Diamonds and Toads, a phantom of the opera fanfic

Hey all! I've kept this in my docs for a while, this idea bloomed in my mind some months ago and I wrote down a first draft the moment it started taking shape in my imagination. But, I've been paranoid about someone beating me to it lately, so I decided to post it now. So, edited it, polished it up, fixed some things and stuff, and whoop, here it is.

It's basically me trying my hand at writing something horror-ish through combining POTO with Perrault's "Diamonds and Toads", and Erik being a huge dick to poor Carlotta - that pretty much sums it up. Writing this was so hard, I love Leroux!Carlotta (oh, quick note: this is canon Spanish!Carlotta), and to say that I hated having to put her through all of this would be an understatement.

I also got the chance to brush up on my Spanish and wow, I can barely use it to write anymore, which is weird, because I speak it alright, but obviously speaking it is so much easier than writing in it. If you happen to spot any mistakes in my Spanish, please point them out (damn you, subjunctive mood!).

Translations and such will be posted as a guest review because there's a lot of stuff to translate, I don't wanna include everything in the end, and translating every single sentence in italics would kill the mood of the story. Please don't hate me for this, I know it's gonna suck, lo siento, mierda xD

Now, to the tale: I have reason to believe that few of you are familiar with this tale, my money's solely on any Europeans among you, specifically French and Spanish peeps (I used to own the book in Spanish, that is exactly why I thought this would work great with Leroux!Carlotta) – no I'm not being poncey, that is a fact, this specific tale is seldom included in any children's edition of Perrault's Fairytales (I have absolutely no idea as to why, because it's effing amazing). Anyway, I loved this tale growing up, I had to write this. I suggest to those of you who aren't in the least familiar with it to google it, give that a read first, then come back here and read this. One more thing; the version of the tale I grew up with, and the one I'm expressly using here, is the one with, as the title suggests, the diamonds and the toads. I've seen other versions include pearls or roses and snakes respectively, but I'm having none of that.

If you're familiar with any version, do tell me – I might even make a poll or some shit. Aaah, so many memories xD Anyhow, I am pretty satisfied with how this turned out. Hope you enjoy, and be prepared for an awful lot of Spanish.

{end overly lengthy A/N}

Please R&R :)

Diamonds and Toads

"Este es mi regalo," dijo el hada, "con cada palabra que digas, diamantes caerán de tu boca."

This is my gift—said the fairy—with every word you say, diamonds will fall from your mouth.

As a child, La Carlotta had always adored her aya*. She couldn't remember her name, she never took the trouble to learn it, but she adored her aya. Her aya, who, for her first nine years on earth, would sing a different cancion de cuna* to her, every night. She had a beautiful voice, and it was her, her nameless aya, that had inspired her to follow a career in music.

When she had expressed her desires to pursue this dream of hers, her aya's face had lit up, and, pulling the little Carlotta—barely 7 years old at the time—into her arms, she had recounted the tale of Los Diamantes y Los Sapos.

The Diamonds and the Toads.

Two daughters. One was kindhearted and meek, the other was conceited and ill-mannered. One was gifted by the beautiful sprite of the creek to have diamonds falling from her mouth whenever she spoke, a testimony to her words, so beautiful and kind. The other was cursed to have slimy toads slither their way out of her throat and leap out into the ground, foul, and horrid, as were the words she spoke.

She loved that tale, and would ask her aya to recount it thrice a day. And her aya, she would always comply.

And every time, when the tale had reached its end, her aya would turn to her and, as if reciting a prayer, would say:

"Now, take great care, querida*. I am sure that, when you sing, and the crowds applaud you, you will have diamonds falling out of your mouth—you have a beautiful voice, pequeña*. But, this will not suffice. You could have the most beautiful voice in all of Toledo, the most beautiful voice in all of Spain, the most beautiful, astonishing voice in all of Europe - it will not be enough for me. Simply having a beautiful voice does not serve to earn those diamonds; you have to use your beautiful voice to sing, and speak, beautiful words. Never forget that, querida. You may leave behind all my tales and lullabies, but never, never forget this. Never allow any sapos*"— at this point, she would always make a grimace, for emphasis—"to come out of your mouth, understood?"

And the young Carlotta would always smile and nod.

Nevertheless, that was just the young Carlotta. The old Carlotta was ashamed to admit, she had completely forgotten about that tale, and the teachings it conveyed, up until this very morning, when it had been delivered to her house in the Rue du Faubourg St. Honore, in book form, in her native tongue, wrapped in a bright green paper. No address, no name of any sender to be seen, anywhere. Only a card that read "If you appear to-night, you must be prepared for a great misfortune at the moment when you open your mouth to sing... a misfortune worse than death."

It had to be Daaé, trying to mess with her mind! Ah, but she wouldn't get her way! Carlotta would play Marguerite, and that was final! Final!

... Ah, La Daaé—a bitch, and a shrew. A vixen. A harpy, a hellcat, a harlot of the North. That was all La Daaé was…

Howbeit, she had chosen to ignore the curious circumstances under which the book had reached her hands. Instead, she flipped through the pages, letting the savoury feeling of nostalgia wash over her. She smiled as she studied the mesmerizing illustrations. She could practically hear her aya's voice read aloud the words, one by one.

Until, her eyes fixed on a sentence that had been underlined with bright red ink; the fairy's curse to the ill-behaved sister.

