Hello, readers!
This PoTO fanfic is quite unique. It is based on the iPad game "Phantom of the Opera: Mystery Legends." I'm a huge fan of hidden object games, and this particular title is my favorite. If you have an Apple device (…not sure if it's available for PC), I would recommend buying it. It's pricey, but worth it. Plus, Gaston Leroux's novel is included as part of the bonus content.
So, because most of you probably haven't heard of or played it, here's a synopsis:
After fleeing from the Opera, Christine and Raoul begin a life together; they have a daughter, whom they name Evelina. The Phantom, Erik, is distraught, and burns down the Opera house. He was assumed to have died in the fire. Years later, Evelina has grown into the spitting image of her mother. She knows her mother was an operatic soprano in Paris, once upon a time, but apparently Christine prefers not to talk about it. As Evelina and her parents are leaving the theatre (not the Opera, as it is still abandoned), a young boy runs up to her and delivers an invitation. The wording is vague, but it demands that she return to the Opera and sing once more.
The next thing she knows, Evelina wakes up in the lobby of the Opera, listening to a male voice welcoming her back. She figures out that she has been mistaken for her mother, but she does the Phantom's bidding (solving puzzles, finding items, etc.) in order to bring him the black roses he demands. As she goes along, she discovers what happened between Erik and Christine all those years ago.
I won't give away the ending, just in case you want to play, but that spoiler will be written into my fanfic. Feel free to close this (favorite/follow it first, if you don't mind), play the game, and then come back to read my story. If you're like me and you don't mind spoilers, read on.
Of course, I will be taking liberties with the storyline (adding in backgrounds, bridging plot holes), but I'll mostly stick to what the creators of the game generated as canon. Also, I hate the name Evelina (sorry pixelStorm), so I will be using the French version, Aveline (pronounced "AV-uh-leen").
Disclaimers: Original novel by Gaston Leroux, game and basic story (including new character, Evelina, and book cover image) by pixelStorm Entertainment Studios, Inc. (distributed by Big Fish Games, Inc.)…embellishment by me.
Rated M for eventual adult content.
Versailles was only starting to see the first vestiges of dusk, as a small family made their way through the busy streets. Departing the theatre district, the handsome couple and their daughter conversed about the performance they had just seen.
"Did you enjoy the play, Aveline?" The mother smiled fondly at her daughter, recalling her reactions to different parts of the show.
"Oh, yes!" Aveline exclaimed. "What was it like when you performed, Mama?"
The mother's smile faltered at the seemingly innocent question. Her husband responded quickly, sensing the tension building in his wife.
"Your mother was the most fantastic singer! She enthralled most of Paris with her heavenly voice."
"That was a long time ago, Raoul," she solemnly stated.
Aveline started to prod her mother for more information, when a young boy came bounding up to them.
"Excusez-moi, mademoiselle," the boy interrupted. "A gentleman asked that I deliver this to you."
Startled by the unexpected correspondence, Aveline hesitated in grabbing the letter that was handed to her.
"For me?"
His duty done, the boy turned and ran away, without answering. Aveline stared after him and then turned her attention to the folded piece of parchment.
"What does it say, dear?" her mother queried.
"Yes, and who is it from?" her father added.
"It looks like an invitation…" their daughter clarified.
The headstrong girl declined to read it aloud, reveling in what little privacy she could manage. She read it to herself, as her parents respectfully awaited her to finish.
"My dear angel, the time has come for you to return to your beloved Opera House to sing for me once more. I bid thee to perform one last time as both a favor for what was given to you and recompense for what you took from me."
Their daughter's brow knitted in confusion as she read, but they did not pry.
She smiled and looked up at them.
"I think that poor boy had the wrong person. This was most definitely not intended for me."
The family scanned the area, looking for other young ladies for whom Aveline could have been mistaken. There were far too many women to pick through. The three family members all resigned the task, reluctant that there was no definitive way to find the letter's true addressee.
Aveline threw the strange letter into the closest trash bin and made her way back to the hotel with her parents. When they had arrived, her parents resumed packing their belongings, while their daughter watched.
"Mama," she began, recalling the invitation. "What was the Opera like?" Her mother rarely spoke of her days on the stage, which made Aveline crave to hear more of what was kept so guarded.
"It was…beautiful," her mother wistfully sighed. "Opulent and energetic. Mysterious and dangerous-"
"Dangerous?" Aveline interjected. She had never heard her mother use that word to describe anything from her past.
"Well, yes. There are a lot of props, scenery, and…people always bustling about." Her mother blushed and looked at her spouse. Sensing her discomfort, he stepped in to rescue her.
"It's there we were reunited, years after we had played together as children," he smiled fondly.
"I thought you were married while mother was at the Opera, Papa?"
"No," Aveline's father continued. "Back then, she was known as Miss Christine Daae. I was enraptured with her, from the moment I first heard her sing. We married after she left the Opera."
"And why did you leave, Mama?" The girl was troubled, confused with the fount of information she was suddenly privy to. "Why did you not continue to sing, when you were so wonderful?"
Her parents looked meaningfully into each other's eyes. Her mother was the one to answer.
"Because I wanted a different life."
"But-"
"No more, mon précieux." Her mother's voice was firm. "Now, are you ready for tomorrow?"
