Parisian Opera

By Iain R. Lewis

An adaptation of Gaston Lereux's novel Le Fantome de l'Opera. It will borrow bits and pieces from several materials of the original novel, for example, it may utilize "Music of the Night" and the flow of events of the musical, but, dammit, we're going to use Angeles Pur for the big finale.

Teen Titans belong to the DC company thing. Use it. Love it.

Introduction: Auction House

I come to you with a strange story.

I'm not exactly sure where to begin. You see, there are many points I could address. Persia, for example, and their strange customs, but perhaps that would be too far into the story. I could tell you about a violinist and his strange little daughter. Or I could just start where everything appeared to go amiss.

I trust that you've been following the news at the turn of the century; you seem to be a very erudite kind. I like that! The way your eyes are a-glisten; I think you might be interested to know more about a series of events that occurred somewhere within ten to twenty years before this very day.

You're interested, I see. Then you've heard about the unfortunate accident of the chandelier, and of course the strange affair of Miss Kori Anders. Such a strange tale; and one not befitting a girl of her beauty.

But she's not where we focus our attention. Instead, I have this clipping for you to read. Perhaps we'll go take a look. Get your hat and cane, and be prepared, for while the English have their Victorian well-to-do, the French must follow suit if only to show them how we do it – that is to say, we do it right.

Come along, down the streets, it's so very soon. I can hear the bells ringing out the hour. But it's across the street and down the way to the Opera Populaire. But it's not so 'populaire' anymore. So let's come in closer and take a look.

The auctions have been running for the past morning and we're perhaps a bit late, but take a seat and perhaps place a bid. The stakes are high but to a collector with an eye such as yours, perhaps you can spot something for your troubles.

Like a Paper-Mache monkey playing cymbals on a music box that haunts with its simple, but ever lovely tune. Masquerade… hide your face…

Echoes of the past reverberate in this old dilapidated building, and it becomes obvious to you and I that the years of the glamorous and splendorous galas are long since passed. The seasons tickets are barren now, as the world is becoming enamored with new inventions. Moving pictures! What poppy-cock, and yet they go in droves. So fickle, modern audiences!

I tell you, nothing beats the seats we have now. Not too close, yet not too far. The stage is open up to our view and the actors and actresses who would have strut their vocal chords upon the stage in ridiculous attire would certainly give us a show because their every fiber is reaching for that age old reporte. But now, now the halls are empty, and where once stood a grand chandelier there lies only the vaguest signs of new electrical lighting. Nothing quite so grand as candle-light, but an elegant replacement.

But I digress.

Now we are here.

And now you want to hear the story. I did some journalistic endeavors in my youth. I was here many a time critiquing performances, but more importantly printing scandals. Scandals ran those Operas at the time. That, and the romantic gossip.

Oh! I remember that performance. They're selling props from Hannibal. It was a strange opera, but a good enough starting point. Listen closely friend, for what I tell you… it truly happened just this way.

It all began with an Ingénue named Kori Anders… and it will all end with a ring.