I know that I am mid-fic, but I would like to start a little side-story if you like. I felt by doing this that it will help me to unravel my writers block. They won't be similar, I want to try different styles and develop different characters. This will probably be terrible. If I ever do publish this...so help me God.
I am not sure if I should carry this on, it depends mostly on demand. So if you want more, do please review.
He knew that his days at the Opera Populaire were over. As soon as the pitchforks and torches came out, he knew he had to run, he had to escape. Despite him loosing his muse, his world, his Christine and though the world was not ready to accept such a monstrosity, he had to find some way of leaving his mark on the world. He had to. Or it would have all been for nothing.
.
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The choleric flames in the hearts and torches of the Opera staff who bayed for his blood glowed strong and mighty against the stones of his tomb of night. Watching as the last ripples of water left by Christine and Raoul rolled into nothingness. As the final morsels of her sweet perfume fled from him.
As his heart lay broken on the floor like fragments of shatter glass, tainted glass, he let endless waves of sorrow flood through him. Droplets dripped from his chin into the water, creating new ripples. The whole lake could have been made from his tears. Tears that only he would shed for his dark fate.
The first few distant splashing footsteps of the mob began to cascade its ripples down the lake. It was time to go. Time to leave this place, try to live to forget this place, the people in it. But most importantly, her. The angel of music was now a widower of his own sound. He believed he would never be spendourful again. But every cloud has a silver lining, every dog has its day.
"Please do hurry Miss Cynthia, we have but a few minutes!" Called Esther, a small clarinet player who played flatter than a piece of paper stuck between a giants hands. In fact for such a popular and renowned concert hall the orchestra was rather awful. Then again, many who came didn't come for the music. It was all acting now.
Everyone wanted to be an actor, a singer, a dancer! But Cynthia had not the passion nor ability. With a sigh, she pulled up her red dress skirts, gripping hold of the banister tightly as she made her way down the steps. Taking huge, melodramatic ones in case she should accidentally miss and fall. As she often did.
Alas, she made it to the bottom with neither a trip or fall. So, with a smile on her face and a spring in her step she adjourned forwards. Turn right after four steps, walk on three, left then nine steps, there you'll soon be. Light chatter filled the air as she reached her destination.
Holding onto the backs of every chair, she guided herself to her trusty friend - her violin. Slumping in her chair, she smoothed her silken hands across the polished wood. A smile on her full red lips. Running her fingers down each string and plucking them to test the tightness her heart fluttered.
Soon, so very soon the entire concert hall would be filled with people. Women fluttering their fans. Men jesting and laughing with each other. Children that would giggle and whisper, no doubt getting up to all kinds of mischief. It warmed her heart whenever she heard the crowd roar. Giving her a fire in her body more ferocious than her red auburn hair. At least she thought it was auburn, when was the last time I saw my hair?
The cruel composer stepped up, wearing shoes that clicked and clacked as he switched feet nervously. It set Cynthia's teeth on edge when he did that. He was a horrid man too. Disgustingly over-weight and had the odour of a carcass in a bar, the drunkard.
Yet she digressed. The crowd began to file in, murmuring, fans fluttering, jesting, the orchestra began to buzz with conversation. Sheets ruffled hurriedly as everyone tried to find their place. Cynthia didn't need sheet music to know what she had to play, she actually liked to learn the songs she played.
Then, the crowd began to settle as did the orchestra. This was the opening night of the new production of Seidfried by Richard Wagner, a German composer. Cynthia personally disliked the story, however the music was fascinating. It was bold and grand and magnificent.
So she mounted her violin. Resting it on her shoulder, closing her eyes and taking a strong and slow breath. Bringing the bow to the strings and played. Everything went into it, everything she could give was given and everything the crowd could take was took. Wrong notes and flat notes existed. However they were not by her hands, when she played it had to be sublime, beautiful, perfection. It always had been. It always would be.
The entire thing was a triumph! The crowd roared, cheered and tossed roses up onto the stage - at the actors and the singers and the dancers. Never at the orchestra, but that wasn't because they were too high or out of reach. It was because they were awful. Yet they didn't even care to actually listen to the music. It was just there, like part of the set, or an effect. Nothing special.
As Cynthia made her way back to her tiny dressing room, with the splintered door down the third corridoor near the west exit - near the tiny alcove that was always cold no matter what the season, she had to push he way through fans. Fans of the actors and actresses. Fans of the dancers and extras, fans of the people they could see on the stage, the beauty and spectacle. If only they could appreciate the sound...
