Hello, this is a phan phic that I've wanted to write for a while now. I started one once but it sucked. Royally. Thanks for checking it out and please review to let me know what you think. For anyone who's curious Gelaina is a name I got from the word "gealach," which is Irish for moon, and Ochere is from the Irish word for night. In case you hadn't guessed, my character is Irish.
Summary- What if Erik fell out of love with Christine? What if there was another dancer at the Opera Populaire who, like him, was scarred and hurt but in a less visible way? How much would change if he fell in love with her?
Disclaimer- I own only Gelaina Ochere; the amazingness that is the Phantom of the Opera belongs solely to Gaston Leroux, Andrew Lloyd Webber, and Joel Schumacher.
Let the story begin! Meep.
Prologue
A small girl shivers under the blankets on her bed. The storm raging outside her window is keeping her awake. A particularly loud bolt of thunder and a frighteningly close lightning strike makes her shoot out of her bed and run to her parents' room. She freezes in the doorframe and a small gasp of horror escapes her mouth. She backs away from the room shaking her head, tears starting to roll down her cheeks, eyes flickering back and forth between her father's unblinking stare on the floor and her mother's bloody corpse on the bed. Before she can scream a large hand wraps around her frail arm and flings her across the hall. She slams into a wall and crumples to the ground. She blinks slowly as she watches a large pair of boots approach her, then blacks out as a knife enters her abdomen.
Gelaina starts awake, tasting blood in her mouth from biting down on her tongue to hard. She traced the scars on her stomach, seven of them. All had been very deep, it was a miracle she'd survived, the doctors had exclaimed. Her body barely survived that night, but her spirit burned bright with determination. Gelaina hadn't spoken a word to anyone since that night, something that still worried Aunt Giry even though it had been eight years. The girls in the opera house had given up after a week of trying to talk to her.
Two years after arriving at the opera house, Gelaina had found a small room with a beautiful piano in it. She'd started to play the tune to an old Gaelic lullaby and slowly, she'd started to sing the words. Her voice was rough from disuse, but it had begun to clear and the words of Caisleán Druim Mór surrounded her.
Deireadh Fómhair gaotha caoineadh
Timpeall an caisleán an Droma Mhóir
Tá Ach síochána ina hallaí ard,
Mo siopa Treasure grámhara
Cé go d'fhéadfadh duilleoga an fhómhair droop agus bás,
A bud an earraigh tú
Can hushabye loo, íseal loo, íseal lan
Hushabye loo, íseal loo
Biotáille dread gach ceann de na uisce dubh,
MBean fiáin Clan Owen
Aon gaoithe tinn a thabhairt dó ná dúinn,
Mo leanbh cabhrú less agus mé
Can hushabye loo, íseal loo, íseal lan
Hushabye loo, íseal loo
Agus Naomh-Mhuire pitying linn
Chun Heaven do doth cairde agairt a dhéanamh
Tóg am a rathú, mo gha an dóchais,
Sa ghairdín an Droma Mhóir
Can hushabye loo, íseal loo, íseal lan
Hushabye loo, íseal loo
Tóg heed, choileán óg, till thy sciatháin
An bhfuil feathered oiriúnach go n-ardóidh
A chuid eile beag agus ansin
Tá an domhan iomlán oibre a dhéanamh
A chuid eile beag agus ansin
Tá an domhan iomlán oibre a dhéanamh
Can hushabye loo, íseal loo, íseal lan
Hushabye loo, íseal loo
Since that night, she'd gone to that little room whenever she was flooded by memories and sung whatever came to mind. Gelaina sighed and stood, clearing her head before lighting a candle and heading to the room. A pair of light blue eyes watched her curiously as she exited the room, before turning toward the sleeping face of a beautiful brunette chorus girl.
