Author's Note: This one-shot dates from March 2008. It was written to answer a verbal challenge from a Phantom-obsessed friend of mine— rewrite the origin story, using supernatural themes and/or creatures. And what I came up with was… this.
Paris, once upon a time
Michelle separated from the others after practice, taking off her ballet shoes and walking barefooted through the right wing and back to the dancers' dormitory of the Opera Populaire in Paris. Silently, she threw her shoes onto her bed and walked to the wall, pressing the wood until she found the spring that would pop it open to reveal the secret passage.
Closing the wall behind her, she traveled down, down, down through the passage, until she wound up in a large chamber. Plush red curtains hung under the arch, and on the walls. On a table in the center of the room were many sheets of paper covered with music, and beside them lay two violins— one blood red, the other ebony. Smiling to herself, Michelle crossed to the table and picked up the red violin— her violin. She tuned it quickly, then started playing a few bars of music.
"So you've come back again."
Instead of jumping with fright, she smiled at the sound of the deep, velvety voice. Turning, she smiled to see Erik standing there. She nodded, lowering the violin.
"I sought time away from the world," she replied in her low voice.
"And there's no better place to do that than here," Erik finished her thought.
Michelle nodded again. Erik nodded once and stepped forwards, placing a page of music before her.
"While you're here, you might as well practice," he said. "You sing, I'll play."
Michelle scanned over the music while Erik tuned his violin. On his nod, she began her singing lesson, her voice bouncing off the walls and blending with his music.
Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation…
Darkness stirs and wakes imagination…
Silently the senses abandon their defenses...
Helpless to resist the songs I write…
For I compose the music of the night…
He had been instructing her for months, this man whom they called the Beast of the Opera House. To her, he wasn't a beast, or a monster. He was just Erik, her tutor and friend. He wasn't some horrible, maniacal incarnation of evil; he was a musical genius, reserved, a perfect gentleman.
After half an hour of practice, Michelle persuaded Erik to come outside for a walk. Michelle smiled to herself as they wandered through the streets, the last rays of the sunset falling on her face. She was so enjoying the evening air and the sun that it took her long moments to realize that Erik was on edge.
"Erik? What's wrong?" she asked.
"Have you heard of the new patron?" he asked abruptly.
Michelle thought for a moment. "Alastair de Chagny? Yes, I've heard of him. He doesn't come around often, and never during rehearsals. Only for the performances at night."
Erik gave an odd little smile. "That sounds about right. You will meet him, I'm sure."
When Michelle tried to press him for information, he just shook his head and walked on. So all she could do was walk with him and try to puzzle out what he had been hinting at.
Three nights later, Michelle was practicing the aria for the theatre's next opera when rehearsal was broken by the manager walking in.
Michelle's breath caught in her throat when she saw the man walking with the manager. Tall, thin, with very pale skin and shoulder-length black hair. Deep brown eyes, an air of arrogance and superiority about him. Impeccably dressed in expensive clothes. Part of her was offput by his demeanor. But… for some reason, she felt drawn to him, as if he were a magnet, and she, metal filings.
"Attention, attention, S'il vous plaît, mesdames et messieurs," the manager, Monsieur Montcharmin, said, walking onstage with the stranger beside him. "It is my very great pleasure to introduce to you our new patron, the Viscount de Chagny."
The Viscount gave a small bow, and the actors inclined their heads in return. The manager continued talking, but Michelle's attention was diverted by the presence of someone behind her. She turned her head slightly and smiled at the little girl who had taken a fold of Michelle's skirt. She was tiny for a six-year-old, with dark red hair and large hazel eyes. Michelle bent down and picked the girl up, cradling her in her arms.
"Who's that man?" Victoria whispered.
"That's our new patron," Michelle murmured in response, pressing a kiss onto the girl's forehead.
"Oh," Victoria said. "…What's a patron?"
Michelle smiled. "It means he's going to finance the productions."
"Oh," Victoria said again, laying her head on Michelle's shoulder and losing interest in the stranger.
"Michelle," Montcharmin called, motioning her forward.
She walked over to the manager and the Viscount, inclining her head slightly. Montcharmin beamed at her before turning to the Viscount.
"Monsieur, may I present Mademoiselle Michelle Fargrius, our rising star," he said proudly.
"Enchantee, mademoiselle," the Viscount said, somehow managing to take her hand and kiss it.
