A/N: Hello dear readers! I got hit by this major plot bunny and couldn't help myself.
It started with some research I was doing for a totally different purpose, during which I came upon an article about Palais Garnier in relation to Leroux' book. There was a bit that said that everytime something strange happens the workers there like to joke it's Erik, or rather his ghost. Then I thought, what if they weren't joking and there really was his ghost roaming around the Paris Opera House?
And so I thought up a phantom story where Palais Garnier would be exactly the way it is today, with fish and the firemen swimming in the underground lake, with the library and the restaurant, with actual professional singers and ballet dancers, with the tourists and the phans! And in all of that, I wanted there to be Erik, the real one that presumably existed at some point in history and really tampered with that chandelier in 1898.
Unfortunately, I got no beta, but I got Grammarly. Hope it helps, at least with the typos.
Comicbook: I lately had the idea to make an online comic/graphic novel version of the fanfic once I'm done with writing this. Will link to it in the last chapter when I set up the website etc. For now, feel free to enjoy some concept art, sketches, designs and such on my Tumblr account: jadeite-art . tumblr .com
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the "Phantom of the Opera" novel by Gaston Leroux. It's set in the world we live it, therefore there are mentions of other phantom related works, all of which belong to their respective owners. Also, all opera, musical or song lyrics quoted in the story are the property of their respective owners and are used on the premise that the characters perform these pieces in the story.
ANOTHER VOICE
Prologue
The diva sang.
"Ah! je ris de me voir si belle en ce miroir, Ah! je ris de me voir si belle en ce miroir, Est-ce toi, Marguerite, est-ce toi?"
Her voice carried across the Opera House where the phantom had been trapped, hovering between life and death. Anchored to the world by grief and anguish, he was forced to wander the familiar corridors of Palais Garnier for eternity. He didn't know how many years had passed. In the limbo time ceased to exist. Days and nights went by, indistinct until the sound of a crystal clear soprano broke the tedium.
"Réponds-moi, réponds-moi, Réponds, réponds, réponds vite!"
The sound seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere and it sipped into the deepest corners of his rotten soul, calling it back to life.
"Non! Non! ce n'est plus toi! Non...non, ce n'est plus ton visage, C'est la fille d'un roi..."
His heartbeat and for the shortest moment the world around him snapped into focus before fading again into an indistinct blur of colors, smells and sounds.
"Ce n'est plus toi, Q"u'on salut au passage! Ah s'il était ici! S'il me voyait ainsi! Comme une demoiselle! Il me trouverait belle, Ah! Comme une demoiselle, Il me trouverait belle!"
The diva called him like a siren and his heartbeat, again and again, pumping hot blood into his numb limbs.
"Achevons la métamorphose, Il me tarde encor d'essayer, Le bracelet it le collier!"
Every cell of his body felt on fire. He screamed in agony but no sound came out of his mouth.
"Dieu! c'est comme une main, Qui sur mon bras se pose! ah! ah!Ah! je ris de me voir si belle dans ce miroir!"
The song began to fade as he fell into the abyss. The last words were just above a whisper and then silence reigned.
CHAPTER 1 - A BRAVE NEW WORLD
Erik woke up to the sound of flowing water. Getting up, he scanned his surroundings. He sat on a small platform at the shore of a still lake that stretched far into the darkness underneath a starless firmament of chiseled stone. In an instant he understood: he was in the cellars of Palais Garnier.
Approaching the familiar stone wall, he activated the mechanism that opened the hidden door and entered his house to find it dusty and smelling of damp as if it had stood abandoned for a very long time. Wallpaper peeled off the walls and his Persian rugs and blankets showed signs of being ravished by rats. He eventually found his way into the torture chamber which remained mostly unscathed, save for some silver peeling of the mirrors.
Standing in the middle of the room he undressed naked and examined the closest of his infinite reflections. A familiar death's face stared back at him from the mirror but something felt different. His skin appeared tighter and smoother than he remembered and underneath he could clearly see a thin layer of muscle, making him look a little bit less cadaverous. His hair was still firmly attached to his scalp and flicking his tongue around his mouth, he discovered a full set of teeth. His features might have been as hideous as always but there was no denying that somehow his body had returned to its former youth.
It couldn't have been a journey back in time as at this age he wouldn't be at the Opera, more so, Palais Garnier wouldn't even exist yet. What was it then?
A faint echo of the Jewel Song resounded at the back of his skull and his mind immediately went to Christine. Was he being given a second chance? Could it be that if he were younger she might have wanted to stay with him?
Hopeful, he went looking for a mask and some fresh clothes. Finding them he considered wearing his old full-face black leather mask but eventually decided against it, choosing one he used to wear in his youth and which he still kept as a souvenir of the good old days.
