Hi everybody,
I did promise you a new story, did I not? Well, here it is. And it is different from my previous ones in that it is not a continuation, but sort of a what-if or AU scenario, since it deviates from the story earlier on. This one starts with Christine's debut performance in "Hannibal" and the night after that, but things are developing a bit differently this time. As always, it will be E/C, as in: in the end our couple will be together and live happily ever after, but even though their hearts will find their way to each other sooner, their road to happiness will still be long and thorny.
So... let's get started, shall we? I hope you will all enjoy this story and show me your appreciation by reading, reviewing, putting on alert and adding to favorites! And please remember that I don't own these characters, not one of them! :-(
Chapter 1 – And do I dream again?
Raoul de Chagny was full of anticipation. He had just ordered his coachman to wait with the carriage in front of the main entrance of the Opéra Populaire and then to drive him and his company to one of the most extravagant restaurants of Paris – one that also had the reputation of being a bit "risqué", since it offered dining niches that could be closed to the public view by curtains, thus providing privacy to the customers inside.
Raoul grinned. What a coincidence that this enticing new prima donna was his old childhood friend Christine! It would be so easy to sweep her off her feet by reminding her of their shared past and the fact that they had already been childhood sweethearts. Certainly she would then understand that they were meant to be together and not fight him any longer?
Raoul thought about how utterly breathtaking she had looked in that white dress with the low cleavage, her bosom heaving with the effort of singing. He had then known that he had to have her, that this woman was meant for his bed and his bed alone. Of course, as the patron of the theater, he had a certain advantage, for he had the power to fire her or raise her salary, depending on how well she responded to his advances, and had she been a complete stranger, he would have tried that approach. But to his surprise, when he had studied the playbill to find out the name of his latest infatuation, he realized he had known her when they were children. He therefore decided he would play the good old friend first, building upon the trust they had shared all those years ago, and then, once she was least expecting it, seduce her.
No, Raoul shook his head. As much as he was burning with desire for Christine's exquisite body, he would not do anything too rush tonight. He would not even try to touch those alluring breasts. But nobody could forbid him to feast on the view of her delicious cleavage and to imagine tearing off the obstructive clothing. He licked his lips at the thought of her breasts bared to his view, to his touch, to his hungry mouth... Not today, but soon, very soon... And then he would not stop at her breasts...
He had reached her dressing room in the meantime, and, pasting his most seductive smile onto his face, he reached for the door handle and pressed it down. To his shock, the door was locked.
"What the..." he cursed underneath his breath. Had that blasted vixen been playing him? He had thought she had been pleased to see him again after all those years. True, she had not seemed over-enthusiastic at his suggestion to have supper with him, but then, she was a woman. She might have shown reluctance for propriety's sake, to keep up appearances, or, maybe she had guessed exactly what his plans in her regard were, and had tried to raise her price.
A wolfish grin distorted Raoul's handsome features. Of course! As the new prima donna Christine would want to be as friendly as possible with the patron, to further her career. But of course she also wanted to test him first, to see how far he would go in his desire to bed her. Was she hoping for more than his protection, his support of her career? Was she maybe even thinking to become his wife? Heck, she was so desirable, that in order to have her, he might even consider marriage. But that was only a last resort, if every other plan failed. So far, no woman had been able to resist his charms for long, and he was convinced that little Christine would be just like them. Sooner of later, she would succumb to him.
"Christine!" he therefore called, more sweetly than he had originally planned. "Open the door! It is me, Raoul, we want to go for supper, remember?"
It could not hurt to make it sound as if she had already agreed to dine with him, for the corridor was far from empty, other performers were leaving their dressing rooms, some on the arm of a lover, and he wanted to be overheard. He wanted people to talk about the fact that the patron was taking the prima donna out, he wanted their names to be tied together in people's minds. It would drive her into his arms even faster.
When nobody answered, he began to push the handle again, and more forcibly. "Christine!" he repeated, already a bit angry. "Why did you lock your door?"
Suddenly he froze. Had he heard a man's voice coming form Christine's dressing room? Was someone in there with her – behind a locked door? Did she already have a lover?
His blood pressure rose and he angrily rattled the door handle a few more times. "Who is in there with you, Christine?" he screamed. "Open the door at once!"
Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Please, Monsieur," a stern voice spoke to him. "Calm down. You would not want to draw attention to yourself in such a way."