"Monsieur, you honor us with your patronage," she murmured with a slight smile.
"The honor is all mine," he said, looking into her eyes.
It was like she'd been hit by waves of sensation. Seduction… mystery… forbiddance… the feeling of being sucked into a whirlpool… She'd never felt anything like that before.
Quickly, she excused herself and went to put the almost-asleep Victoria to bed. She tried to keep her mind quiet and free from all thoughts, but to her consternation she discovered that try as she might, she couldn't get the Viscount out of her mind. Sighing, Michelle walked back to her room and paced the floor before her bed, trying to clear her thoughts. When that failed, she slid open the secret passage and hurried down into Erik's labyrinthine world, where maybe she could find some peace of mind.
"What do you mean, you can't get your mind off of him?" Erik asked, handing her a goblet of wine.
"Exactly what I said," Michelle replied, sinking into a chair and rubbing her temples. "When our gazes locked… I don't know, he felt… dangerous. But at the same time, something drew me close to him. I don't understand it."
A dark expression crossed Erik's face, though since his face was hidden by his shroud Michelle couldn't see it.
"Be wary of him, Michelle," he said slowly. "His intentions are not all they seem."
Michelle wanted to ask more, but she knew very well that if Erik was going to explain further, he would in his own good time and not before, and that pushing him would probably backfire. So she just sat there, savoring the calm that being around Erik always seemed to invoke in her.
She stormed through the lobby of the opera house, shaking her head emphatically as she tried to elude the manager.
"No, I will not meet him for dinner."
"But Michelle-"
"Non!" she exclaimed. "For the past three weeks, I have rehearsed after performances, into the wee hours of the morning, just so the Viscount could sit and listen to me. Every night, he's taken me out for a late supper, just the two of us. I only get three hours of sleep before I have to be up for more rehearsals with the company. I don't know if you realize this, but I am not Chagny's pet monkey. I am a performer, and I need time to rehearse on my own. Not to mention, I would like a day to myself."
Montcharmin's face hardened. "You are also a representative of this opera house, Michelle. We need the Viscount de Chagny's patronage to keep this theatre open. And if he has taken an interest in you… You will play nice with him. You will do whatever he wants to get him to keep his money flowing into this establishment."
So saying, he turned on his heel and left. Michelle glared after Montcharmin's retreating back, hating the world. She was only 19; why was she being called to become a courtesan? And for this man?
She despised Alastair de Chagny.
So why was it that she was always early for their private rehearsals? Why did she look for him in his box at performances? Why was she drawn to him?
"What's happening to me?" she whispered, pressing the back of her hand against her lips.
Feeling the need to escape, she slipped into one of the innumerable passages that would lead her down into the vaults of the theatre. She went at almost a run through the labyrinthine hallways, bursting into the sanctuary at full speed.
"What do you know, she is still alive," Erik commented, walking in.
"I'm sorry I haven't been here," she said. "The Viscount…"
"They're having you keep him happy so he keeps giving money," he said.
Michelle nodded. "I don't have a moment to myself anymore."
Erik nodded, leading her back to a small room. He motioned to the bed in the corner.
"Lay down. You look like hell," he commented.
She rolled her eyes as she got on the bed. "Thanks. I haven't been sleeping much lately."
"Well, you know… if you wanted a break..."
She looked up at him curiously as she curled into a ball, yawning despite herself. He paced the length of the room, thinking.
"We could make it look as though I kidnapped you," he said. "Then you'd be able to stay down here for a while, rest, get your strength back."
"No!" Michelle said, shaking her head and propping herself on her elbows. "No. They'll hate you-"
"You're tired, you need to sleep, now shut up and let me take care of this."
So saying, Erik blew out the candles and left, leaving Michelle to fall asleep in the comforting darkness.
He was as good as his word. For a week, Michelle was free to sleep as much as she liked, to eat when she wanted (and to eat whatever she wanted), and to spend time with Erik. She relished her little vacation, her break from the world.
Which is why she was so horribly displeased when one day Erik cleared his throat and said, "You do have to go back, you know."
She set down her wine glass, scowling. "Why?"
Erik smiled. "Because you're the greatest asset that opera house has, and you know it."
"So what if I am?" she asked. "You know as well as I that the moment I return, I'll have to-"
"You'll have to go back to playing nice with Alastair, yes, I know," Erik said. "But except for that part, admit it, you've missed rehearsals, and you want to go back to performing."
