The Rules of the Loops:
One person in a Loop, often the main character, is an Anchor. They are the person who first starts time looping.
There is always at least one Anchor present in a given Time Loop snippet, though it may not be the local one.
The standard pattern for a Loop is that the Anchor (and whoever else is Looping there) come to awareness in a Loop at a particular point in the story. From there, events will play out as influenced by the Loopers present, acting with the benefit of their foreknowledge, until either a predetermined end point is reached or the Anchor has copped it.
To be Awake is to be aware of the Time Loops (that is, to have gone back in time this time.)
The Anchor is the only character guaranteed to be Awake. Even after others have started Looping, it is mostly random as to whether they will be Awake this particular Loop.
Crossovers, fusions, and alternate pasts can also take place. It is perfectly possible, for example, to have the characters Awaken into a Loop which conforms to a fanfic universe rather than reality.
Loops do not have to be in chronological order, but it is strongly preferred that they not require a mutually contradictory order (where A must be before B and B must be before A)
Just about every Looper is very, very stir crazy.
"Herstory repeats itself."
1.1
"Kiss me one last time…" Christine murmured, each word a burst of pain. The world was fading around her. Even the Phantom's face was growing fuzzy. The Phantom. Her Angel of Music. The Opera Ghost. Mr. Y. Aliases, all of them. She was struck by the sudden, powerful urge to know his name. She would never have another chance to ask. Another painful breath rattled into her lungs in preparation for speech. Her lips began to move. And then...and then the darkness claimed her.
.
"Christine Daaé can sing it, sir."
She was standing. Why was she standing? She didn't remember getting up. Besides, she had been in no condition to stand. She still wasn't, right? Christine looked herself over. There didn't seem to be blood anymore, and her scant clothing showed enough skin that her wound had undeniably vanished. The costume nagged at her memory, but that wasn't important right now. What was going on? What had happened? Shouldn't she be dead? This was by no means heaven, nor hell for that matter. She knew what she had learned in church, and this was not it.
"Let her sing for you, Monsieur. She has been well taught."
Wait, were they talking about her? She looked up - they were indeed looking at her. Madame Giry. Andre. Firmin. Her wide-eyed gaze absorbed the rest of the scene. Meg, in the same immodest outfit as herself, smiling at her. Of all people, why was Meg smiling at her? With what had just happened... And over there was Joseph Buquet, returning to his post. Buquet, who had died more than ten years ago.
"From the beginning of the aria then, please, mademoiselle," monsieur Reyer prompted. He led his orchestra - his orchestra, in the Opera Populaire - the building that had burned to the ground, she knew it had - in the introduction to a song she knew very well.
Christine couldn't begin to comprehend what was going on. She fainted.
.
Christine returned to consciousness in her own bed, Meg's face practically filling her field of vision.
"Are you all right, Christine?" The girl wrung her hands.
"I...I don't know." She looked away. "I'd like to be alone, if you wouldn't mind."
"You're sure? You don't want anything?"
"Just go away. Please."
"Okay. I'll see you later, then." Meg flashed her a worried smile and left, closing the door behind her.
The tears were just beginning to streak down her face when his voice echoed about the room. "You could have sung tonight. You had the opportunity," he mourned. "It would have been far superior to whatever our new managers will scrounge together for tonight, if they even can."
Her eyes were still threatening to overflow, but the stream was quelled. Slowly, she ventured to turn her head in the direction of the mirror, and regarded it in empty silence.
"Christine?"
"Who are you?" she managed.
"What do you mean?"
She pushed off the blankets. "Do you remember what happened? No one else does."
"What are you talking about?"
Christine stood up with a sigh and began taking slow, measured strides. "You're the Phantom. You live by a lake, with an organ and a swan bed and a figure of me in a wedding dress. You're writing an opera called Don Juan Triomphant, and you want me to play Aminta. You wear a mask, and you love me. Was any of that wrong?" By now she was standing directly before the mirror. She could make out his face, and his expression was one of pure shock.
"How did you learn all this?"
She slid open the mirror and tore off his mask with nary a flinch. "I think I've been given a second chance," she replied. He instinctively turned from her, but she moved his head to face hers again. "What's your name?"
The Phantom stared at her. "Of all things, that's what you don't know?"
"Apparently so."
He shook his head slowly, disbelievingly. "I am Erik."
"Erik." Christine tasted the name. "I like that. I like you." She walked back and collapsed on her bed. "What do you think would happen if I stopped singing?" she wondered aloud.
"Why would you possibly do that?"
"I don't know." A million melodies flew through her mind, each familiar tune bearing bittersweet memories, and she winced. "I'd just rather not."
"They'll eject you from the Opera," he protested.
"If that happens, I'll just live with you by the lake."
His breath caught. "Would you?"
"Of course." She toyed with the mask still in her hands.
"I would like that back," Erik ventured.
"Come over here and take it from me, then," she said.
He complied, but she caught his arm as he pulled away and made him sit beside her. "What are you -" he began, but she kissed him before he could finish.
.
"Mother, come and listen, come and listen!" Gustave insisted, tugging on her arm.
With a smile, Christine allowed her son to lead her along the candlelit shore. "What have you written this time?"
"You'll see!" the ten-year-old pronounced, sitting down at the organ. Ten years old...
