Author's Note: Phantom of the Opera and its said characters belong to Gaston Leroux, Susan Kay, Andrew Lloyd Webber, Warner Brother Studios, and whoever else happens to have a piece of the rights. It sure as hell ain't me.
To clear up confusions early, this fic is movie/stage based, but as with my previous fic, has strong elements of Kay mixed into it. Why? Because I feel like it. I want to write something a little more wholesome than All Forgiving. Consider that a warm up.
Also note, this fic may or may not be finished, but if you look under my profile, you'll see a strong trend; I tend to not finish what I start. But if the idea is there, then I might as well go with it while I can. I just hope I can contribute something to the Phantom community during my visit.
"No one ever sees the Angel; but he is heard by those who are meant to hear him. He often comes when they least expect him, when they are sad and disheartened. Then their ears suddenly perceive celestial harmonies, a divine voice, which they remember all their lives. Persons who are visited by the Angel quiver with a thrill unknown to the rest of mankind. And they can not touch an instrument, or open their mouths to sing, without producing sounds that put all other human sounds to shame. Then people who do not know that the Angel has visited those persons say that they have genius."
Gaston Leroux, page 62 (Puffins Classics edition)
Gorgeous…
Our December
Written by Omega Devin
Prologue
It was a cold, cold day in November when Christine Daaé aggressively decided that fairy tales were nothing but a concoction of lies, fantasies a weaving of deceit, and happy ending nothing more than false promises built upon empty dreams. It was a cold, snowy day in November that she first began to regret – when she truly, deeply began to regret – the decisions made in the catacombs of the Opera Populaire not more than eight months ago, when she left the darkness behind her, following a man who promised to lead her into the light, into a life of happiness, comfort and content.
That night, under the opera house, when she was led away from him, from his music, his voice, his tears…
The night she kissed him for the first and last time…
His confession of love to her as she handed the ring back to him…and fled…
Raoul had promised her, once they reached the streets again, wet and cold and smudged with dirt and grime, that the nightmare was over, that the dark shadows of the past were finally behind them. They had nothing to look forward to but a bright future, a glorious wedding, a happy marriage and a perfect family to call their own…
It sounded perfect.
It was the life that any woman, regardless of her social upbringing would dream of, and few ever truly had a chance to live.
It would be a perfect life…
Then why was she so unhappy?