Seal My Fate•Phantom of the Opera Fanfiction

Chapter 23: A Prize Which You Must Earn

Hey guys! I'm online (a break from my break) today and tomorrow, so hello friends! I missed you!!

I can't believe I'm publishing the final part of this story tomorrow, that's crazy.

I know I've said thank you so many times already, but it's never enough. So thank you.

P.S. This chapter is nearly twice as long as my average chapter length, sooo... sorry...

~~~~~~~~~~~

Christine

I never understood why they followed her so readily. Not only did they regard her orders as just short of divine commands, but they seemed to actually believe her justification for her last one—the command to kill me.

Perhaps it was because my acquaintance with the "opera ghost" had long been rumored before this moment—but calling me an "ally" implied that I'd assisted in the murders, rather than tried to stop them.

Perhaps it wasn't about logic or justice. He was already learning—he'd spared Piangi knowing he would gain nothing but another enemy from doing so. He was trying so hard. Perhaps they didn't see that side, though, perhaps they only wanted to make him pay for what he had already done—not that I could blame them.

Perhaps they were so focused on "justice"—really revenge—that they'd forgotten that they were supposed to be the good guys.

Perhaps none of it mattered to them.

Perhaps they were just another angry mob.

And angry mob, because of whom I found myself against the cold, brick wall, every glance around revealing another dozen rifles pointed directly at me; hundreds—no, thousands—of tiny pinholes in the air, each with the ability to singlehandedly end my life—and each held by a man who intended to do just that. It was too late to ask why. The only question left was when.

And then I heard a whisper.

"Christine."

It was faint. It was very, very faint; faint enough that I could be sure that only I had heard it—that is, assuming even I really had heard it. It could have just been wishful thinking.

"Christine."

No, it was real. It was definitely real.

"Angel?" I whispered.

"Yes, Christine, it's me," he answered. I could hear the smile in his voice. "If that's what you want to call me."

"What else should I call you?"

"Don't worry about that, Christine." His voice had that special element in it that it had always had, which only his voice had ever had: a soothing element like a steaming cup of hot chocolate. "That doesn't matter anymore."

"Where are you?"

"Where am I always?"

In the walls, I answered in my head. It didn't sound like that, though. It sounded like he was everywhere. I could only imagine how terrifying that would have been for anyone else. But I wasn't one of his targets, I was his Angel, the one thing he sought to protect, and so the omnipresence of his voice was nothing but comforting.

For a moment. Then I remembered where I was: in a dungeon, surrounded by men who had been ordered to kill me, who didn't seem reluctant to do so—though, luckily, they all seemed to be waiting for someone else to do it (after all, a thousand simultaneous gunshots would not be easy to explain). Still, it was only a matter of time before someone stepped up. I may not have been one of the Phantom's targets, but I was most certainly a target.