"Well… alright, maybe," Michelle admitted.
"So go back and do that," Erik said. "Forget about everything else, and just focus on singing. And remember to push with your diaphragm more."
Michelle rolled her eyes as a laugh escaped her lips. Grinning, Erik helped her up, and walked with her through the halls and passageways that led back to the opera house.
"Seriously, though," he said, dropping his voice just before she left his lair, "if you need to get away, say the word."
A small smile crossed her lips. "I know. Thank you."
With that, she slipped back into the dormitory, lay down on her bed and fell asleep, looking forward to and yet dreading the evening.
"She's back?" Alastair de Chagny asked as Michelle walked onstage for rehearsal.
"Yes, monsieur," Montcharmin nodded. "As if she'd just appeared out of thin air."
"Where was she?" de Chagny asked.
"We don't know, monsieur," Montcharmin said. "Victoria found her in the dormitory this morning. Michelle hasn't said a word to anybody… and if I know Michelle, she won't say a word."
Alastair's eyes darkened, but he said nothing more to Montcharmin about Michelle's sudden reappearance. He would get Michelle to tell him where she had gone.
"I've missed you this week, my dear," he said over dinner that evening, acting his most charming.
The sharp retort that had bubbled up Michelle's throat died when she looked up into Alastair's eyes.
"I'm sorry I left without notice," she said. "I just needed a week away. To rest."
"Ah," he nodded. "The opera rehearsals have been more grueling than usual?"
"Yes," she said. "Montcharmin is determined that you will think your investment to be well worth the money."
Alastair smiled. "I already do consider it worth it, and it has nothing to do with the opera," he said, dropping his voice.
Michelle looked down, flustered to find that she was blushing. What was she doing? Why couldn't she keep control over herself?
"I am curious to know where you went, though," he said. "And how you managed to go without anyone having a clue."
"Oh… I didn't go far. And Erik always manages to make it seem as if I've vanished," she blurted out without thinking.
Then she froze. She hadn't meant to mention Erik's name.
"Erik?" Alastair asked.
"My mentor," Michelle said before she knew the words were out of her mouth. "My singing instructor."
"I didn't know you'd employed an instructor," Alastair said. "I must increase his pay."
"Oh no, Erik doesn't accept payment," Michelle said, mentally despairing. Why could she not stop herself from speaking?
"No?" Alastair asked. "Then how does he manage to live?"
"I… I…" Michelle stammered, considerably flustered.
Alastair leaned back in his seat. "I've distressed you. I'm sorry."
"No, no, I'm sorry," Michelle said miserably. "It's just that I've never told anyone about Erik, other than Victoria."
Alastair nodded silently, a tiny smirk of a smile crossing his face as he found the means to answer his questions. If the child knew the answers to this riddle, he would charm her as he had done her mother.
Michelle walked into the room where Victoria slept, leaning against the doorframe as she watched the tiny girl. Her eyebrows furrowed; where had Victoria gotten a kitten? Erik, most likely…
At least, she hoped it had been Erik.
"Victoria?" she asked, walking in. "Where did that kitten come from?"
"From the fancy man," Victoria answered, cuddling the kitten against her chest. "Her name's Arabella."
Michelle furrowed her brow, her insides clenching. "The fancy man? You mean… the Viscount?"
"Uh-huh," Victoria nodded, intent on her new pet.
"Why did he give you a kitten?" Michelle asked.
"Coz he said it was pretty and reminded him of me," Victoria said. "He's nice."
Michelle nodded absently, her mind drifting back to Alastair. Strange; when he'd first come, she'd been so suspicious of him, as if her intuition had been warning her that he was dangerous. But now… now she thought she must have misjudged him. He'd been nothing but solicitous and chivalrous to her. She had thought she'd known what he'd wanted— to make her his mistress— but he hadn't yet touched her in a way that wasn't absolutely appropriate. Perhaps she had been horribly, horribly wrong about him.
"He wanted to know about Mr. E," Victoria said.
Michelle's eyes widened. "Victoria… did you tell him?"
The little girl grinned and nodded. "Yep! He wanted to know what he was like, why we're friends with him, where he lives."
An odd, erratic flutter took hold of Michelle's heart. She wasn't sure why she felt so protective of Erik; all she knew was that she didn't want Alastair to know of him.
