Disclaimer: I do not own anything, no infringement intended.
Summary: The events that led to the movie, starting just before Christine goes to live there. Most likely will end up differently than the movie though, and Erik&Christine.
Author's Note: First TPotO FanFiction, I hope you like it! I just bought the book, but haven't started reading it yet, so for now it is based on the 2004 movie. Forgive me if details on Christine's past don't line up. Read and Review please! There is some french in there for mere artistic effect, which I will translate at the end.
Chapter One: 1860
"Father, what was Mother like?" The man's eyes danced with the memories that his young daughter's question stirred.
"Well," he began, carefully planning out every word as he always did, and bringing the little girl to his lap, "she was beautiful. She was always full of life and love and compassion."
"And she was a ballerina, was she not, Father?" The child smoothed her father's slick black hair and he smiled.
"Yes, Christine, and she had the voice of an angel. She loved to sing while I played the violin. She said there was no better sound than when the two of us made music. You look like her too, you know." Christine's face grew bright.
"Do I?" Her father's green eyes sparkled as they always did when he smiled, just as a young voice was heard echoing from outside.
"Little Lotte, where are you?" Christine's face broke into a grin.
"Raoul!" and she disappeared through the doorway of the attic. Minutes later, she reappeared hand in hand with a boy of 8 years, one year older than she. As they sat down on the floor, the young boy spoke.
"Monsieur Daae, will you play us a song?" The man smiled and picked up his violin, and without a word, notes began flowing around the room, echoing from the walls and filling the children. Soon, Christine's eyes filled with that wondering look that she often got, as she looked off into the distance.
"Little Lotte, let her mind wander." Christine smiled and pushed a dark curl behind her ear.
"I wonder, am I fonder of dolls or of goblins or of shoes or of riddles or frocks or of chocolates?" Raoul handed her a chocolate, before rising up and drawing his imaginary sword.
"I, mademoiselle, and fondest of sword fights and rescuing beautiful princesses such as yourself. Yes, one day, Little Lotte, you will be in great danger, and I will fight for you. I will slay all evil, and put you on the back of my horse. We will then ride off to the country side and be married. I shall never leave your side." The two naive young children grinned and giggled. Christine's father also smiled, knowing not that he had very little time to live, due to a tumor in his brain. In two weeks, he would be dead.
"Raoul, I may not see you today. Father is quite ill. He shall be better soon though." Raoul smiled a sad smile, attempting to raise the hopes of the girl who's face fell under shadows.
"Every hope and every prayer with you both."
A few days later, Christine's father would not wake up from a rest. Her life would never be the same.
'I must run. I must run and run and run. Someplace far away, I will be there someday. Someplace and someday far from here and now, Father will be alive, I know he will. He would never leave me alone. I must run.'
So Christine ran. She ran as far as she could, and stopped only when he little legs would carry her no further. She was in the heart of the city. She wandered around for hours, mesmerized, until she came to The Opera Populaire. She had seen it once before, only the outside, on a trip her father had taken her into town. She knew that her father adored the operas there. 'Father...'
"Father, why are you ill?" He sighed.
"When I'm in heaven, child," the girl's eyes grew wide and fearful, "I will send the angel of music to you."
"Father, don't speak of such things! You will return to good health, I just know you will! You must..." she buried her face in his shoulder and began to cry, feeling the rise and fall of his chest. She knew her father's hair had streaks of gray, and lines had formed on his face, but his green eyes still sparkled with the brilliance as they always had. He drew in a sharp breath, exhaled, and closed his eyes from exhaustion, although all he had been doing was conversing with his child. She brought her head up, and he felt her breath on his cheek as she whispered.
"I'm frightened, Father," he opened his eyes and cupped his daughter's tear stained cheek.
"Don't be, mon enfant, you are never alone. I just need to rest now." Christine rose from his bedside to let his sleep. She turned from him, but was drawn back to face him when the words that would be his last echoed in her ears. "Je t'aime, mon chéri," Christine smiled sadly through her tears.
"Je t'aime aussi bien, mon père."
Hot tears now streamed down her face again as she wandered into the opera house. Her tears ceased; she was captivated by the beautiful artwork and music that it possessed. Through her aimless wandering, she found herself in a dark hallway, where she heard faint beauty echoing from before her. She followed the voice, the voice of a man she realized as she drew closer, to a stone room with many candles. It was in this room where the voice seemed to be coming from, the beauty of the music resounding from the walls in her ears and filling her, but there was not a figure to be seen.
