Author's Note - After almost 7 years of reading poto fiction I thought I should at least attempt to give back, so this is my first piece. It will start as a retelling but I plan on changing the end quite a bit. I'm not promising a happy ending though. It will be influenced by Kay's novel, Leroux's novel and ALW's musical. Feedback would be awesome! Thanks for reading
Chapter 1: The Lessons
I would never have imagined how my voice could reach such extraordinary heights in a matter of weeks. The gift I had all but destroyed in the past three years, since my father's death, had sprung back to life, like a dormant flower finally breathing in the warm spring air. I felt alive again! I felt like I had just made it through the winter. I was finally ready to accept a little happiness back into my life. The speed at which my voice recovered from my cruel neglect was truly amazing; however the circumstances were far more astonishing.
Only two weeks ago I was still that shy outcast, surrounded by a cloud of depression. My daily routine had become very monotonous, but I didn't care. My only thoughts were of the tragic loss of my dear father and with it the disappearance of our music, my childhood and its beautiful illusions. As sad as I was, I always did my best to put on a smile for everyone, especially Madam Giry. She had become my guardian after father's death, and being a ballet mistress at the most famous theater in Europe, as well as a mother to my closest friend, Meg, I did my best not to burden her with my grief. She had done so much for me over the years.
Three years. Three years with little hope or happiness, and I continued to waste my youth. I tried not to think about the future much, my income was small, but at least I had one. I would not be able to dance in the Paris Opera ballet for long. It takes a toll, even on young bodies. The future terrified me and did little to improve my depressed state. So I just sat and waited for the light at the end of the tunnel. Until I actually saw it.
Two weeks ago I heard the voice for the first time. I was the most beautiful, angelic sound I had ever heard...
When it first spoke my name I fell to my knees in shocked awe. My eyes search heavenward to find its source. I know that this is the voice of an angel. It certainly could not belong to any earthy being. My awe changes to confusion with the voice's next words.
"Why do you waste your gift? You posses the voice of an angel, yet you remain silent! A terrible sin in this temple of music!" the voice took on a new tone, almost parental and clearly not pleased. I remain on my knees in the center of my small dressing room. In my confusion the only thought that seems to surface above the rest is how odd it is that he could possibly claim that I had the voice of an angel, when clearly it is he who was the heavenly being.
The voice continued, "Your father would not be pleased to know how you have neglected music for so long. How many years? How long since you last lifted your voice in song, Christine?" The moment he spoke of my father I gasped and rose to my feet.
"How do you know my father? Are you an angel? You must be!" I frantically ask still searching for the source of the voice.
"I will be your angel of music. I would like to help you, if you will agree, to repair your voice to its former glory, as well as take it to new heights. You will soon enchant the Paris, and the world. I will teach you. All I ask is that you agree to follow my rules and devote yourself to music. Will you agree to this? To sacrifice everything else for music, the very thing your father lived for?"
Throughout his speech I was unsure about what he was asking of me. It did not seem like a good idea to promise to devote myself to a teacher (even if he was an angel) who I had only just heard from, and never seen. However, the moment he mentioned my father I knew I had to agree, I owed it to him. He spent years patiently teaching me everything he knew about music. How could I not let his passion live on?
"Yes… yes, of course. I want nothing more. I want to be able to sing again. I want to make him proud." I reply, partially lost in happy memories.
"Very well. We will begin tomorrow evening, meet me here at seven for your first lesson. We will meet every other evening after that at the same time. Be sure that you are never late. Remember you have devoted yourself to music." I frantically try to focus on what he was telling me through my surge of hope and happiness. It would not be wise to ruin this opportunity. I know that what he offered me was something special. I knew he could help me like no one else could.
Since then we have both kept our promises. We meet every other day at seven pm in my little dressing room. I still have not seen him but I hear his heavenly voice many times a week. Everything is becoming so perfect. My life is turning around at last, and I can finally see some hope in the future.