"Ya que eres tan ruda y grosera, te daré este don: con cada palabra que digas, saldrán sapos de tu boca.

Since you are so rude and insolent, I will give you this gift; with every word you say, toads will come out of your mouth.

La Carlotta had laughed at this, although she had unwittingly touched her throat, a sick feeling manifesting itself deep in her stomach.

Still, she didn't understand this; any of it. How did La Daaé know about this tale, or its importance to her? What was the point of sending it her way, regardless? She would bring the book with her and demand some explanations from Mademoiselle Christine after the curtain fell...

It didn't make any sense.

Truly, she didn't understand.

But she was bound to understand, and she did, that same night.

To-night, that is.

To-night, she is sitting in the wings, when Daaé walks by her. She hears someone next to her whisper, in flawless Spanish.

"Un verdadero diamante, ¿no es ella?*"

She turns around, ready to retort that there is nothing as special as the critics make out to be about her, that she is but a mediocrity with a great social framing, but –

There is no one there.

She brushes it off. This is no time for stage fright to kick in. She is a professional, after all. And she is next. She is el verdadero diamante, not Christine. She'll prove this discarnate voice, she'll prove everyone, she is.

"Ninette, where are my shoes?" she calls.

He had wanted to do this, right from the start. It was a desperate measure. And he loved desperate measures.

She would pay for everything she had put Christine through. Henceforth, La Carlotta would tremble in her presence; she would crumble at the sound of her adversary's voice. Her voice. Her diamond-producing voice.

He smirks.

"Hora de soltar los sapos.*"

Her heels click as she walks decisively to the centre of the stage. Some wooden boards creak under her feet, producing a tacky sound.

She's standing there. All eyes are on her. The conductor lightly taps his baguette, signalling for "L'Air des Bijoux" to begin. She opens her mouth.

"Te daré este don: con cada palabra que digas, saldrán sapos de tu boca." she feels, rather than hears, someone say, verbatim, in her ear, right next to her.

She pouts her lips, she opens her mouth again, she takes a deep breath.

Ribbit.

She freezes. This can't be-

Ribbit.

No.

Ribbit.

NO!

Ribbit, ribbit.

The audience just stares at her, before everyone, the conductor and the orchestra included, dissolves into a cruel cackle.

She can't react. She no longer remembers how to move, or scream, or cover her face with her hands. She just stands there, motionless, unable to escape this hell. It feels as if her feet are glued to the floorboards.

Ribbit.

The cackle is louder now. So is the ghostly voice next to her, repeating, nearly chanting, the spiteful words.

"Con cada palabra que digas, saldrán sapos de tu boca.The voice repeats, about three or four times, before launching into a mad raving, virtually spitting declarations in her ear.

"Ella es el diamante." It hisses.

She is the diamond.

"Solo ella puede ser el diamante."

Only she can be the diamond.

"El único diamante."

The only diamond.

"Solo ella."

She alone.

The tears are flowing unrestricted, now.

"Who are you?" she wants to shout, but her chords fail her.

Can it truly be? Can it be that Christine Daaé actually has the divine on her side? Is this el Señor, punishing her for being so cruel to her rival? Why, Dio, why did it have to be here, in front of everybody?

Ribbit, ribbit, ribbit.

...Is this reality?

"Si, querida."

How-

"Why are you doing this to me-" she manages to mouth, in now broken French.

"Porque has sido una chica muy mala, Carlotta.*"

"¡Detén, por fav-favor!*" she chokes on her breath.

"¿Por qué? ¿Tu aya no te enseñó lo que les sucede a las chicas como tú*?"

At the punctuated word, her train of thought reaches an abrupt halt. Hordes of tears are pullulating on her cheeks, and crowding her eyes, clouding her vision.

Ribbit, ribbit.

The chorus of roaring laughter emitting from the audience is still thriving, booming, bouncing from one wall of the chamber, which has now become her inferno, to another.

Ribbit, ribbit, ribbit.

She makes out a "Grenouille*!", uttered by someone in the string section of the pit.

She has no time to think.

She has to get out of here.

She has to hide.

She turns to run.

... She can't.

Ribbit.

"She is singing, to-night, to bring the chandelier down!"

Her heels are literally glued to the floorboards. She stumbles, trying to release herself. She falls to the floor, and the shoes remain stuck to the wood.

She is free.

An enormous crack has appeared on the ceiling and is travelling across the vivid frescoes.

Barefoot, she flees.

The voice follows her through the labyrinth of corridors.

She hears a mighty crash and sounds of screams, cries, and howls. There is a steady totter to her steps. She can sense a sneer in the voice's words:

"Con cada palabra que digas, saldrán sapos de tu boca."

It is getting louder, now.

"Con cada palabra que digas, saldrán sapos de tu boca!" The voice is laughing, taunting her.

It is getting deafening, now.

"CON CADA PALABRA QUE DIGAS, SALDRAN SAPOS DE TU BOCA!"

"Padre Nuestro, que estás en los Cielos, santificado sea Tu Nombre*-" she begins, under her breath, but it's only a matter of seconds before she can hear herself croak again.

Ribbit, ribbit, ribbit.

She slams the wooden door of her dressing room closed, trying to drown out this infernal voice.

But the voice is still there, clearer than ever.

"Con cada palabra que digas, saldrán sapos de tu boca!"

"Stop! For the love of God, please, stop-" she sobs. But the ruthless voice doesn't stop. Rather, it loudens, and shifts, and alters itself into something else.