Raoul turned around and found himself face to face with a rather somber-looking woman of about forty. He vaguely remembered having seen her at his first visit to the Opéra Populaire, when Firmin and André had introduced him as the new patron. She was some higher level employee he remembered, though what exactly it was she did, he could not remember. In charge of props, maybe? Costume department? Choir, ballet? Probably one of these, he did not really care. Though, considering her position, it was likely that she would be able to procure a spare key to Christine's dressing room, and thus he was eager to enlist her help.
"Oh Madame," he therefore explained to her, his voice as charming as possible. "I need your help. Mademoiselle Daaé has promised to dine with me tonight, I just went to alert my driver and give her some time to change, and now when I return, her door is locked and I hear a man's voice from inside. I fear that some unsavory individual may have forced his way in there and is now taking advantage of her..."
To his utter shock, the lady gave him a very scrutinizing look, then simply answered, "Mademoiselle Daaé is with her voice coach. You need not concern yourself, Monsieur le Vicomte. Her teacher is a gentleman with impeccable manners. He would never take advantage of his student."
"Then why did they lock the door?" Raoul asked, more than a bit annoyed now.
"Obviously they did not want to be disturbed," the woman replied stiffly. "They are going over her performance today, discussing which parts went well and which passages she has to work on more in order to become perfect. Now, Monsieur, if you would be so kind and leave for tonight."
With those words, she turned on her heels and walked down the corridor.
Raoul seethed. It was clear that he would not get anywhere tonight. But it was also clear that he was meeting with more obstacles than he had expected. That impertinent hag was proof of it, as was this voice coach, whom he already thought of as a potential rival. Under these circumstances he needed allies as well.
Fortunately, he was the patron, and the Opéra Populaire's success largely depended on his financial support. He therefore knew exactly where to look for an ally. Whistling a merry tune, he headed towards the managers' office.
XXXX
Christine awoke. She blinked. Her mind still was a bit hazy, and it took her a while to realize where she was and how she had ended up there. It all still seemed like a dream. A most wonderful dream, to be exact. Almost too good to be true. For how likely was it that her beloved Angel of Music had finally shown himself to her? That he was not an angel after all, but a corporeal being like herself, a real person, a man...
How many times over the past few weeks or months had she dreamed of exactly this to happen? That her mysterious Angel would one day confess to her that he was a mortal man, desperately in love with her?
She once again shook her head. Of course this was nonsense. It could not be. Her Angel had been sent to her by her dead father years ago, he had comforted her in her grief over the loss of her father and later, much later, had helped her develop her voice. Yes, he meant the world to her. He knew and understood her better than anybody on this world, even better than her best friend and sister Meg, with whom she shared every secret. Except for one, the deepest of her secrets. Except for the fact that she thought she had slowly fallen in love with her Angel.
Christine sighed. She knew how stupid this sounded. How could one fall in love with an angel? As far as she knew, he was an ethereal being, unable to feel emotions like love. He did not even have a body she could touch, and she certainly had never seen whatever form or shape he possessed. He was a voice only, a voice that spoke to her, nurtured her, comforted her, helped her. He had given her the gift of her voice and been her guide, her moral support, her – everything, for years.
Christine had shared her most intimate thoughts and fears with him and he had always been understanding and able to help and advise her. Was it therefore so inconceivable that she wanted the man she would one day fall in love with to be just like him? To be as reliable, tender, knowledgeable, resourceful, understanding as her Angel?
But then, would she need somebody other than her Angel? Could she ever trust a real man the way she trusted him? And would she lose her Angel if she found a suitor? She certainly did not want to lose him, ever, for he was so dear to her, so incredibly dear. Once she had realized that, she had begun to daydream, thinking, hoping that one day a miracle would happen, that somehow her Angel could turn into a man, that it would be him she could fall in love with and ultimately marry. Oh, how wonderful that would be, to have a husband like him!
Strangely enough, in her daydreams she had never thought what he would look like if he were a man. She had an inkling that it would not matter if he was tall or short, heavy set or slender, blond or dark-haired, with brown or blue or green eyes, that she would love him anyway. If only... if only he came to her and allowed her to love him.
And then, last night... Christine rubbed her eyes to make sure she really saw what she thought she was seeing. For it could not really be, or could it? Her Angel could not really have been there with her in her dressing room, coming to her through the huge mirror, which really was a door, and lead her down through a labyrinth to a subterranean lake and into a fairy-tale like world of wonder, music and candle-light. He could not really have sung to her, his voice so full of tenderness, desire, promises of the future. It could not really be, and yet...
And yet, there she was, in a strange stone chamber, lying in a bed the shape of a huge bird, between sheets of the softest silk, with candles all around, and a music box the likes of which she had never seen, playing a happy melody.
