EDIT: I am starting the process of going back and editing the chapters, before I release chapter 9. You guys deserve a better quality of editing in a story, and editing/catching errors is my biggest weakness when it comes to writing.
After seeing Phantom of the Opera in San Francisco for my birthday- not just my first time of seeing this wonderful story live, but my first time also seeing the re-created tour production with Chris Mann and Katie Travis in the production- I thought I'd finally stop putting this idea off. (Though my Legend of Zelda fan fic readers are probably going to be angry at me. If you are reading this, please don't kill me.)
I liked the idea of an Aladdin-esque tale for our beloved characters, and while some inspiration comes through the Disney incarnation, I promise that there will be absolutely none of the pop-culture, pun-making, celebrity-mocking showmanship that the late and great Robin Williams created.
This version will take nods mostly from the book and musical- especially the remimagined show that I have seen. This version of Erik's disfigurement will also take those same combined nods: when I say combined nods, I mean that it will involve the half mask, but ...well, you'll see.
Finally, I will sort of have the tour production cast in mind as I write this, but you are free to choose your own version and forsake my own.
Chapter 1: Diamond in the Rough.
Imagine, if you can, a winding staircase against stone walls, with no means of safety to keep you from falling off to possible doom. Imagine that this stairway lead up to the walkways and tunnels that are hidden among the Paris Opera house, but that you needed to hold onto the bannister built onto the seemingly ancient stone wall.
Imagine a man practically holding his back to the banister and gripping it with both hands as his life depended on it while keeping an eye on the walkways with banisters on both sides and a doorframe that lead to safety.
This exotic middle aged man with eyes of jade and an astrakhan cap on his head was steadily walking up the steps. He was not a man to be sacred so easily, though this unusual set of stairs was trying his nerves. He was only halfway up when suddenly he hesitated. He reached into his bag that went around his body and dug around it before touching an object inside it. It's presence both reassured him, and yet it didn't.
"You are more trouble than you are worth, you know that!" He cursed to the object, before resuming his accession to safety.
When he finally reached the top, he took a moment to take a breath, before taking the object out to get a good look at it.
It was a bottle that was mostly black, but the round, wide part was inlaid in a pattern of blood red rubies and faint, pale grey gems. There were also gold markings that covered the narrow end of the bottle and a stopper that was made of an almost navy blue stone, but there was a strange piece of wrinkled paper stuck upon the bottle, with a sort of ward that appeared hastily written in the man's native language.
The man stared at the bottle in silent awe.
"Should they shine white with light, may they be pure of heart with Allah's graces." The man spoke to the bottle as if reciting something... though he was unaware of a menacing figure covered from head to foot in a black veil and a small hat as he approached him from behind. "Should they be black as the deep night, may they be wicked of heart, with sinister traces."
It was then that the veiled man- the shade- grabbed the other man's arm.
In fright, the man turned around to face his captor and loosened his grip on the bottle. He realized all too late that the bottle fell out of his hand and not only rolled off the safety of the walkway and onto one of the stair steps below, but it also rolled of the step and into the darkness below.
"NO!" The man yelled in horror, but the shade promptly dragged the man off, with little resistance of the man's part as he strained his ears to hear if the bottle would break.
And then he heard it- the sound of someone yelling out in panic, followed by glass shattering into pieces.
He might as well have committed murder when he heard that sound. A part of him was struck with a great fear, while the other part felt as if a great weight had been taken from his chest and he couldn't tell if it was a blessing or an insult.
Allah have mercy on me. This man prayed from the depth of his heart as he was taken away.
High from above the darkness of the cellars, the opera was due to perform it's final performance of Faust with Juliette Vargas as Marguerite, before her contract was up tonight. The same was sadly said of Carolus Fonta: the lead tenor and current Faust of the show itself.