As per, she felt for the handle and got splinters of wood in her tender hands. So instead she beat the fragile door open with her hip. This was most certainly the life. For a while she sat there, smelling the damp of her dressing room that the manager had so kindly given to her.
As everyone slowly and gradually began to flood out of the Opera house, she guided herself to her coat which sat on the half broken chair - to the left when you opened the door. Now to her right. She shrugged it on and sighed for she knew it was late. Familiar footsteps trailed to her door and before they could knock she opened it.
"Good evening Mr. Kahn." She addressed him formally, with a curtsey. The persian made a slight huffing sound that Cynthia knew came with a smile.
"Good evening to you too, Miss Rivard." He took her hand and placed a small kiss upon it, "May I say how splendid you look tonight too Cynthia."
She smiled her acknowledgement and gratitude. "Would you like me to accompany you to your carriage?" Tonight, she noted, he had more cologne on than usual, in fact so much it nearly stung her nose at this distance. He was hardly a malodorous man. But it was a luxury he indulged himself in, she supposed.
"Thank you Nadir. You are so very kind to me." With one last step forward, she linked his arm. They walked together down the corridor.
"So, how did you find the performance?" Though his voice was void of excitement or anticipation, his bodily movements were rigid and bouncy. Like a giddy child or a happy puppy. Or a giddy child with a happy puppy playing together in a park on a sunny day.
"The orchestra were poor. However I am sure that the acting and dancing was fantastic, Sir." There was slight venom in her words that he noticed.
"I could not agree with you more. The composer is a laughing-stock." He laughed, nearly forgetting himself. "Have you not heard the news?"
With a roll of her eyes, she sighed. She was not one for gossip or whispers, tellings of misfortune and calumny.
"Nadir, you know I dislike slander and such. Yet you always tell me, for a Persian you seemed to have adopted the English disposition of gossip rather naturally." Nadir chuckled. As she was always this brash he took her predilection with a pinch of salt and carried on telling her anyway.
"The composer was found drinking during the intermission. Naturally, I conducted a search and as it turns out he had stowed away drink in his dressing room for years. No wonder he was so bad at his job..." After trailing off for a moment, voice distant as he delved into thought or memory, he came back.
"Anyway, I have dismissed him." The Persian concluded as they reached the grand doors of the front of the Opera house. Cynthia could hear the light whinny of her sisters horses from across the busy street. Before bidding him a goodbye, she turned to him.
"So who will be replacing him?" She asked, as commanding and quick tounged as ever. The Persian kissed her hand once again.
"A good friend of mine, he will be quite sufficient enough to fit the bill I assure you Miss Rivard." With another curtsey, she said her farewell to the good Sir and made her way across the street. Knowing to cross when others did in fear of getting hit like she once often used to.
"Come on Cindy! Let's go!" Called her beloved sister from the open carriage door. Judging by the brightness as bubbliness of her voice she had allot to tell. Her sister was beautiful. People often described her as the jewel of the family. The one with the emerald eyes and fullest lips. Blessed with great a great figure, so magnificent she need not a corset for her fine figure. How Cynthia envied her.
As she entered the carriage, she could hear her sister giggling. Exhausted, she sat down as the driver closed the door. Almost immediately, the carriage started and began to rock and rattle against the cobbled streets of London.
"It was so magnificent, wasn't it Cindy!" She squealed, voice so sharp that Cynthia nearly winced. Her sisters warm hands wrapped around her own. "Don't you think I was just amazing up on that stage?!" Her sister Lily boasted of her great success as the new prima donna. Whilst Cynthia sat, smiling and nodding - looking as pleased as she could for her sister. Going green with envy.
When they reached the house, they were greeted graciously by their parents. Who welcomed them from the chilly grasp of autumn and took them inside for some late night tea and light conversation. From the moment she stepped through the door, Lily had everyone's attention. So Cynthia used her sisters popularity to slip away to her room.
It was fairly empty. The bed was five steps in front from the door, windows either side of it the wardrobe was five steps forwards and three steps left from the door. Whilst her drawers were to the left beside her bed when laying flat on your back. They were all made of polished wood. Cynthia sat at the edge of her bed, fumbling over the straps on her shoes.
"Everyday, I can never get you off!Everyday!" She strained through gritted teeth as she yanked them off. Simply tossing them across the floor and flopping onto the bed with a sigh. After tugging off all but her undergarments, she slid into bed. With demanding rehearsals tomorrow and a new conductor it was going to be a hectic day. A hectic day indeed.
