"I want only to be with you, Christine. It's nearly time for us to leave."
She glanced toward the window. "The sun will be up soon."
"I know. Our life together will begin in the sunlight, Christine. I'll not hide in darkness again."
"My angel."
Biographer's Afterword
The Comte de Chagny was found in his private chambers four days after the great fire at the Paris Opera House. The cause of death was uncertain, but he was discovered in a most lewd position, his unclothed body spread-eagled from the waist down on an unusual-looking piece of furniture.
His bright red, well-used cock was erect; his body showed signs of whip marks and restraints, even a dark red line around his throat. But he had a lascivious smile frozen on his face, and although common rumor had it that he'd died a happy man, the official word put out by the Chagny family was that he drowned in a tragic accident.
Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny, disappeared from the family chateau, never to be seen again. The story the servants told was that he and the beautiful Christine Daaé had run off to marry, against the wishes of the comte, and they were bound for his ship to take to the sea.
La Carlotta, the prima donna of the Opera House, and Madame Maude Giry, the mistress of the ballet corps, created a strange alliance, and opened what became one of the most celebrated brothels in turn-of-the-century Paris. Their girls were known far and wide as the most beautiful, most accommodating, and most talented prostitutes in Europe, rivaling even those of Marcel Jamet's establishment at 122 rue de Provence. Some of their most frequent visitors included Messieurs Richard and Moncharmin, who, after the fire, gave up on opera theater and went back to their original, lucrative business of trash disposal.
According to her journals, Christine and Erik used the funds he'd saved from his years of salary paid by the Opera House managers, and sailed for America. They lived happily in New York City, where Erik wrote music and Christine performed onstage with the likes of Sarah Bernhardt.
Those patrons of the theater and music in New York became familiar with the man who wore a cream-colored mask covering half his face with the same flair a pirate might wear his eye patch. The women found him mysterious and dangerous, and half the men wished they had an excuse to don such an intriguing article.
Eventually, Christine and Erik would move to a newly thriving city called Hollywood, where they would use their musical talent to work on some theatrical productions known as moving pictures. Erik and Christine became friends with a young man by the name of Lon Chaney, who would eventually star in a film called The Phantom of the Opera.
But that is, perhaps, best saved for another volume.
Letter From The Author Regarding Her Next Work
Dear Reader,
Not long after I finished compiling the documentation that became Unmasqued, in which was revealed the true story of The Phantom of the Opera, I was fortunate enough to acquire some personal affects that shed new light on another familiar tale: that of The Count of Monte Cristo.
Alexandre Dumas's novel of betrayal and revenge tells the story of the horribly wronged Edmond Dante's, and his bid for vengeance against the villains—his friends—who sent him to prison for thirteen years. The tale has been adapted for film and television, and has been translated and republished, abridged and dissected in numerous ways since its initial publication.
However, through my acquistion of the personal diaries and letters of one of the most pivotal players in the narrative, I've discovered that the story told by Dumas—along with its other adaptations—is incomplete and misleading.
I have had the pleasure of studying and organizing into a fleshed-out, chronological tale the journals of Mercédès Herrera, the first and true love of Edmond Dantés, who is as much a victim of the events told by Dumas and Dantés was. Perhaps even more so.
Her diaries and personal letters bring to light a much different and more accurate chronicle about what occurred during the years of Dantes' imprisonment, and what really happened when he came back to Paris as the wealthy, learned, and powerful Count of Monte Cristo.
In addition, her story reveals that there is much more that come to pass in her life and that of her lover after the pages of Dumas's book have run out.
Thus, my next project will be to make public the true story—with all its explicit details taken directly from her personal affects—of Edmond Dantés and Mercédès Herrera, a pair of lovers separated by greed, jealousy, tragedy and revenge.
It is the story of The Count of Monte Cristo as it has never been told before.
—Colette Gale
August 2007