The lovely Juliette Vargas was rehearsing the jewel song, in order to ensure that her last performance would be spectacular, and many had their eyes upon her. One in particular was Christine- a particular brunette with a face as youthful and pleasing as an idyllic spring day- and while she listened to the soprano's voice, it left her heart with empty longing.
"I heard that the new soprano is going to be very talented." Meg- her strawberry-blonde haired companion and fellow ballerina told her. "Talented, but with a temper to be feared: a real Prima Donna."
The brunette laughed. I hope she doesn't expect us to clear the stage a good hundred feet away from her."
"And where will the chorus and ballet go?" The blonde joined in the laughter. "Will we be pushed against the back walls of the backstage?"
Christine returned her attention back to the stage.
"You know, I heard that Vivian has fallen ill and we need a new Sybil." Meg gently reminded Christine. "Perhaps you could try to go on up and volunteer on her part, before another takes that chance."
Christine faltered at this. "I...I can't."
"Christine!" Meg pleaded. "You have a wonderful voice, and it's time to put it to use! Why wait any longer?"
"I... it's been so long since I've sang by myself in front of everyone." Christine nervously reached for the locket around her neck and caressed it. "Ever since father died-"
There was a time when she once dreamt of being on stage, and singing her heart out to many people. There was a time when she never considered that dream when she traveled with her father on the road and they were practically penniless. When Gustave Daae caught the attention of a certain Professor Valerius (god rest that man's soul), he helped sponsor the man until Gustave Daae could not only support himself and his daughter, but attracted a modest fame as a wondrous violinist. With the support of Professor Valerius, his wife, and the money that her father gained, Christine was able to finally enter a prestigious conservatory, to make her voice as grand as her father hoped it would become.
It was as if the legendary Angel of Music had finally granted Christine his blessings at last.
But then consumption had fallen upon the honorable, much loved Gustave Daae, and he died, leaving his daughter almost entirely alone in the world.
In her state of grief, Christine's love for music died, as did her chances of excelling and the conservatory, which lead to her being released. The poor girl would have been homeless (as by then, the widow Valerius had died all too soon.) had not Madame Giry took pity on the girl and tried to raise her amongst the aspiring ballerinas.
Thanks to encouragement from both Madame Giry and Meg (though there was quite a talk from the fear inspiring Madame for Christine to either face the world or be prepared to be thrown out without any other trade to her name), Christine was able to flourish once more.
But without the necessary training, Christine would forever be a part of the chorus, and amongst the ballerinas- her voice would give the chorus strength, but it would not soar out as it was hoped for.
Christine shook her head and forced a smile as she grabbed Meg's hand. "Come on, I don't want to overindulge on Faust. Let's go find something to do elsewhere."
Meg was more than fine with this, as she not only felt the same, but she hoped to avoid her mother for a time.
And so, the young women respectfully explored their grande castle- that beautiful Opera House, where fantasy and reality was divided by an orchestra pit and many lights.
As the two explored, they heard the prideful tones of a certain Prima Ballerina as she conversed with what was assumed to be one of her many 'patrons'.
"You are a very cold man, Comte." She pouted.
"Sorelli, my jewel, you know that I am not one to be tied down, and neither are you. Is it not better to take a break once in awhile, before we reunite once more?"
Christine and Meg saw Sorelli talk with a handsome man in his late thirties. He had a very unique face that struck a familiarity in Christine's mind. Didn't a younger, warmer version of that face dance around in her fondest of memories, and was normally joined with a scarf, a sea, and days of storytelling?
"Phillippe, your positively horrendous!" Sorelli angrily spun on her heels and firmly crossed her arms together. This only made the man laughed. "Tis better than being called a sweetheart, mademoiselle."
"Go away de Chagny!" Sorelli scowled. "I shan't speak to you ever again, so long as I breathe!"
Chirstine gasped. Of course! Now she knew why this man looked familiar- she was friends with his brother, who was almost twenty years younger than him (or so she supposed.)
