut the hidden door behind me and made my way down to the lair in it's normal darkness; my feet knowing the way without me having to tell them. The letters felt heavy in my hand, the amount not weighing them down but the feeling of angst they evoked in me. The edges of the envelopes looked yellow and stained, some of the corners bent from obvious disrespectful handling. What is this? What did she send me?

I walked the journey to our home with my thought whirling around like a desert storm. My footsteps echoing off of the stone walls was the only thing I could hear, offering a steady rhythm to calm my nerves. Once I reached the final level, a different sound mingled with the sound of my even footsteps, becoming louder and louder the closer I got. When I reached the last turn to our underground home, I couldn't stop the wide smile that spread across my face, due to the sound of the clumsy organ music.

Ducking under the low doorway, I entered the lair, removing the last barrier to the beautiful, inharmonious playing of my ancient organ; my other love, the only thing I'd have an affair with. The minute my foot stepped across the threshold, the disconnected organ music stopped and the person playing it whipped around, greeting me with big, smiling eyes. At the sight of my daughter sitting on the organ bench, my own lips broke into a wider smile. I immediately discarded what I had been carrying so I could go over to her and meet her outstretched arms. Swooping her up, I hugged her close and buried my nose into her dark curls, "My little composer." She kept her hands at the base of my neck when I pulled back and giggled; her laugh as warm and as carefree as her mother's. Kissing her forehead, I said excitedly, "I brought you something, mon ange (my angel)." From behind my back I withdrew one of the roses I had brought and held it up by her face. Aria's eyes grew wide at the sight of the red rose and her little hands grabbed it to bring it to her nose. When she closed her eyes and inhaled the sweet scent, I felt my smile soften and my breath catch. There were times that Aria looked so much like her mother that it blew me away and left me speechless, much like now.