This was just a thought that struck me as I worked on my Christine Daae costume for Halloween. I remember reading something about the 'real' Erik and Christine so I decided to go off that. To me this chapter sounds kind a weird, but it could juts be me. So review, tell me what you think so far.
He first saw her when she was thirteen. Erik had been working in the rafters high above the stage, fixing the structure of what he liked to call his opera house when a flock of young dancers were ushered onto the stage. The instructor, Madame Giry, was crossly scolding the girls as they giggled and chattered dressed in the crisp white leotards and tutus. He effortlessly and skillfully climbed down to watch with great amusement as the hopeful, gawky girls practiced to be graceful ballerinas. The girls were crowded around each other, lost in their own little circles and vapid conversations. All except for one who was exploring the stage, looking around settings and in the dark hiding spaces.
She had been lithe and lean, just starting to become a woman. Her face was lifted up toward the rafters as she examined the world above her. Her hair was a very beautiful sandy-gold, tightly pinned in a bun like the rest of the girls and her skin was pale and creamy with a sprinkle of pale freckles and a healthy flush to her cheeks. She had been biting her bottom lip as she looked at the jungle of wires and pulleys above her. He watched her, every light step she took made him smile. She could not see him, he was cloaked in the coolness of shadows and camouflaged by the ropes and it was for the better. He was sure he would frighten her with his disfigured features and his general male presence.
The child came to one of the ropes hanging loosely down and put her hand on it. She looked up then at the rope then up again before taking it into her hands and jumped. He chuckled under his breath as she wiggled and pulled and struggled to pull herself up the scaling rope. He had been impressed she had gotten as far as she did, at least three feet up before Madame Giry caught her. The older woman pushed through a clutter of gossiping girls and stalked over to her. By now, the attention of the rest of the dancers had turned to this single girl who was climbing up the swaying rope.
Madame Giry crossed her arms together, cane in hand, and waited in silent patience for the girl to notice her. Whether she was aware of her teacher's presence or not, she did not stop in her climb. He had moved down closer, graceful and accustomed to the labyrinth above the stage for he had built it with his own hands. He was silent and careful as he studied the girl with awe and respect. Finally, he saw in the wizen face of Madame Giry, the old woman had enough of being ignored and tapped her cane on the wooden floor. He had been so close to the girl by then, he could see the beautiful shade of blue of her eyes.
"Miss Daae," Madame Giry said with suppressed impatience.
"Yes, Madame Giry." She had a sweet voice but there was a tone of mocking in it as she turned her attention to her instructor. She was at least a foot above the woman's head with her feet encircled around the rope.
"What, pray tell, are you doing?"
"Climbing, Madame Giry."
"Why are you climbing, Miss Daae?"
"I was curious what was up in the jungle."
"What were you hoping to find?"
"Tarzan." This caused a twitter of laughter between the girls which was silence by the cold glare of Madame Giry's gaze.
"Miss Daae. I will not have your foolish daydreaming interrupt our lessons. Get down now or you will go to bed without anything to eat."
"Yes, Madame Giry. Right away, Madame Giry." The dark-haired woman nodded and was about to turn her attention to her other students. The girl looked down then up again and a moment of contemplation then panic crossed over her pretty features.
"Madame Giry."
"Yes, Christine." Christine. He remembered breathing in that name with a sigh.
"I am stuck, Madame Giry."
After Christine had been rescued from the rope, he had watched the practice with his eyes focused on nothing but her. On that day in fell in love with little Christine and over the years had watched her from a distance. Though he accepted his fate as a disfigured monster of a man and almost haughtily flaunted his difference, he felt ashamed of his face when he thought of Christine just like he had with his mother. She wanted a prince, someone that was dashing and seductive and handsome and filled with music. Something from her books that was dangerous and romantic and the more she fantasized the more he agonized over his features. He could be seductive and romantic and he was already a master of music and he could fulfill her hearts desire but his face would scare her and she would run.
So he stayed his distance, watching longingly as she matured and grew more beautiful until his aching need to touch her and hold her and simply have her grew until he nearly was driven mad with obsession. That is how the Phantom was created. Erik made his own mask. He was going to court Christine. He was going to create a fantasy for her that she would never want to leave. His disfigured face would not be a concern. He was going to seduce her with music, with love and with the fantasy she dreamt of. Then she would be his and he would be hers and they would live together, happily ever after in their own little fantasy of music and love.