"Monsieur, wait!" Christine hurried ahead and threw a hand out as he walked away, while memories of the past filled her mind. "I know your brother!" She called out, but the man's laughter was so wild that he couldn't hear her over it.
Sorelli scowled at Christine. "And how do you know his brother?" She gave Christine a suspicious eye. "Are you also a victim of his selfish whims?"
Christine flinched at the meaning of the accusation, knowing full well what Sorelli and Phillippe's relationship was supposedly like. "No." She was not amused by this. "I'm a childhood friend of the Vicomte de Chagny."
Sorelli let out a peeling laughter. "A childhood friend, she says!" She smirked at Christine. "Listen, my dear. We may be performers, but I am afraid that we will only be seen by the outside world as a way to pass the time. You may as well be a common street rat to the younger brother!"
A pang of hurt and anger crossed through Christine and she tried her hardest not to yell out in anger at such an accusation- one that was especially not true.
"She won't be common!" Meg fiercely protested as she stood next to her friend. "One day, she will be lead soprano, and I shall be the Prima Ballerina! We will stand amongst the upper class and show them we are more than performers!"
Sorelli merely shook her head and walked away. "For as long as we put on an act for our patrons, we will never truly be able to walk amongst the outside world." She cautioned. "You will soon see, my dears!"
Christine stared out into the Parisian sky on the rooftops of the Opera, under the protection of Apollo and his lyre.
"A common street rat?" Christine wondered aloud as she opened the silver locket around her neck up to reveal the serious, yet loving face of Gustave Daae. "Was I really just that to Raoul in those days?"
She missed Raoul. The two met when he fetched her scarf from the sea, one day, and they almost became inseparable. Sure, the boy was prone to whining at his worst, but he always looked out for her, and he at least tried to take violin lessons from her father in order to understand her love of music.
And yet, they were of different worlds. He was the brother of Comte Philippe, a son of the upper class, and he was due to return to his studies for a future career out at the sea (Many jokes were made about this. Him? A sailor? Amusing, but believable.) and thinking about them made Christine long for those days again.
But back then, her father was slowly gaining his reputation in France. They might as well have still been street performers in the eyes of the de Chagny family and even now Christine could recall some entertained whispers of future scandal between the Vicomte and the violinist's daughter.
She missed those days when life was simple, when death was just a rumor, and social status was a barrier that didn't exist.
Christine still longed for her father, and for that passion to sing to return, but she just couldn't find it in herself anymore.
"I'm sorry." She sighed as she gazed at her father in her locket. "I wish I found the strength within me- I wish I could have said good-bye, but sometimes I just can't. I wish I could have made you proud of me... but now I'm living only half a life."
"I don't know what to do from here on out." Christine continued. "Should I even stay with the Opera, or seek a life elsewhere..." Somewhere away from anything that could cause her to feel pain and empty for not simply being good enough, and not reaching her potential. There was no way she would be accepted back into the conservatory anymore.
She missed the joys of passion: the feeling of being lifted into the air whenever she sang her heart out. She used to feel like she could be taken away and nothing else would matter, as if she had sprouted wings.
"If there is an Angel of Music like you promised me," Christine quietly spoke. "The Angel of Music you promised you would send when you are in heaven..."
There was a time when she believed in the Angel of Music with all of her heart: that he would appear to inspire her with his might and bequeath to her the ability to bring heaven to her fellow men with her song.
Instead, he became a fairy tale that died with her father. If she had retained what could have been her last hope- to believe in something after the nightmares- maybe she could have been the lead soprano instead of Juliette and traveled the world to gift it with her voice. Instead, she was only a chorus girl and ballerina who barely stood out, and the Angel of Music still hadn't shown to bring down his glory, which almost ruined whatever faith Christine had in her father and in the idea of a heaven.
Maybe one day, things would change. Maybe she would be able to find that joy again. One day she would find the strength to control her destiny, instead of moping like a jealous, angry child.