A couple hours later, cleaned and groomed he rowed his boat across the vast expanse of the underground lake. The farther he went, the lighter it became due to the lanterns fixed in the walls that illuminated the once dark cellars.
What the hell had they done to his dominion, he thought as he stalled near a pillar, momentarily blinded.
Once his pupils adjusted to the blaring white light, he resumed rowing until he reached the opposite bank of the lake, where he masterfully hid his boat and scurried away towards the secret passage behind Christine's dressing room. Eventually, he reached the familiar paneled corridor and peered through the mirror to the other side. A young woman was just leaving the room but it wasn't Christine, he was certain of it. When the woman was gone, he silently crept outside.
It was still daytime and the theater was bursting with life. Skulking around, Erik couldn't help but notice how strangely the people dressed. He didn't linger too much on the subject though, as his attention was quickly caught by some sort of commotion going on around the stage.
Picking up bits and pieces of the conversations, he discovered the management had some problems with the upcoming production. It would seem that their diva was constantly indisposed and unfortunately enough her understudy had broken a leg. Wasn't that just the perfect opportunity to have Christine sing the lead?
A plan already forming in his mind, he picked up his search for the girl. He had wandered far from the stage when he heard voices. Peeking into a room through a half-closed door, he saw a couple of very young ballerinas, chatting merrily. One of them, a pale blonde, showed something to her brunette friend.
"Omg Chris, he's a total cutie," exclaimed the other girl with a giggle.
The blonde turned her head a little and Erik's breath caught up in his throat. It was Christine! Well, not exactly. The girl was a good few years too young and her friend called her Chris and not Christine, but it could've just been an endearment. Other than that the resemblance was remarkable, down to beauty spot under the girl's left eye. It was Christine! It had to be!
Meanwhile, the blonde was telling her friend, "He says he's an aristocrat because his great great great something grandpa was a count or something like that. He's nineteen and his name's Philippe," she finished dreamily.
Wasn't it supposed to be Raoul? Well, one fop was worth another. At least they didn't seem to be married yet. In fact, it appeared that the two of them had barely just met.
"He asked me out this Friday," she continued her blabbering. "Omg Meg, I so hope he kisses me."
Meg? As in little Meg Giry? So she and Christine were friends now, were more or less the same age and they were both ballet dancers? It all felt as if he ended up in one of those "spot the ten differences" games. He might need to rethink his plans, he decided and scurried to box five from where he could later take a shortcut to his lair.
Fortunately, the box was still in its rightful place and looking just as ordinary as ever, save for a badge on the door that read " Le loge du Fantôme de l'Opéra ". Using his master key which he kept on himself at all times, Erik snuck inside and took a moment to listen to the music that was being performed on stage. At one point, his ears picked up another sound, a kind of muffled roar. It was growing closer and closer until he heard it right behind the door.
There was a click, and a middle-aged woman armed with some sort of howling machine burst in.
"Ah! Bonjour Monsieur Erik." She didn't seem at all perturbed by his presence there. "Listening to the rehearsals?" she chirped in a chatty tone. "They're doing your favorite "Faust" tonight."
Dumbstruck, Erik growled, "You know my name? And my favorite opera?"
The woman didn't even budge. "Of course I know it. Everyone does," she said matter of factly as she kept on doing whatever it was she did with that monstrous machine of hers. "It's all in the book Monsieur le Fantôme, it's all in the book."
What book?!
"Now, be so kind and move aside." She actually took him by the elbow and dragged him out of his seat. "I need to vacuum there too. You wouldn't want to sit in all this dust during tonight's gala, would you?"
Deeply offended by such indignant treatment, Erik retracted into the corridor. He hasn't made more than a dozen steps when he heard something between a gasp and a shriek come from somewhere around his midsection. Looking down, he saw a girl about half his height, gaping at him unceremoniously.
"Close your mouth before you catch some flies in," he snorted, expecting she'd at least have the decency to be intimidated.
She didn't.
"Oh Erik!" she squealed, wrapping her arms around his waist since that was the highest she could possibly reach. "I knew you were still alive!"
He was so frozen in shock he didn't even try to get away.
"I don't care about your distorted face," she promised. "I understand what you feel because I'm disfigured too." She pointed out to some really ugly acne scars marking her cheeks. "I love you!" she cried and that finally snapped Erik out of his stunned trance.
"W- What?" he stuttered. All he'd ever wished for was to be loved but not necessarily by some random lunatic teenager with acne.
"I love you, Erik," the girl repeated solemnly. "Please, be my Angel of Music!" Then she began to sing, " Angel of Music guide and guardian, grant me all your glory, " and she sang so badly that Erik wanted to cut his ears off. Or her tongue.