A prickle ran up her spine, and it wasn't because of the haunting notes now resonating around the cavern. She had too many memories, that was the problem. More than a person her age had any right to. Every time she thought she had overcome them, something reminded her of something that had never happened. There were happy recollections and sad recollections, but she could never quite let them go. Her life now was always relentlessly compared to the other one. She could still hear Carlotta's croaking, still smell the salty breeze of Coney Island, still feel Raoul's arms around her as vividly as if they were real -
"Hello, Christine," a voice murmured in her ear.
Well, that explained it. They weren't Raoul's arms. "Hello, Erik." She leaned into him and hummed appreciatively. "I love you, dear, did you know that?"
He chuckled. "I'm fairly sure you've said that before, yes. Do you think you might sing today?"
"Perhaps tomorrow." She gave him a wry grin.
"Tomorrow, then." The kiss that followed was interrupted by a discordant note, and Erik broke off to sit by his son. "Gustave, that's not working. Have you tried..."
Christine sighed contentedly as intricate strains began filling her heart as well as the cavern. She would never grow tired of this. Note after beautiful note drifted into the air -
And then the music vanished.
1.2
"Christine Daaé can sing it, sir," Madame Giry offered.
No. No, this wasn't happening. Not again. "I don't think I can, Madame. I'm sorry." She strode from the room. What was going on? How could she stop this? She had appreciated not dying, but this was a tad much.
1.3
"Christine Daaé can sing -"
"Excuse me a moment." She turned on her heel and left, kicking a set piece on her way out and earning herself a stubbed toe for her trouble.
1.4
"Christine Daaé can -"
"Shut up!" she cried. "Shut up shut up shut up! 'Christine Daaé can sing it, sir.' Christine Daaé can go to hell, sir!"
"Christine, what's wrong?" Meg asked.
She whirled on the girl. "Everything's wrong! I keep trying and trying and nothing works! Just leave me alone for once, all of you!"
1.5
"Erik Daaé can sing it, sir."
Collapsing against a post, Christine took several deep breaths. She had needed that, but she didn't think she would be doing it again soon. Spending one reprise with everyone thinking she had gone insane was enough. She slid her hands up her face and encountered an unexpected texture. Prying off the object, she looked it over and froze. Why was the Phantom's mask on her face? That made absolutely no sense.
"What, a chorus boy? Don't be silly."
"Let him sing it for you, Monsieur. He has been well taught."
She peered down at the scene unfolding below her, centering on a nervous black-haired boy. No, that couldn't possibly be him. She ran through her memories for some sort of explanation - oh. Well, then. That was interesting and bizarre and freaky all at once.
"What the hell?" muttered the woman who was now apparently the Phantom of the Opera.
1.6
"Christine Daaé can sing it, sir."
Hm, what to do with this reprise? She felt like messing with someone. Erik? Raoul? Why not both? Yes, she was already getting ideas.
"...has been well taught."
Christine nodded. "I think I could, Monsieur." She might as well.
"From the beginning of the aria, then…"
.
Yes, she had missed performing, Christine decided with a smile. Standing on stage and letting her soul fly up to Heaven on wings of song... and, of course, the cheering audience didn't hurt. She was breathing in the aroma of the roses filling her dressing room when the door opened.
"Little Lotte let her mind wander -"
She grinned inwardly, though her bearing was all confusion. "I'm sorry, Monsieur, do I know you?"
Raoul took a step back, hurt. "Christine, it - it's me. Raoul de Chagny. Don't you remember me?"
Comprehension dawned on her face. "Oh, right. Now I recognize you. Look, I know we were friends in childhood, but that was years ago." Oh so many, many years ago. "Could you please go? I'm busy."
He glanced over her empty hands and casual pose. "But you don't look -"
"I'm. Busy."
"All right then." He coughed awkwardly and left.
.
"Look at your face in the mirror
I am there inside."
She walked up to the open mirror and peered in. "That you are. The real question is why you're inside my mirror, isn't it? Up until now you've always made yourself out to be an angel. I quite doubt that angels take the form of masked men who stand behind young women's mirrors."
"I am your Angel of Music," the Phantom told her. He took her hand and attempted to lead her into the passageway.
She resisted. "What are you doing?"
Visibly annoyed, he gave her hand a tug. "Come with your Angel of Music," he insisted.
"Why should I?" He began walking down the dim stone corridor, forcibly pulling her along. "Ugh, fine, I'll come."
.
Christine stared at the mannikin, then at the Phantom, then back at the mannikin. "So first you kidnap me, then you have a model of me in a wedding dress? That is not okay. In fact, you are very disturbing altogether. Would you please let me go now?"
.
Raoul made his way through the twirls and steps of the costumed crowd. "Bonjour, Christine," he greeted. "May I have this dance?"
"Bonjour, monsieur de Chagny. Fancy meeting you here," she replied. "I'm sorry, but you must excuse me." She brushed past him and walked away.
.
Christine rolled her eyes. On the one hand, it was helpful that they were both being so persistent in this reprise, because otherwise she wouldn't have very much opportunity to deny them. On the other hand…
"Stop stalking me!" she called out over the clash of steel on steel. "I can't even visit my father's grave without you bothering me? Leave me alone!"
"You heard her. Leave her be!" the Phantom demanded, feinting before lunging.
Raoul stepped back, parrying Erik's blade and riposting. "She was talking to you!"
She wasn't sure whether to groan or to laugh.
1.1 - And so it begins.
1.2 - So what will Christine do with this new opportunity?
1.3 - Answer: She will lash out at innocent inanimate objects.
1.4 - Everyone needs a little stress relief sometimes.
1.5 - This happens.
1.6 - Et voila, Christine's first shenanigans.