Hey there! If your reading this, welcome to my first piece of fanfiction! (Not counting, of course, the masterpiece that was Star Wars 3.5, which I started shortly after the release of Star Wars III when I was about twelve. I did not know that fanfic even existed until I was about 20, so it wasn't until much later in my life that I realized what exactly I had been doing when I wrote the later-deleted opening sentence "Anakin stood over Padme's grave…)

ANYWAY this story is based on a web-series of the same name I made back in 2014-2015. Watch it on YouTube, if you'd like, as this fic and the series will complement each other nicely, and give you a rounded view of the world of the story.

I've been meaning to write more, but I haven't been doing a great job because coming up with original ideas can be Very Stressful once you get to the planning and writing stage. So, to bolster my self-esteem, I am turning back to the bosom of a story I have loved since I was eight, and that I already told in a different medium.

See, I already did the research into the New York City sewer system and its underground rivers. I've looked into the abandoned subway platforms. I've Google Mapped the nearby coastal small towns that start with the letter P that could replace Perros-Guirec. I did the legwork, I plotted the plot, I worked out all the snarls that came with translating Phantom into a modern setting, and had a whole bunch of details left over that I couldn't fit into the format of the series.

So I have decided to write this. I can add all the details I couldn't add to the web-series, I can feel like I've accomplished something, and brush-up my story telling skills.

Without any further ado, The Private Letters of Christine Daae

Letter One – The First of Many?

Absence was an interesting feeling. There was a hole, a cavern, a great gaping maw just to left of what felt normal, and it made all that normal feel alien and strange.

She was just to the left of where she should be, catching sounds at odd angles, answering questions too long after they'd been asked.

His absence was making her absent from all she knew she should attend, and she felt dizzy at the cliff's edge inside of her, and the rain making tracks on the window surprised her simply because it was falling the correct way.

"Christine."

And it was so, so quiet here on the precipice. It was missing something, she knew, but the silence was hurting her ears and making it hard to think. She felt the wind rushing up from the cavern's depths, and it smelled of the sea and of home.

"Christine."

She wanted to go home, to already be home, but she remembered what was missing, and why it was so quiet here inside herself, and she knew that home used to be just to the left. Home was where the cavern is, and all the violins in the world couldn't play the song she most wanted to hear.

"Christine!"

Christine jolted back into herself and felt the squeaky leather of the couch shift beneath her. She was home. This was home, and the only person she had left was looking at her expectantly.

Christine had known Mamma Valerius for many, many years. She could remember being eight and the feeling of awe that came from stepping into the New York City penthouse for the first time. She remembered running the long hallways, and the way library always smelled a little like pipe tobacco. She remembered sitting in the tall, elegant French woman's lap, and being told to call her "grande-mere."

Christine had known even then, even when she couldn't pronounce grand-mere, or the simpler maman, that Mrs. Valerius was not really her family. But Christine hadn't particularly cared, and when they settled on Mamma, she had been quite content to adopt the fancy, nice lady and her husband.

"I'm sorry, Mamma. What did you say?"

Mamma Valerius sighed gently, and her eyes took on that pitying expression Christine was getting to know entirely too well.

"I said, how are you feeling today?" The now-old woman repeated, her lightly accented English was gentle and slow.

"Isn't there some sort of rule against psycho-analyzing your loved ones? I feel like there is." Christine punctuated the statement with a small laugh and a smile, but she wasn't entirely joking.

"Christine, you know I'm not trying to psycho-analyze you. I'm a psychiatrist, yes, but if I can't ask my sweet, sweet goddaughter how her day was without being attacked in this manner – well!"

Christine laughed and joined Mamma V on the plush couch by the fire, planting a kiss on her cheek before resting her head on the older woman's shoulder. The cashmere was soft under her cheek, and Christine felt grateful, yet again, to have grown up in such a lovely home, surrounded by such fine things. She remembered the cold barns and the even colder stoops that had come before, and she wrapped her arms around Mamma Valerius.

"You know how I'm doing, Mamma."

"I know." Mamma Valerius rested her gray head on Christine's. "I know. That's why I brought you something."

Mamma V placed a box in Christine's lap. Christine lifted the lid, and rifled through the substantial pile of letters within.

"Oh, Mamma, what is this?" Christine asked, as she picked up one of the letters. 'To My Love" was written in an elegant script across the envelope.

"These are the letters I wrote to Mr. Valerius when he left us." Her voice shook, and Christine gently took her hand. "After the funeral, I was so sad, and lost. He and I had lived in this penthouse for twenty years, and it suddenly didn't feel like home. You and your father brought me a great deal of comfort in those days, but I needed to talk to my husband. So I figured out a way."

The old woman reached for the box, and Christine handed it to her. Pulling out one of the letters, she opened the unsealed envelope and handed the letter to Christine.

The paper was smooth, and covered in shaky handwriting, and Christine ran her finger over the greeting, feeling where the pen had pressed too hard in writing "My Love…" She could see splotches of watery ink where tears had caused the words to blur, and Christine smiled sadly as she handed it back to Mamma Valerius.

"I wrote these letters to my husband," Mamma Valerius continued, "when I felt sad. Occasionally, I wrote them when I felt happy. They became a place for me to sort my feelings. To be weak, when I could no longer be strong. After a while, I didn't really need to write them anymore. I thought, maybe, you should write some too. To your father."

Christine stiffened, and Mamma Valerius placed an arm about her shoulders.

"It is only an idea, my little songbird. You do not have to do it." She kissed Christine's forehead, and headed towards the door. Christine looked at the letters, and wanted to say something to make Mamma Valerius not worry so much.

"Mamma!" She called, and the old woman paused at the door.

"Oui?"

"I made it into the chorus at the Metropolitan Opera. I just found out today."

"I knew you would." The old woman replied with a warm smile. "Think about what I said. I'm very proud of you."

o...o0o...o

Christine lay on her bed, staring blankly at the ceiling tiles. The box of letters rested on her nightstand. She was glad Mamma was proud of her. It was the only reason she accepted the position at the opera.

She had auditioned before her father's death, when he was still only sick, and there was still something like hope. When her dream of singing to and for the city of New York still felt achievable. She had felt like maybe, if she got a spot on the chorus, it might help him.

It was a stupid, idiotic little fantasy she knew, but still she took everything she had learned at Julliard, which she had been able to attend thanks to Pappa Valerius being a well known composer and professor, and auditioned. She poured her heart and hope into her song.

Two weeks later, her father had died. It had been a month now, and she had almost forgotten she had auditioned. A letter from the opera had arrived that morning, and she had called to accept as soon as she read it.

Every ounce of music inside her had died with her father, but she couldn't pass up this opportunity. She had to do it for him, and she had to do it for Mamma Valerius.

She thought about his absence, and felt that chasm open up just to the left of her bed. She didn't like the dizzy feeling of being on the edge, and she looked at the box of letters.

She didn't want to write. She'd never been good at journaling, but maybe if she could just…say the words out loud.

She got off the bed and dug through her desk drawers until she found her old video camera. She set it on her headboard, fiddled with the record button, and started to speak.

"Is this thing on? Um, hi. My name is Christine Daae…"

Thanks for reading! Please review, and watch The Private Letters of Christine Daae on YouTube for the full experience!