He'd never physically harmed a child in his life, let alone a female child, and he didn't intend to start now, albeit the temptation was strong, so he just disentangled himself from the girl's embrace and made a run for it.
The teen followed, not at all discouraged by his evident rejection of her advances. "Erik!" she shouted as she ran after him on her half shorter and skinnier little legs. "Please wait!"
As they passed by the boxes the cleaning lady turned up again. Quickly assessing the situation, she let go of her vacuum and joined in the chase.
"Hey you little brat!" she shouted, trying to grab the girl by the hood. "Come back here! That's a restricted zone!"
"I must find Erik!" the girl yelled back.
"Oh goodness!" fumed the cleaning lady. "You crazy phans leave him alone!"
In that moment Erik actually felt a bit of sympathy for the woman. Perhaps he should consider making a closer acquaintance of her. She could turn up to be a valid ally.
"Guard! We've got another one!" he heard her shout as he burst back into the backstage area and shuffled through the crowd of people and props, not caring whether anyone saw him or not. He just wanted to get out of there. Distracted, he didn't notice when he accidentally bumped into someone. His mask wavered dangerously but he managed to keep in in place.
"Watch it Erik," huffed the man he'd collided with. "We've got enough on our heads as it is even without you lurking around and causing trouble." And with that, he just passed him by and went about his business.
Erik followed him with wide eyes. That man too, whoever he was, not only seemed to know him personally, he had also treated him, the Opera Ghost, like some pesky child!
His initial puzzlement with the bizarre surroundings was slowly turning to rage as he stalked back to where he'd come from. He almost reached the dressing room when he saw another familiar face. Coming from the other end of the corridor there was la Carlotta. She too dressed in the strangest fashion in something black that clung to her every curve like a second skin but there was no doubt it was her. He recognized the lips, the eyes, the hair.
"You!" he fumed. "What are you still doing at my Opera House?"
She didn't even budge, just stood there gaping at him like an idiot. He came at her like a ball of fury, but only when he was no more than a few feet away her calm expression changed, as if she'd suddenly been struck by some sort of realization, and for a moment he saw fear in her eyes before it turned to resolve. In a leap she was beside him and grabbing at the lapels of his suit, she dragged him down and kissed him hard on the mouth.
It was the straw that broke the camel's back. His brain went into a short circuit and after the tiniest moment of stupor he held her tight and kissed her back with all his might. His heart beat faster and the blood rushing through his veins filled his whole body with an unknown sensation of warmth.
Pushing Carlotta away he jumped back as if she burned. "What in Faust's name have you done to me?!" he panted, short of breath.
The girl looked him in the eye even more resolute than before. "Getting a little excited Monsieur le Fantôme?" she mocked.
That was it! He was going to strangle her with her own hair right where she stood!
"What in the world is going on here?! Mademoiselle, are you all right?" an aggravated voice spoke from behind his back.
He turned and felt once more as if someone hit him in the face with a brick. "Daroga?!" he exclaimed blinking at the dark-skinned man in front of him.
Daroga seemed just as perplexed to see him. "Erik? You look so..." he inspected him all over, "alive."
"Watch it Monsieur Daroga," Carlotta cried, "he's not our resident ghost. I think it's some crazy guy who just dressed up as Erik."
"He looks exactly like him," Daroga observed, checking him out, "glowing eyes and all."
"I assure you, he's a real living person."
Daroga extended his hand to check for himself, the Disbelieving Thomas he was. With him on one side and crazed up Carlotta on the other Erik felt like a trapped animal. The dressing room was out of the question as an escape route but on the stage there should be a trap door he could use. Without warning he skid by the Daroga and sped towards the stage, carelessly breaking in between the small crowd of performers that blocked his way.
"Damn it, Erik!" someone shouted.
"Quit the shit!" another voice added.
"We're trying to rehearse here!"
"Bloody Opera Ghost!"
His head exploded as he drowned in that cacophony of angry curses and annoyed shouts. The need to just escape from there, from that world of utter madness, surged within him even stronger. In a flash, he activated the trapdoor mechanism, which thankfully was still in place, and disappeared into the darkness below.
In spite of everything that happened, Erik later returned above ground to attend to "Faust". He expected to see la Carlotta sing the lead, thinking she was the fickle diva everyone talked about, but instead it turned out to be a rather plump red-haired woman called la Debonnaire. He eventually spotted the insufferable soprano in the back, singing the chorus, and his fingers inadvertently moved to his lips.
Next chapter: While Erik tries to figure out what the hell had just happened Carlotta decides it's about time she found out more about their resident ghost.
Is it a coincidence that she resembles La Carlotta from Erik's time?
What about Daroga who seems to be the speaking image of the Persian?