She closed the locket and made to leave- she might be jealous of Juliette, but the woman was amazingly patient to the point of being a virtue, and Christine owed her a contribution to a spectacular final performance.
Juliette and Fonta gave a splendid performance on their final night. The cheers for their glory was mixed with the cries of sorrow for their departure, and it felt as if an era in the theater had ended.
If only Christine could feel the same way to La Carlotta as she did for Juliette.
In the time of rehearsals for the next opera, it became clear that the beautiful woman was talented, but with it came a haughtiness and a temper that was to be feared. If one got on the wrong side of her, it was expected that the woman would erupt in a great fire. In fact, she shouted at a chorus woman who accidentally bumped into her as she tried to sing her part, while the others had to move around her during the scene in the town.
Also, she loved to show off, which showed as her voice had beauty, but no soul. Her Marguerite was less innocent and more materialistic.
The new tenor- Ubaldo Piangi- seemed to be Carlotta's lover, as she had far more patience with him. The man himself was talented, though his Italian accent was heavy in his voice and his pronunciations of the words, which caused grief to Reyer as he tried to get rehearsals underway.
All in all, it was another hectic day in the life of the Opera.
"I can only imagine the quarrel our new soprano and mama would get into in the future." Meg giggled as the girls changed out of their practice costumes for the next show. "It would be like fire against the snow- will the ice melt, or will the fire die?"
"Imagine La Sorelli being friends with Carlotta." Christine pointed out.
Both girls shuddered.
Christine finally took her costume off, and put on a simple dress, while Meg tied her black shawl over her shoulders after getting back into her ballet attire. She reached for her locket- which had been safely kept by her sheet music- when a slender hand snatched it up.
Christine looked in alarm to see that the thief was none other than Cecile Jammes and the ballerina was giving the locket a smug look as she held it up high in the air.
"It appears that our Christine wears a locket!" Jammes spoke loudly for all the chrous girls and ballerinas to hear. "Who knew that our girl had a prince hiding away from us!"
Concern for the locket that contained a picture of her father filled Christine's mind. "Give that back." She held her hand out and walked to Jammes. "Please, Jammes!"
Jammes moved her hand back and stuck her tongue out. "Catch me first!" And she ran off like a jack rabbit.
"Give that back!" Christine yelled as she immediately ran off after the girl.
"JAMMES!" Meg yelled as Christine was forced to follow after the ballerina. Meg followed suit- as did a few curious girls who wanted to see how this excitement would turn out.
Christine hurried after Jammes as fast as her feet could carry her, but the much better trained James was faster than her. The girl lead her through the backstage, through corridors, and began to descend down the stairs and into the cellars of the Opera House.
"Jammes, the man in the locket isn't my lover!" Christine cried out as the girl practically danced though the cellars, and through the props that were tucked away.
"And yet you wear it so dearly to your chest!" Jammes taunted.
The chase continued, and Christine had lost her patience. Finally, Jammes lead her to a walkway where the winding staircase with only one banister lead to the unknown darkness of the lower cellars.
"He must be important if you were willing to follow me so far down!" Jammes giggled as she stopped by one of the banisters on the walkway and began to open the locket.
"It's my father's picture!" Christine almost screamed out.
Jammes glanced up in confusion, and Christine tried to stop herself from running, but it was too late. Christine crashed into Jammes, and the girl's arms flew back, as did the locket.
And Christine was forced to watch in horror as the locket soared out in a perfect arc, before it feel far out beyond the staircase, and into the unknown darkness of the lower cellars of the opera.
I swear, I didn't realize the 'Proud of your boy' parallel until AFTER I wrote that part on the rooftop.
The staircase is based off the one from the tour production- it twists out of the stage, and the actors perform on it during the title number. It's my favorite part of the set and I recommend looking it up. :) The locket was also from the same production (though I would find it incredibly sweet if they allowed Katie Travis to put a picture of a beloved family member in there during the production.)