So, this is the first time I'm tackling a story. I've been in love with the Phantom of the Opera since the movie first came out. I read over this a few times, but I'm sure I still have some incorrect grammar sprinkled in. You are welcome to point it out if you'd like.
I honestly am writing this for myself, how I believe everything should have turned out and began. I want to develop a slightly kind of relationship between the Phantom and Christine. One that I wish I could have seen in the movie.
Anyway, this story is going to be at realistic pace. First chapter is how they met, when she first heard him sing. I'm not going to be specific in the ages here. She's not a child, I can tell you that much.
I hope you all enjoy it
Forlorn
I do not own Phantom of the Opera or anything affiliated with it.
Prologue: Angel of Music
His aura was one of familiar solitude-something she was all too friendly with. His voice had reverberated off the walls and delved into her very soul. Each note, each breath lit her heart aflame and she held onto that heat. It had been diminished when her father let out his last breath and she's longed for. She could feel the music move through her head, into her heart, and spread through her body like the blood that gave her life. Her body heaved for air, not used to such a comforting feeling- a lulling feeling. It was almost instant, the way her entire body succumbed to the music in the air, her eyes drifting close and her head slinking back against the wall. It burned her very core; muscles relaxed and at the mercy of the music.
His voice increased and her back arched with the sound. She knew her control was gone, in a state of unfamiliar euphoria. Nothing like the excitement she had dancing, no, it was foreign. Unable to describe it but longing to feel more. To sense the fingers of each note caress her skin and play an instrument upon her body. Unreal and accustomed, she felt overwhelmed, unable to handle the feeling. Tears pricked her eyes and she tightened them in fear. She couldn't understand what was happening, her innocent child-like mind was beginning to fall behind to her body. It was frightening.
"Stop, no more…I beg of you." She whispered out, her body shaking uncontrollably. She could bear any further from the voice within the walls.
"Christine…" His tone softened, but did not stop.
"Please…whatever you are." Christine choked out.
Suddenly, her body relaxed, the cold in the room returning to fill her limbs. Her back shivered in response, but she never felt in more control. That voice, whatever it may be, was beyond this world. Heavenly, but yet so dangerously tempting, like that of an angel that promised you heaven, but held no power to grant it.
But the music…
It left her feeling hollow, erased of her sorrow and anger, as if she was suddenly reborn, like the phoenix she read in her books. It was addicting- she never felt so clean and freed. Her arms seemed lighter and her breast emptied of its pain. That voice, it was a blessing; a blessing hidden from sight, but yet as powerful as a touch.
It was an angel, she had no doubt now.
"Like…" Her fingers trembled as she pressed it against her thigh.
"An angel…an angel of music."
XXX
Her muscles ached, but she finished her final turns, falling into the familiar stance of a ballerina. Christine allowed her body to be frozen in song. Her face serene yet empty, willing the audience to paint whatever they deemed necessary upon her. She had so much control over herself when dancing. Freedom does not exist within a ballerina's dance, she is directed and influenced upon by her own mind. Her figure was locked in a familiar movement, unable to be freed, unable to be human. Imperfections, heavens no, a ballerina was supposed to be the epiphany of an immortal. Unaffected by the dance, unaffected by the perfection.
Her jaw locked in doubt. Dancing was a beautiful lie; a lie so believable that it allows the audience to escape and believe something out of their reach. Did they not realize that this morality of dancing was just as heinous as murder? It asked you to remove your humanity, to let go of all those flaws and embrace the perfection.
The ultimate deception.
She was a liar and a good one at that. She even believed it herself sometimes. But being human- no, being Christine was not this. She did not feel liberated. Every show her mind felt the same, not transformed, not grown, not even wiser. Christine felt the same perfection every day and it was exhausting.
"Again! We are not even close to ready." Madame Giry's voice echoed out into the stage. Christine let out another sigh as she moved into her opening stance one more.
She never felt more tired.
Xxx
Her fingers encircled the candle and lifted it to the flame. Mumbling her usual prayer, she placed it in the holder and sat back on her knees. She had so much to say but didn't have any idea where to start. Her fingers clenched into the stone floor and she swallowed the lump settling in her throat.
"Father." She croaked out, "I feel so lost, so alone. I cannot continue like this." Her body shook with spent tears. "This life," she spat, "is not for me." She waited, hoping to hear something comfort her, feel her father behind her, holding her in his arms.
Nothing.
She rolled her lip into her teeth and bit back the sob threatening to escape. "I am so tired, Father. Where is this thing they call freedom? For I cannot feel it anywhere…" She clenched her jaw. "Is it so wrong of me to ask for humanity's flaws?"
"Christine…"
The hairs on her body stood, suddenly aware of the presence in the room. The voice! It was here once again.
"Oh angel, please," tears rolled down her face. "Please, sing for me. Only then can I feel freedom again." Each syllable shook with relief, her lips dry and craving the sweet euphoria he offered her.
His voice suddenly lifted through the room, rising from the floor, passing through her body once more. Her eyes rolled back and her body fell limp. Overcome with the sensation of each vibration, her fingers relaxed into the stone floor. She felt the warmth return to her, moving from her finger tips this time and spreading through her like oil to a flame. She drank it all in, savored each tempting flavor and locking it to memory. This is what it felt like to be human, to be uncontrollably willing and allowing her body to decide the reactions and attractions.
His voice suddenly hardened, like a growl of a tiger in the night, and she felt an unfamiliar warmth pool in her. It was rough and coarse, nothing like she's ever heard, but her body shivered with delight, toes curling beneath her with every note.
It was all so much, his words spiraling around her throat with suffocation, leaving her breathless and lightheaded. But she was ready for it this time. Her fear had lessened and she embraced this new feeling, allowed it to consume her and all of her senses. The sweetest type of intoxication, better than aged wine coupled with fruit. Everything within felt alive, as if her soul lifted from its confines and soared to the highest degree. His voice hit his final note, and her back arched in pleasure. Her euphoria drowning with the lingering vibrations in the air.
But, the hair on her arms did not soften. She could feel him, even taste his presence in the air. It was as if he was the very essence of life, driving her towards something.
"My angel of music...where do you hide?" Her voice breathless from the previous high she had just cascaded down from. A groan emitted from the shadowed corners and her toes tingled in response.
"You are so willing to the music, my love. Every note your body plays for you, but tell me child, what is it you are hiding?"
Her body tingled with apprehension, "I know nothing of which I hide. I am simply me."
She was not prepared for the ominous chuckle escaping from the confines of stone. The pleasured chill forming in her bones was startling, but addicting to the senses.
"Oh, how innocent you are. Blind to the things you keep locked inside. Again, why do you hide?"
"I hide nothing, angel." Her voice had finally returned, but her muscles still did not return to her control, still relaxed and free.
"Come to me if you want freedom, Christine. Only the unfamiliar will grant you the answers you seek."
Her brows furrowed, "Answers? Where do the answers lie, angel?"
She received no response.