To Be a Lady
by Lotte Valerius
The blaring sound of fire crackling not only made him quicken his pace, but it also made him all the more nauseous. His creation, his beauty, his work, his prize, all ruined. All a waste.
Well, not all a waste.
He had heard her. She sang for him, no one else. After ten years of waiting, the creature of darkness, the masked genius, had heard his Angel sing once more.
But now she was gone. Forever. The terrible scene replayed in his head, and for a brief moment, he stopped. A single tear slid down his face as he began to run again, running not only from the fire, but from the past as well.
The show was magnificent. Ravishing. He had barely made it to her performance; she had barely made it herself. Almost as soon as he had perched himself on the chair of his personal box, the stage curtain rose, and the music began. There she stood, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in her life. Her singing was even more wondrous. The only thing that could have been changed was the sight of Mssr. Vicomte, his arm around that child, his child, a sickening grin on his face. He must have known, he must have. He had not won, as he thought. The Vicomte had. In the end, the Vicomte would still win it all. He had her first, and always would have. He was the father to the child first, nothing could change that.
He then realized. She could never be his. She shouldn't have to. He was a monster, physically and mentally. That couldn't change. Another horrible realization hit him, but he cast it out. It couldn't be, never.
Christine belted out the last notes of the aria perfectly. He stood, a melancholy smile on his face as he threw a single red rose adorned with a black ribbon to the stage. He knew what he had to do, and slowly made his way to his Angel's dressing room.
When he arrived, Christine was with her husband and son, a worried expression set on her face. "Oh, Christine! You were lovely tonight! After years of dreaming of your voice, I have finally heard it, and it is just as lovely as the first day I had heard it. If there is a heaven, the angels in it must be weeping."
Christine smiled at her teacher. Although she had felt pain and love and grief from the man before her, she still felt an affection she could never give another for him. No, she couldn't call it love, but it was something… something unnamed.
"Thank you… Mr. Y. I felt so grand, and so beautiful, singing tonight. The aria you had written was lovely!" she replied, a bit tense. Christine was still unsure of her mentor's newest alias. She would rather have called him Angel, as he would have loved to do the same.
"You were lovely yourself, darling,"
The Vicomte de Chagny smirked at the man before him and his wife. Damn it, thought the masked man, he always has to ruin things. He has, ever since the beginning of it all.
"Yes, mother, you were very lovely!" Gustave piped up, his face gleaming. Such a sweet boy, still filled with wonder. But a genius, nonetheless. The boy of ten smiled up to his mother, who asked him to wait outside the dressing room for a bit.
"Why don't you and your father wait outside for a bit? Mr. Y and I have a bit of… business to discuss."
Gustave and Raoul left the room, and Christine silently waited until their footsteps grew faint for her to talk.
"Hello…"
"Erik."
"Hello… Erik. You've never told me your name until now."
"This I know. We have some… business… to discuss, I suppose."
"Yes, we do. Erik-"
There was a pause before she continued. Erik knew what was coming, he could see it in her eyes. He just hoped she would get it over with quickly.
"Erik, I don't love you."
Another pause.
"I do more than love you. I adore you. It's this adoration which makes me know that you could not replace Raoul. You have given me so much; you gave me a voice, a song. You gave me a son.
"But I can't ignore the fact that I have made a commitment to Raoul. I truly love him, I truly do, but it's in a different way than the way I love you. Let's face it, we could never be married. Our love is just not the right kind. Our love is one never been documented before.
"Our love is a revolution.
"I'm sorry, Erik, but I must leave you. We must go our separate ways. It's for the better."
She looked up at him, her eyes pleading for forgiveness. In a sign of tender acceptance, Erik embraced the woman who was once his protégé. Christine held him closely for a moment, but soon remembered her place, and let go.
"But what about the boy?" Erik mumbled. "He can't live a lie much longer,"
"I was thinking the same. I must tell him. Now. Come with me, Erik, please."