The carriage pulled up with a shuddering halt. So sudden and unexpected that she almost flew from the seat she was sat in and hit her head. Lily laughed and patted her silly sisters head. "Day dreaming were we? Hm?" She giggled as she opened the carriage door to find a buzz of people at the door. Cynthia caught snippets of their conversation as Lily linked her arm and guided her across the cobbled street with great haste.
"Have you heard about the new conductor?" Whispered a man with a low, yet vibrant voice, "They say that he wears a white mask on the right side of his face!" They all whispered questions and queries at each other, nattering and gossiping. Lapping it up like greedy kittens. Cynthia tutted under her breath and shook her head.
"Honestly Cynthia, you really should just stop being so judgemental all the time. If they want to believe idle myths and chit-chat then leave them be."
"How can I? All they ever speak of is others misfortune and personal gain!" Lily sighed, not wanting to argue as she led her sister to Mr. Kahn's office.
"If we did not gossip Cynthia darling, there would be no such thing as conversation." She stopped outside his door and knocked timidly. Putting on a voice that she thought made her sound more refined and lady-like but only achieved in the pronunciation of her words being shorter and less personal. "May come in?"
"Of course Lily, Cynthia." Nadir called out as he sat behind his desk. Another man sat in a chair facing away from the door. He sat cross-legged and whilst Nadir rose in acknowledgement of their presence, he did not. Which Lily noted was quite rude. "Please Cynthia, take a seat."
But as blunt as ever, she scoffed and folded her arms. Nadir sunk back in his chair, wishing he had not used those words.
"I can assure you 'Mr. Kahn' that whilst I am incapable of many things, a basic task such as standing is not one of them. So whilst I appreciate the offer of sitting I would like to remain standing throughout the duration of this little visit. Does this appease his majesty?" With a blush on his cheeks Nadir cleared his throat as the man in the chair chuckled slightly.
Lily shifted further into the room and tried to get a better look at him. It seemed as if he didn't want to be seen. Cynthia was bold and ventured right up to the man, even past him and stood barely a stone throw from the desk. Never actually facing the man, with her eyes directed between the space between the desk and him.
"Lily, Cynthia, I would like you to meet the new conductor, Mr. Erik Destler." Erik nodded his greetings to the two women and settled back in his chair.
"Is he mute?" Asked Cynthia rather insensitively, thinking it quite rude that he couldn't even spare them a word.
"I can assure you 'Madame' that whilst I am incapable of many things, a basic task such as speaking is not one of them. So whilst I appreciate the moment to begin conversation, I would like to remain quiet throughout the duration of this little visit. Does this appease her majesty?" Erik echoed, using her own sharp words against her. Despite the transgression of his tone she smiled and nodded as Nadir sat wide eyed and staring between the two of them.
"It's like looking into an impetuous little mirror." Giggled Lily as she,too, looked between them both. "Maybe they should be wed immediately!" She jested.
"I hardly think so, please do get some class." The two of them said harmoniously. Erik stood up now, giving Lily full view of his mask.
"Stop that!" They both yelled at each other as Nadir proceeded to laugh. Lily stared at the masked mans face. Millions of thoughts rushing through her head, what was it for, why did he need it, why would you wear it? All of the gossip was true.
His clothes looked expensive, she observed with great intent. Wearing entirely night attire, as one would in an Opera house but still it looked different - almost as if it was what he wore all the time. Strange...
Nadir had to break the two of them up before a fight broke out. Knowing them both as well as he did, he knew neither would hold back either. Leaving him wondering that if they did fight, who would win. He'd been slapped by Cynthia many a time. It really stung. No doubt she could probably knock seven bells out of Erik.
After finally settling them down, he sat back with a heavy sigh. Erik turned his back to Cynthia and she folded her arms. "So it's true what they say about red-heads then..." The Phantom muttered under his breath as Lily rushed over to hold her sister back.
"I heard that!" She yelled wanting to charge forwards and take a chunk out of the ponce. The scoundrel, that ruffian!
"Maybe I wanted you to hear it you old hag!" Cynthia gasped and made a low growl in her throat. "You cannot expect me to work with the likes of that, surely Nadir?"
Now bored with the whole affair, the Persian was reading a local newspaper, hunched over his ebony desk, smoking a pipe.