And why was Alastair so interested in Erik?
He paced across the vault, his hands behind his back and a scowl on his face. His pace was measured; his thoughts raced through his mind at an almost frantic rate, chasing each other in a whirlwind.
It had been nearly two months since he'd last seen Michelle. He'd had his suspicions why, and those suspicions were confirmed when little Victoria came to visit him and told him stories of "the fancy man who comes and takes Mama out into the city".
He growled low in his throat, his brows furrowing. He had to get Michelle away from Alastair.
He knew perfectly well what would happen if Alastair sunk his talons any deeper into her. She would become his willing slave. He would blind her, subvert her will. It had already begun; he could see it in the way that she was drawn to him without knowing why. He found it disgusting, that Alastair would so blatantly abuse his… abilities… on an unsuspecting innocent. He had to protect her from that.
And besides that, he missed her. He missed their conversations, her singing lessons, her curiosity and her attitude. He missed the random, stolen hours when she would come with Victoria. He'd spent years watching her, protecting her. Now it was just strange to not have her around.
So yes. The fact that he had to save her was obvious. The question was how to do it while avoiding a public confrontation.
Fortunately, he wasn't a genius for nothing.
Often, Montcharmin had sent him messages, asking him to compose an operetta or some such when the money was low. Erik's creations always filled the house. So all he need do was compose an opera, and then find an opportunity to spirit Michelle away. Easy enough.
Alastair's eyes narrowed as he sat in on the dress rehearsal for this new opera. He was pleased that Michelle had been awarded the main role in the production, of course, but he was incredibly suspicious about Montcharmin's story of how he had come into possession of this work.
"Oh, just a local artiste, Monsieur, whom we sometimes patronize," Montcharmin had said vaguely when Alastair asked.
But he knew better. There were two hallmarks that marked this opera as the work of his bitter rival- the intricacy of the violin solo during the soprano's aria, and the aria itself, which had clearly been tailor-created for the voice of Michelle Fargrius.
He wasn't about to let Erik win Michelle. Not when he was determined to have her for his own.
"Montcharmin, I feel I must warn you in advance that the Paris police will be stationed in the opera house during tonight's performance," Alastair said.
Montcharmin stared. "Why, Monsieur?"
He smiled smoothly. "I received information on good authority that there was mischief planned for tonight, which would involve Mademoiselle Fargrius. For her protection, the police will be positioned all throughout the opera house, and after the production I will personally conduct her to a place of safety until the suspected mischief-maker has been captured."
Montcharmin was puzzled and disturbed, but dared not contradict the patron. Leaning back in his chair, Alastair smirked.
After tonight, she would be his forever.
Michelle sat in her dressing room, running a brush through her long, dark locks before arranging it. She hummed to herself, her eyes closed, enjoying this rare moment of peace.
She turned, startled, when someone burst into her sanctuary, but relaxed immediately upon seeing it was Victoria.
"What are you doing here, ma petit bijou?" she asked, standing and walking to the little girl, gathering her into her arms and sinking down onto the chaise lounge.
"This was lying on your bed," Victoria said, holding up a single blood-red rose.
Michelle took it, a small smile crossing her face. It was Erik's custom to send her a rose before every performance, for he knew how much she loved the flower.
The smile was replaced by a pensive look as Michelle's eyes darkened and she bit her lip. Erik… she had neglected him lately. She had constantly been with Alastair, and when she was with him it was as if every other thought or concern was blocked out, so that he was all that filled her consciousness.
That would change, and tonight, Michelle decided. Tonight she would make her excuses, leave the celebratory after-party, and slip down into the hidden world beneath the opera house.
Standing, Michelle set Victoria down and smoothed out her costume, which was a blood-red gown, and a rather daring one. The dress clung to her body, with a narrow skirt that flared out at the knee. It was a beautiful dress, but shocking. And she had never felt more beautiful than she did now.
Tucking her rose into her hairdo, she walked out to the stage, not knowing that everything was about to change.
She sat onstage alone when the time came for her aria. But instead of hearing the piano she had rehearsed with, Michelle was startled when she heard the lovely, lilting, haunting whine of a violin. She wasn't sure why the substitution had been made, but suddenly her aria became another piece entirely. It wasn't just a romantic song; now with the violin it was a dance, a love song, a persuasion and a seduction. The aria was no longer about her character, it was about her.