Christine led the man once thought to be a ghost through the narrow corridor of the backstage theatre. They soon found Gustave and Raoul, sitting together on a quiet bench outside the theatre. It was rare to find a moment of peace in the chaotic world of Phantasma, but somehow the two had found one. When Christine reached her son and husband, she held Gustave close. Taking a signal to leave, Raoul silently moved from the bench and sauntered away, most likely in search of the nearest drink.
Gustave smiled at his mother, but was quick to notice his missing father.
"Where's papa, mother? He should be here, shouldn't he? Where's papa?"
Christine glanced at Erik before looking into her beloved son's eyes.
"Gustave… Your father… Your real father…"
Gustave looked to the kind man behind his mother. Could it be…? Could it really be?
"Mother, is…?"
"Yes," Erik stepped in front of Christine, a tender, yet sad, smile on his face.
"You are my son."
Before he could comprehend what was happening, Gustave rushed to Erik, holding him in a tight embrace.
Of course Mr. Y could be my father, Gustave thought. We are so much alike. My other "father" was never like me, and never seemed to love me. My real father does.
Christine smiled at the two, still in a tight embrace. When father and son let go of each other, she grabbed Gustave's hand.
"Now, Gustave, we must go home to Paris. We don't belong here."
"But… Will my father come with us?"
Christine's grasp on the small boy's hands tightened.
"No."
With a twist of his wrists, Gustave wriggled from his mother's grasp. Why must he leave his father and the wonderful new world he had discovered?
"I don't want to leave, mother. Let me stay here, with my father."
"Gustave…"
"Christine, the boy is right. He should have control of his future. If he feels he needs to, he shall stay here in America with me. If it is fine with you and your husband, I suppose." The Opera Ghost placed a gentle hand on his son's shoulder.
"Erik, you are right, it is his future, not mine. But he is still my son, and he is still just a boy. I'm unsure if I should give him to a man I haven't seen in a decade, never to see him again. It just doesn't seem right."
Christine looked at her son, his golden eyes pleading. Why should she leave him here? Then again, why shouldn't she? This was a place he loved, and he was a man he loved. Gustave could grow and learn here. In Paris, he would not live a happy life.
It seems only right to let him stay here, even if it meant never seeing her son again.
"Gustave, I want you to stay safe, and always remember me. Even if we won't see each other, we'll try to keep in touch one way or another. Can you promise me this?"
"Yes, of course, mother," the boy smiled up to his mother.
And so it was settled. Christine and Raoul would leave for Paris, and Gustave would stay with his true father in America. The goodbyes were tearful, and not only Gustave, but Erik also, were found teary-eyed as they watched their beloved leave their lives for what could be forever.
The two returned to the gates of Phantasma to a horrid sight. Scarlet flames licked against buildings, and black smoke turned the evening sky an evil shade. Erik instructed his son to run to Squelch, a nearby freak. Squelch was to find safety for Gustave, and Erik was to try to find the rest of his employees, mainly Squelch's daughter, Miss Ariel Fleck, with Gangle, another faithful freak. The two had split up, and by the time the masked man had reached a burning tent, the overwhelming smoke and thoughts in his head only made him run as fast as he could… And think again of the cruel farce of his life.
Erik leaned against a small structure currently unharmed by the fire. There was so much smoke, it was everywhere. He could hardly breathe, let alone see his hand in front of his face. He just wanted… just wanted to slip off of the cruel earth and die.
But he couldn't. Gustave was in his care now, he couldn't die…
He murmured something or other about debts as he passed out, his dark crumpled form appearing to be dead.
Somewhere in the smoke, a shadowy figure pushed its way through the disaster. The figure rushed to the side of its master, as a thin, raspy voice called out, "Master, master, wake up. It's me, Mr. Y, it's Fleck. Wake up, please,
wake up."
A/N: Wooo, scary! What will happen next? Will Mr. Y die? No, because the story description says so. But will Gustave die? Maybe… :D
Just kidding! Please leave a review, this is my first really serious story, and I'm unsure about it. Especially about the changes I made in the plot. Well, have at it with the reviews. ;)
-Loveisangerness/Lotte Valerius/Beautifully Insane