She climbed out of the bed, intent on further exploring her surroundings, for if the part of her being lead into this wonder-world was no dream, then maybe the rest of it was reality as well, maybe... he...
She blushed at the memory of the man who had brought her here. He had been older than her, but then, that had to be expected if he truly was a man and not an angel, for he had to have been an adult already by the time her father had died close to 10 years ago. His voice had not sounded like that of a boy then.
Christine tried to remember more details of him. He was tall and slender, and he had spoken to her with her Angel's voice. She therefore had had no fear, when this complete stranger had offered her his arm and had lead her away from her dressing room. She smiled as she remembered that he had been wearing black leather gloves. Then she blushed as she realized that she only remembered that detail, because she had wondered what it might feel like to touch his un-gloved fingers, to feel skin on skin..
Christine heard an organ playing and followed the sound. An organ, of course! An Angel's preferred musical instrument would be the one used in churches all over the world. There had to be an organ somewhere here in this mystical realm!
She turned another corner and gasped. There he was, right before her eyes, sitting in front of a huge pipe organ, lost in his music. And he... he looked so real! Just the way she remembered him from last night. A man, tall, slender, broad shouldered, engulfed in his music.
"Oh God, please, let that be no dream," she prayed. "Let him be real, and let him return my feelings, even though he is much older than I am and probably thinks of me as a stupid child! Let him allow me to love him..."
Christine silently approached him from behind and put her hand on his left cheek. She felt him lean into her touch, and suddenly her whole body was on fire. She had never expected skin contact with a man to feel like that, so electrifying and exhilarating. She wanted this feeling never to end, to feel his skin under her fingers like that for all eternity.
But suddenly something caught her attention. She was not sure if she felt it first or saw it first. The right side of his face was covered with a … some kind of mask, and now that she saw it, she did remember that he had been wearing such a cover over part of his face the night before as well.
But why? Why did he hide from her like that, if he truly was a man, if he was a mortal being that could return her feelings, that would allow her to love him and therefore had finally decided to reveal himself to her?
Was it maybe too good to be true after all? Was he maybe not truly a man as she began to hope with every fiber of her heart, but a heavenly being posing as a mortal? Was he maybe not able to completely hide his glory under human form, and therefore needed such a contrivance to shield her from his view?
Christine hesitated. If the mask was there for her protection, it might not be wise to remove it. An Angel's glory could probably be blinding if beheld by a human eye. Did she want to risk that? Of course she could simply ask him about the mask, but what if he refused her an answer or came up with an excuse? Then she would never know, and once he had realized her interest, he would be extra careful, she would get no chance to remove it. No, if she wanted to know the truth, if she wanted to find out for herself if he was man or angel, she needed to act now. And fast. Before he became suspicious of her fingers that were slowly approaching the mask.
Christine took a deep breath to summon her courage, and then, in one swift move, ripped the mask off his face.
And then all hell broke lose. She had not expected anybody to be able to move as fast as he did. Within a fraction of a second he had jumped to his feet, turned around, thrown her to the ground, while at the same time covering the right side of his face with one hand.
Christine cowered on the stony ground, horrified by the sudden change of mood in this man – this being in front of her. He was screaming at her, raging like a madman, calling her all sorts of things.
Christine felt paralyzed, and all she could think of was, "now I have ruined it. He will never be able to forgive me for that."
After a while he seemed to calm down. He was not ranting at her any longer, but at himself, referring to himself as a loathsome gargoyle, a repulsive carcass and a beast, and the truth began to dawn on Christine. He was human after all. What he had been hiding under his mask was not a trace of heavenly glory, but some kind of hideous disfigurement. The way he kept facing away from her and covering the right side of his face with his hand made it painfully obvious to her that he did not want her to see that part of him, that he felt deeply ashamed at the thought she might have gotten a glimpse of it. It therefore must be really bad.
Christine's heart opened wide at that realization. It suddenly all made sense, why he had never shown himself to her before, why he had only talked to her from behind walls. He had feared rejection! And if she were honest, she was not sure if she would have trusted a hideously disfigured man at the tender age of seven, after her father's death. He would not have been able to comfort her, had she known the truth about him then. He had lied to her, posing as an angel, for her own good.
But now... now he had deemed her worthy of his trust, now he had finally been ready to tell her the truth about himself, and she had blown it big time. She felt so bad for betraying his trust in her like that. She could not even begin to understand how hurt and humiliated he must be feeling right now, how exposed. She knew she had to make it up to him somehow, to make him understand that his face did not matter to her, that he was still the same person in her heart.
She extended her hand towards him, holding the mask she had ripped from his face out to him like a peace offering. "Forgive me," she whispered.
