Twenty years after the Paris Opera burned. Erik has a daughter, Raoul a son and daughter. Both of their wives are dead. What will happen when history starts to repeat its self..?
Disclaimer: I don't own Erik, Raoul, any of the Giry's or Gailhard. Henri Marteu is a real historical character, but my interpretation IN NO WAY RESEMBLES THE REAL PERSON. seriously, i was very creaped out when i invented the name foru week prior to finding out that not only was he a real violinist but he could have been working at the opera that the time the action takes place. freaky. And i certinaly don't own Gaston..!
Required- Female musician to give piano lessons to the 9 year old Moerogis de La Martyniere. Applicants must be 17-25, play the piano excelently and preferably one other instrument. Applicants need write to Madame Roussel on the Rue Auber.
It was a cold October morning when Celeste Delven left her home in search of the morning paper. The light had only just struck the cold Paris streets and the city was barely awakening. Turning from the entrance of her home on the Rue Scribe, she slipped away form the shadow of the opera house and onto the mist covered streets of her home city.
It didn't take her long to find what she was searching for, so she stayed out a while longer, taking a route down to the banks of the Sane. The autumn sunlight had grown stronger and boats and begun to glide up the river, stirring up the mist as they went. As she headed back, she breathed in the smells of the city- fresh bakery, and tripped lightly form road to pavement. But still the sun rose higher and Celeste knew that she must return home.
She made it back before the streets became too busy, and managed to slip unnoticed into the entrance of her home. She never noticed the darkness in the passage ways in her home, to her it was as normal as the smell of greasepaint.
As she entered the kitchen a white cat brushed against her leg and mewed softly.
"Ah, Ayesha. You've got white fir on my favourite skirt." She picked the cat up and tickled the space between her ears, "I really shouldn't, but we just won't tell papa"
Putting the cat down Celeste opened the cupboard and pulled out a tin of Mackerel. She lifted off the lid and whispered to the cat "just the one." As Ayesha tucked into her prize, she put the kettle on and buttered a few croissants. She made her was to the drawing room and began her leisurely breakfast. The room she was in was very light for the position on the street. She was still flicking through the paper when her father entered the room.
"You're up early Papa" she said, "would you like some coffee, there's enough hot water"
"Thank you Celeste" he replied sitting beside her and helping himself to a croissant. Ayesha mewed softly and jumped onto his lap purring all the while. "Good morning Ayesha, you seem very happy this morning" he raised a knowing eyebrow at his daughter.
"Here you are father" she handed over the coffee, "I was thinking of visiting Monsieur Gailhard this morning"
"Any particular reason for the visit"
"No Papa, I haven't seen him for a while"
"Are you sure..."
"Oh Papa" Celese blushed and stared into her coffee mug, "I would like to find out when Henri gets back form Russia"
"Ah, are the orchestra is missing their star" Papa said wisely
"Since he's gone the first violinists have never played in tune!" she replied, a little louder than was necessary.
Papa chuckled, "I could send them a note, get it sorted. You'd be surprised how far a little terror goes."
"Thank you Papa, but I'm sure we'll be fine once Henri gets back"
Papa nodded his consent and turned to his paper.
"Gounod is dead!" Papa read with a worried tone
The statement caused a deathly silence. Even the cat stopped purring.
"When?" Celeste asked simply.
"Last night" was the shocked reply.
"My God" Celeste muttered.
There was a brief pause, "we shall play his requiem"
"Yes Papa. I wonder if we still play Faust next season."
"They might even bring it forwards, you should ask Gailhard when you see him"
They played Gounod a brilliant requiem. Between them they made sure the tribute was fitting for the composer of the family's favourite opera. The beautiful music created by father and daughter filled the entire space with delectable tones.
After an hour the music stopped.
"It's such a shame" Celeste muttered to herself.
"Oh Celeste, if only you knew" her father replied so quietly she didn't hear him.
She went back to her room after a while, discreetly taking the paper with her. She had bought it for a specific reason and had now come to the difficult part that was putting her plan into action.
Celeste had been one of the second violinists at the opera for a long time. Too long. She knew she had absolutely no chance of getting into the firsts. Those posts where currently occupied with the sort of bossy snobs that think the world revolves around them. Besides, Celeste was far more happy to sit at the back and blend into the background of the music.
It is a strange truth that the Celeste at home was very different to Celeste in the orchestra pit. Whist at home she could play absolutely anything her father threw at her, with a sort of brilliance that would have made her listeners think she was the angel of music herself. But whilst at work she played adequately, even a little blandly. This was not due to over weaning pride or divine modesty. It was more to do with the fact that she was scared, scared of what triumph would bring. She was quietly happy where she was, she didn't want to be propelled halfway around Europe and be fawned over by lovers and admires. Celeste was quite content to stay with her father, her music and the cat.
Except that was it. She wasn't happy any more. She was bored. Celeste was finding that she had far to much time on her hands, especially during the longer opera runs. She only actually had a five hour day at the opera and, since she had inherited her fathers nocturnal habits but not his love of composing, she found herself with absolutely nothing to do. Then one day she had spotted an advertisement in the paper that was simply calling to her. Now all she had to do was convince her father to let her get another job.
"Papa" she said quietly, creeping into his study. He was at the organ and she had timed her request perfectly; her father almost always said 'yes' when she asked for something when he was composing.
"What is it child?" he replied not taking his eyes form the music in front of him
"I found an article in the paper that I would like you to read" she handed over the paper and pointed it out to him. She held her breath as he scanned it.
He sighed, "do you want to apply?" he asked
"I do"
"Is Gailhard not paying you enough?"
"No Papa. I just think having a student would be an interesting experience. I could learn allot"
"you have no idea" a voice in Papa's head whispered.
"Besides, there cant be any harm in applying, can there?" she said
"Well fine then, you can always quit if you don't like it. And the Rue Auber is a very respectable address. I don't see any harm in it"
"Oh, thank you Papa" she sighed gratefully, taking the paper back. It was then that she noticed that her father was wearing his mask.
"Are you going out?" she asked
"No, I just think I need to pay a visit to Gailhard my self. Don't look so worried Celeste, it's not about you. It's been a while since I was backstage, and I think I have missed it."
"Right Papa. I'll let Gailhard know you'll be up to see him in an hour or so."
"Thank you Celeste" she turned to go, "Oh and Celeste, be careful. Remember you are my daughter"
"You too Papa."
As she turned and left the room, Erik couldn't help but feel a little sad. His daughter was all grown up and moving on in the world. Without him. He sighed and turned back to his music. Soon she would be gone and he would be all alone in the world with no-one except the cat.
He turned to Ayesha, "I suppose you'll be wanting a treat for sitting there so nicely and not on my papers?" The cat looked back at him and purred. He tickled her between the ears and the purring grew louder.
"All right, you can have ONE mackerel. We just won't tell Celeste"
A/N: so Yay or Nay? Do i write more or hang my head in shame? If you want to, the prologue is called 'stay with me' so feel free to check it out. and R/R please else i might bestow more of this travesty on your eyes. PS for Moerogis de La Martyniere, check out chapter two of PotO. that will give you a clue to what happens... loves. L x