"Shamed into solitude,
Shunned by the multitude,
I learned to listen,
In my dark, my heart hears music."
Christine dropped to her knees, completely entranced by the music that surrounded her. She was filled with no longer thoughts of her own, but merely mesmerized by the music resonating around her; entranced and moved by the beauty and despair of the voice.
"I long to teach the world,
Rise up and reach the world,
No one will listen,
I alone can hear music."
"Beautiful voice, I hear your music." Christine heard a soft gasp - her presence being realized. Then the mysterious voice saw a look on the child's face that he recognized, not the face itself, but the look in her eyes, the look of despair, of having no one in the world.
"Is anything the matter, child?"
"I-well, yes." Feeling like she could trust this mysterious presence for reason she could not understand, she let her thoughts pour from her mouth in the way that one lets thoughts pour about their brain, with no thought to what anyone may think. "My father has died, I am alone. You are alone too, aren't you? Are you a ghost?" Christine felt no fear, although she had just posed a frightening question. She was not afraid of this voice in the shadows; his voice calmed her. The voice chuckled softly; for the first time that he could remember, he was laughing.
"Many people think I am. The Opera Ghost, The Phantom of the Opera, they call me. It does seem awfully daunting though, does it not? I am not a ghost though. Think of me more as...as an angel." Christine's eyes widened.
"An angel of music?" He felt his lips turn upward into a faint smile, another gesture he was unused to.
"Yes, my dear,"
"Sing again for me, Ange de Musique," Christine lay on her back and closed her eyes, and let the sound fill her once more.
"Then at last, a voice in the gloom,
Seemed to cry, 'I hear your fears,
Your torment and your tears,'
She saw my loneliness,
Shared in my emptiness,
No one would listen,
No one but her,
Heard as the outcast hears."
"Oh angel..." Christine whispered, but was interrupted by the voice of an older woman.
"Who is that in there?" Christine sat up, suddenly filled with fright. Her angel was gone, and in the doorway stood a woman of some age, but still beauty, and a blonde girl of Christine's age it seemed, with the same beauty. Without a word, Christine pushed past the two and once more began to run. She ran around the opera house, although she was lost, she was sure that the two ladies would be too. She ran until she was sure she had lost them, and the moment she stopped to rest, she felt a calm, delicate, and warm hand on her shoulder. She would have ran, but she somehow felt the parental love from behind her. She calmly turned around to see the woman who had stood in the doorway.
"Oh, please don't be angry with me for sneaking into the Opera house! I beseech you, let me go, I will leave right away!" Christine silenced when she felt the woman's other hand rest on Christine's free shoulder in a loving way, showing that she was indeed not angry, but Christine still felt uncomfortable.
"Hush, child. Have you any parents?" Christine looked at the floor.
"My Mother and Father, they live in heaven,..um..?"
"You may call me Madam Giry. Orphan, if you have no where to live, you may live here, if you are prepared to study ballet, as we need as many girls of your age as we can. Surely you must have a name though, child?" Madam pushed a stray curl behind the girl's ear, a gentle and loving gesture countering the woman's strict tone.
"Christine Daae, and I would be eternally indebted to you Madam Giry. I thank you wholeheartedly." Christine curtsied.
"My daughter, Meg, will show you to a room, Chri-" Madam Giry silenced when a note sealed with a red skull figure unexpectedly fluttered from above, though Madam did not look surprised. She hastily read it, and changed her mind about Christine's living arrangements.
"I have instructions as to which room you are to stay in, my dear. Follow me."
A/N: First chapter, what fun! Also, the song that the Phantom sings was a deleted song, it is available for listening on the bonus disk on the 2004 DVD.
Anywho, here is the mini French/English dictionary, as promised:
Mon enfant - my child
Je t'aime, mon chéri - I love you, my darling
Je t'aime, aussi bien, mon père - I love you, as well, my father
Ange de Musique - Angel of Music
I hope you like it! I have a couple chapters written and not typed, and many more ideas in my head! I will write as I see fit, but I will type and upload (the work part P) depending on reviews. Thank you for reading, my sweets!