Hello all! Firstly, I'd like to apologize profusely for my unforgivably lengthy absence from this website; my excuse simply being the whirlwind of a year I've had. The combination of turning 16 and the sheer stress of GCSE's led me to having no time to indulge in what I love best- writing fanfiction. At the moment, I am still practically as busy- starting sixth form and my A levels (all of which I LOVE), and performing the title song "The Phantom of the Opera" with no less than the Head boy in the Christmas school show! So I have finally, partially achieved my dream of being Christine! YAY! :3 Anywho, it is obvious that my life is still full to the brim, so I will not be updating as regularly as I would like to... and despite my promise that I have not COMPLETELY abandoned my aptly named story 'Wishing you were somehow here again", I have been struck with a new idea which I cannot seem to discard! So here is the first chapter... a taster of what is to come. :-) Whether or not I choose to continue it will be completely down to you; so, if you like it, please do not hesitate to leave me a review! Thankyou again, and I hope you enjoy! :D
"You must tell me exactly how it goes!"
"Yes, Madame."
"And do try your best to enjoy yourself, dear."
"Yes, Madame."
"…and whatever you do, don't mention the mask!"
"Yes, Madame…" I sighed, with the hint of an eye roll. "You've waffled on about that bleeding mask time and time again; 'don't mention it, Christine'…'don't touch it, Christine'… 'don't even dare look at it, Christine! Heaven forbid, just one single glance at that fateful piece of fabric will incinerate your very eyes, and-"
"You've always had a very overactive imagination, Christine," Madame Giry tutted.
How funny it is that despite her practically being the mother I never had, I still couldn't quite break the tradition of calling her 'Madame'. It appears that old habits never die hard, and I suppose that I sub-consciously felt as if I owed her such a respect, after all she had done for me.
"You flatter me, Madame, you really do," I teased, my smile soon blossoming into an uncontrollable grin.
"Well, I'm sure such compliments will continue after you rediscover your vocal talent-"
"Vocal talent? What vocal talent?"
"-and soon enough, become the most renowned opera star in all of Paris."
"You have got to be joking…"
"Honestly Christine!" Madame Giry's delicate features were screwed up into a scowl, which almost evoked a fit of giggles from me.
…Almost. An unladylike snort escaped, but the rest of my laughter was held captive. Apparently though, this still warranted a gentle shove from my 'doting' motherly figure.
"Stop putting yourself down all the time! It's all very well being modest, and not having an obsession for yourself like a certain Spanish woman we are acquainted with-"
"Carlotta…" I winced.
"-yet this is bordering on ridiculous. You do have natural vocal talent… don't laugh at me, Christine, I hear you belting arias round the house all the time!"
I shot her a look which was a mixture of staged outrage and genuine sheepishness.
"My point is, you do possess a great gift, but you simply have not pursued it yet! And Mr. Destler," Madame Giry finished with a knowing smile, "is the one man who will help you to do so. He is no less than a genius, and now, you are going to finally meet him."
Our conversation had aptly carried us through the maze of corridors, and directly in front of what must have been the door. The door of doom.
I shivered.
"You know, I appreciate what you're saying- really, I do… but, do you think it's necessary for me to take these lessons?"
"Yes."
"What if I've decided that I'm really, really not cut out for singing? What if… I want to be a… um… a doctor instead? Yes, a doctor! What then?" I gabbled desperately, slowly edging further and further away from the looming, daunting door.
"Christine, my dear child, you faint at the sight of blood."
"Damn it!" I cradled my face in my hands. "What if I'm… what if I'm scared?"
"Irrelevant."
I slowly peeked through my fingers.
"…is Mr. Destler scary?"
"That depends on what you mean, by definition, of the adjective 'scary'," a deep voice boomed from the other side of the door, the syllables practically resounding round the room.
I emitted a high-pitched squeal and jumped practically two feet in the air.
Madame Giry chuckled, shaking her head, as I attempted to collect myself.
"Who was that?!" I mouthed, my face probably resembling that of a frightened meerkat.
The door swung promptly open, making me jump again, thus spinning round haphazardly to face a pair of golden eyes. The mere sight of them transfixed me; I was unable to even acknowledge the rest of his appearance. All I saw were two pools of starlight stolen straight from the sky. And they were beautiful. So strange, yet so very beautiful…
"Mademoiselle, I believe we have not been formally introduced."
Oh, it was that voice again! That voice- as soft as silk, as rich as chocolate and as sweet as pure honey… Mmm. What a desirable combination.
Distracted, I gazed up at him through hazy eyes as his heavenly voice graced my ears yet again.
"My name is Erik Destler, and from this day onward, I shall be your music tutor."