Aveline sighed, upset with the abrupt change in discussion topics.
"Oui, Mama," she confirmed. "I will be ready to meet with Madam Durand tomorrow morning for my first lesson."
"And you will write to us often?"
"Of course, as I find the time."
Finished with packing, her father kissed his daughter's forehead and embraced her tightly.
"I must go secure a carriage. Please be careful, Paris can be very dangerous. Do not go about unchaperoned. You are a young lady, and I expect you to act like it at all times." His words were strict, but his tone was gentle. "I love you very much, Princess."
"I love you, too, Papa," Aveline replied.
Her father left the room with the luggage, and she was left staring into her mother's misty eyes.
"Remember, you may return to Toulouse any time. There are plenty of reputable piano teachers close to home…"
"We've already spoken many times of that fact, Mama," the daughter argued. "I want to be in Paris. I am only a train ride away."
"A very long train ride," her mother countered. "Nevertheless, practice diligently, and I know you will make your dreams come true." Tears welled up, again, and soon she was sobbing between sentences. "You are such a blessing. I love you dearly, ma fille précieuse."
"I love you, too. I'll be fine! Now, go! Or you and Papa will miss your train!" They embraced and kissed each other's cheeks. Her mother wept as she walked away from her only child.
Alone in the room, Aveline sighed in relief. It had taken months of pleading for her parents to let her come to Paris. Toulouse was, indeed, a perfectly respectable city in which to receive musical training. But it had been home for the entirety of her eighteen-year lifespan. And it wasn't Paris. She had heard neighbors' and schoolmates' stories of the fabulous City of Lights, but she had never been. Now was her time to live life.
She sat on the chaise lounge that abutted the window and looked down at the street. Her mother met her father at the carriage; before allowing him to help her in, she glanced up at the window where Aveline sat. The two women waved final farewells. As the carriage drove away, Aveline's eyes raised to the horizon. She could only just make out the lights of the city she would soon reside in.
For some strange reason, her parents had refused to actually stay in Paris. They had settled on Versailles as a close alternative; for the past week, her family had seen everything the smaller city had to offer. Tomorrow, she would finally be a Parisian.
Growing up in Toulouse, Aveline had lived the charmed life of nobility. The daughter of a vicomte and a vicomtess, she had wanted for nothing…except adventure. Her parents were overprotective. When she had first mentioned moving to Paris to pursue her craft, they had refused to even allow her the possibility. She had secured tutelage under Paris' premier female pianist without their permission, but they had eventually conceded. Her determination had paid off.
Although Aveline was excited to master her instrument, sometimes she found herself wishing that she had a beautiful voice, instead. Her mother rarely sang, but when she did, her voice would make the birds nearby halt their twittering and listen. Through the years, her mother sang less and less: from nightly lullabies to occasional hummings of simple melodies. Her father noticed, too, but he did not press his wife to share her gift more frequently. Aveline could not understand why her mother had left the stage. A "different life"? What could be more worthwhile than sharing your talent with the world?
She shook her head and returned to the center of the room. Her baggage was packed for the carriage ride in the morning. All she needed was a good night's sleep and heartfelt prayers that Paris would be everything that she imagined. The prayers went up to God, but the quality of her sleep was definitely less than what she needed.
The next morning, she awoke as a child on Christmas morning. She took her time to get ready for her meeting with the intimidating Madame Durand. As she looked in the mirror, she took in the signs of her lineage. Most people told her that she bore a striking resemblance to her mother, but she felt that there were obvious differences worth noting: her hair was at least a shade or two lighter than her mother's dark brunette; her hazel eyes had come from her father; her lips were fuller than both of her parents'; and her skin was slightly more olive in tone.
She picked out a golden yellow dress with dark grey filigree and embroidery. After pulling half of her hair into a jeweled barrette, she was satisfied with her appearance. She walked to the window to see the sun's position in the sky, when she noticed the carriage parked out front.
He was early.
Figuring that the driver was as anxious to start his day as she was, Aveline shrugged and called for the bellhop to take her luggage down. She took one last tour of her room, put on her overcoat and gloves, and then made her way down to the lobby. The clerk at the front desk looked up and gave her a tired wave to match her own enthusiastic one.
Outside, the bellhop loaded her bags onto the carriage's back end, while the driver remained in his seat. She could not see his face, as he was bundled in a large cloth to stay warm.
"Monsieur? Do you know where I am headed in Paris?"
The man barely turned his head toward the sound of her voice, but she saw the fabric nod along with his head. She frowned at the minimal effort. It did not seem that he would leave his post to help her in, either. Fortunately, the bellhop had remained nearby, and he was able to assist her. She tipped him well in gratitude.
From inside the cabin, Aveline heard a light crack of a whip, then the horses' hooves as they trotted down the cobblestone road. The window coverings were drawn, and she left them that way. She preferred to see nothing until she was actually in Paris. In the dark, she leaned back to relax and contemplated the conversation she would have with Madame Durand.
The combination of the dark cab, her restless night, and the rhythmic motion of the carriage lulled her into a heavy sleep. She slept so soundly, that she did not notice the vial that the driver pushed through an opening in the ceiling. She didn't hear the glass shatter. She didn't smell the vapors that reached her nostrils. And she didn't feel her body slip into unconsciousness…as the drug did its work.