And she had never felt more alive.
It was a work of art, each note perfect and powerful and flying up through the air towards God, it seemed. The audience hung on, breathless, unable to escape the undeniable magic in the air as Michelle's voice entranced them and held them all prisoner.
Michelle shifted just slightly, and suddenly the violinist came into her eyesight. Her eyes widened in wonder as she saw Erik, his dark eyes intense as he played. Without breaking or pausing to wonder, she went on, as completely entranced by him as the audience was by her.
Only one person's gaze darkened.
Alastair stood quickly. "GUARDS!" he screamed.
The police seemed like ants as they swarmed the theater, rushing for the stage. Erik snatched Michelle, and suddenly was just gone. No human eye had seen where he had gone. Alastair snarled, grabbing a sword from the police lieutenant and sprinting onstage.
Erik would not have Alastair's prize and trophy. She belonged to him, and he intended to keep it that way.
Alastair stomped on the trap door, jumping through it without a second thought. He fell through midair, down two stories, yet he landed lightly on his feet, not deterred at all. He sprinted through the passages of the labyrinthine underworld, following Michelle's scent. Had he had more time, he would have smirked at the knowledge that he had been right in believing that there was a whole other underworld beneath the opera house in which the Beast had been hiding. But as it was, Alastair was intent on merely finding Michelle before Erik destroyed everything.
"Michelle!" he yelled as he ran into what seemed to be the central chamber.
Any human would have been terrified by the sight awaiting him. An extremely pale, shaken Michelle was huddled against the far wall, cradling the sleeping Victoria in her arms. Before her stood Erik. He had abandoned his human form, showing himself for the Beast he truly was. He snarled at Alastair, hatred glinting in his eyes.
Alastair glared right back, allowing his fangs to grow. "You cannot have her, you mongrel. She is of my race, and as such belongs in a union with one of her own kind. You think a princess of a royal vampyre house, mortal or not, would ever run off with a beast like you?"
Erik merely glared, twitching his paw slightly so Alastair's gaze was drawn toward the foot-and-a-half long claws.
Michelle stood, a glare spreading across her face as the fog lifted from her mind. "You knew who I was?"
Alastair smirked. "Of course, my dear. It wasn't so hard to figure out who you were."
"And you sought me for your trophy," she said, her voice dangerously low.
His smirk widened. "What better way to assert my dominance than you have you by my side, my dear? Once you were restored to your birthright, of course."
Michelle took a step back, sickened. Alastair advanced on her smoothly.
"Think of it. With my patronage, think of how high your star would rise. You would be the most celebrated opera singer in Europe. But if this beast abducted you?" He smirked. "You would be constantly on the run. You would never sing again. Your entire life would be taken from you."
Michelle stood perfectly still for a moment, and Alastair moved in to claim his prize. Michelle didn't move until he was before her… and then her knee flew up and rammed into his crotch.
"I would rather be in exile with the one I love, than to be a prisoner in a gilded cage," she hissed.
Erik returned to his human form. He advanced on Alastair and proceeded to easily beat the shit out of him as Michelle leaned down to gather Victoria into her arms.
At the sound of a mob coming through the passageways, Erik straightened. "Time to go."
He tossed Michelle a dark cloak and pulled one on himself before holding his hand out to Michelle. She took it, looking up at him.
"We'll have to travel fast," he said.
Michelle nodded in understanding. "I love you."
Erik smirked. "I know. Now let's go."
He picked Michelle up and sprinted off. Michelle had to roll her eyes as she smiled; perhaps it wasn't the most romantic of beginnings, but somehow she knew that this relationship would last longer than time itself.
The story of the abduction of Michelle Fargrius became legend, a theater myth told to amuse chorus girls and stagehands. Gradually, the truth of what had happened that night was perverted (mostly due to Alastair's influence), until the story bore no resemblance to the original events. By the time Gaston Leroux heard the legend, all mention of the feud between the vampyre and the lycan for the heart of the mortal daughter of a legendary vampyre clan had been lost. The story had become merely the tale of a disfigured madman's obsession with a young soprano named Christine Daae, who had been saved from the monster by the dashing Raoul de Chagny.
That suited Michelle and Erik just fine. If the world preferred the sensationalized fiction it had been told, that just afforded them greater anonymity and safety. They knew the truth, and that was all that mattered.