"It matters not how you feel towards her Erik. She is by far the best violinist in this place. You shall have to endure her." She smirked triumphantly.
"A big fish in a small pond." He scoffed as he picked up his hat from the desk. Readying himself to venture out, not wanting to be in that frightful womans company for nary another second. However it seemed she wanted to do the same. Evident as she was at the door. Already charging out of it like an out of control rhinoceros.
Erik waited a few seconds before venturing out also, sliding his hands into his pockets and walking down the corridor. Humming a light melody. Observing the finery of each walkway. Plush red carpets, pristine white walls with shimmering golden borders. The glory of an Opera house. The splendor-
"Are you following me Sir?" Without realising it, he walked straight into the fiery red-head from earlier. "Ouch!" She fell forwards and onto the floor.
"I do apologise!" Erik knelt down and offered her a hand up. That she batted away immediately.
"I am capable of picking myself up!" Sure enough, pushing herself up on her hands she rose. Using the wall to regain her balance, she brushed herself off, Erik noticed that she had a red, blotchy mark on her left cheek bone that would surely bruise. She held it and sighed.
"Four days without a trip or fall! Four days and you come along and mess it up!" She growled. Though her head was facing him, her eyes seemed to be looking past him. Now as he face her, he could truly appreciate how beautiful her eyes actually were - such a light blue that they could be nearly white.
"I-I did apologise..." He reminded her, voice now so bashful he felt like a small child under her glazed gaze. Never looking at him directly.
"Not that it matters!" She sighed and patted down her dress, "Though your voice sounds sincere enough...Fine, I accept your apology." With a flick of her auburn locks she walked past him, onwards towards practice. "Now do hurry. Surely you do not wish to be late on the first day?"
.
When they arrived at practice, they were just on time. However the others were not. Erik stood pacing, agitated at their poor punctuality and disregard for time and planning. How was he supposed to go through an entire of an Operas songs, add his own twists, test each player and prepare for the second performance tomorrow night - if they weren't even there?!
Eventually, they all began to file in, one after another. All chatting and trailing up to their instruments. Pointing at him and whispering. No doubt about his mask. Luckily, gossip and whisperings from Paris never made it as far as London, unless of course it was political. So with his knowledge of good English, this was the perfect place to go.
The kept talking and talking, getting louder and louder. He asked for their attention, begged. Then an anger began to bubble up inside him. Cynthia picked up her violin and was already tuning it, despite the fact that it was already in tune and she was just striving for perfection. So he barged through all the chatter, galloped through all the gossip and made his way to the percussion section.
Then picking up a drum stick, he smashed the timpani with all of his might. It echoed through the entire Opera house. Cynthia threw her hands to her ears and grit her teeth tight. This was going to be one nightmare rehearsal...
"No! No! No!" Screamed Erik, voice becoming more commanding by the second. By now he had snapped several pens, ripped up several sheets and dismissed almost half of the orchestra. Cynthia gulped. He expected far too much, of so little people and he hadn't even made it to the strings yet.
She felt her entire body shaking, nervous. "We shall move onto the strings now!" Her head snapped up as she sensed him coming towards her. His heavy and angry footsteps. Then he tapped on her music stand, with something, a batton, maybe a pen. "From the beginning of the Aria, Miss Rivard."
With her heart pounding in her chest, she mounted her violin and prepared to play. But Erik sighed impatiently. "Child, do you not read sheet music?" He flicked some sheets in his hand and slammed them onto the stand. Again, with his batton, he tapped the stand.
"Which song is this, Sir?" She asked nervously. That's when he scoffed, stomping his foot, tilting back his head and letting out a mighty roar.
"Honestly! Do none of you have any respect for music?!" The words stuck in her sides like heated daggers, more than any wound or heart-break.
Cynthia gasped as he grabbed her arm, dragging her up and holding her inches before him. She struggled in his grasp. Trying her hardest to pull away as the pain in her arm got worse and she felt as if she needed to scream. "Look me in the eyes woman!" He pulled her in closer "Look me in the eyes and tell me you want to be here. But her eyes never met his, trailing only to his nose.
That's when something inside him clicked. He opened his hand and waved it. Right in front of her face, there was no reaction, so he did it again.
"Please Sir, let go of me... you're hurting me!" She bit her lip, biting back the tears. Again, he waved his hand.
"You're...blind..." He whispered under his breath, barely audible as he let go of her. She fled from him immediately. Now it made so much sense. She was blind.
Okay, so... yeah.