Fairytales of Music

Author's Note: Hello! My first phanphic, and I would like to base it on this little tale I read on Angel of Mystery-145's little tale which I pasted here. Hopefully she won't be unhappy that I'm taking this tale from her…or at least turning it into a fairytale.

Hopefully I'll finish this! I also hope to make this tale as intriguing as possible and hope to get lots of reviews! :D

I also hope to use symbolism, and the Hidden Plot on here. Thanks for reading! I thus give you Fairytales of Music ^^

Phantom of the Opera-mini summary of deeper story (not b&w scenes):

Once long ago, in a kingdom devoted to song, there lived a king and a woman destined to become his queen. He loved her dearly, and from the time she was a little girl, up until she grew into a beautiful woman, he sang to her in dreams of comfort, watched over her, and trained her to become the only thing for which she desired and ever asked: Music. Because he was the spirit of Music, he created her into Music as well, and they gave to one another the gift of their song, singing only for the other.

The bonds between them grew powerful as her affection and awe for him strengthened into love. But an evil spirit sought to destroy them and take over the opera house kingdom. He deceived them both into believing he was their friend: For the king, since the time he was a child and caged by cruel gypsies. For his chosen queen, on the night she walked through the mirror and approached Music's throne, for the first time seeing her king. The evil spirit acted as a false priest to the king, and the king listened to him. Because the king had a deformity, the spirit lied to him, saying he must always hide, so as to keep him chained in darkness. But his intended saw deep beauty in him, regardless of his face, and she hurt for his pain. She desired the light and tried to persuade her king to open his eyes to it.

Also in this kingdom lived a woman who faithfully served the king as his priest, since the day she saved him from death when he was a child. She also wrongfully thought the evil spirit was a friend since he had protected the boy, and she served him too. Her daughter was young and ignorant of many things, slowly growing into her role. She, too, served the king, but not the Darkness, though she did herald its arrival to the subjects of the kingdom.

Into this kingdom arrived a handsome priest of the Light who wanted to free the people from the evil spirit, whose curse remained over the opera house kingdom and all its subjects. But when he saw his childhood love, his greater mission became lost as he grew solely focused on and served her. He was blinded to all that was expected of him, though he did help the woman priest to see the truth, and she recognized the evil of the spirit and denied him, to serve the Light instead. The priest's single-minded devotion for the young woman pushed him in to ignoring the kingdom rule of silence. Instead he committed treason and talked others into it as well-and he tried to take from the king his rightful queen. The king became hurt and angry when, out of fear of the Darkness, his intended did turn to her priest for a short time. But her love for the king triumphed, and she evaded plans for his capture, betraying the kingdom conspiracy to overthrow the king - and showed him what he must do to enter the light with her. Men sought to kill both the king and his intended and fear made him retreat, taking her with him. He then allowed the evil spirit to wreak all the deadly terror he desired, but later regretted his decision.

In one fateful night, the evil spirit exacted his revenge. Lives were shattered, while one was reborn, and two hungry souls were even more strongly bonded by a kiss. At last, the king recognized his intended's love for him, and his own love for her made him realize he could not keep her with him. Broken, he ordered her to go. But she returned and made one final plea, showing him her eternal love by folding into his hand her ring of light and promise, afraid he might not make the choice she wanted, but knowing she must leave the darkness behind. The king, upon hearing her parting song of love to him and the priest's vow to serve him, grew stronger in spirit, and he broke the evil spirit's hold over his life, leaving his fallen kingdom behind to enter the world of his beloved and share a life with her. . .

In a small forested area, in Persia, a small family huddled around candlelight in a dinky room, where a woman was crying out in pain from childbirth.

"Push, mama, I can see the head."

A small child encouraged her mother as the midwife tended to her. Beaded droplets of sweat covered her whole forehead, and she shivered as the cold air blew in, and it ruffled her scanty nightgown, which barely covered her body. The small child whimpered as the biting cold air rushed past her, and her mother convulsed slightly in pain from the birthing. Soon, the soft wails of a child were heard.

"Madam, it's a boy, a healthy one! But oh, la la, the face, he is like a demon child!" the midwife exclaimed, as she handed the child to his mother. "But his voice, so lusty."

The boy looked up at his mother, with sad pleading eyes, and all the innocence of a child. His mother screamed, and almost dropped him.

"Make a mask, a mask, my God! I cannot bear the sight of him, this- this-, DEMON!" She sobbed softly as she carried him roughly, contempt evident in her turning from him. And, as if the child knew, he began to howl, howl in pain, in that childish fear of rejection. The midwife's patient voice cut through all these hysterics.

"What will you name him?"

"He needs no name." she spat, with contempt. The midwife shrugged, and ushered the child out.

And from then on, he was the outcast. Made to do the most grueling and punishing of household tasks, he became more of the household drudge than a child. He watched in envy as the other children of his age, and the children of the house played, but they would run away from seeing him, shouting names at him, and laughing at his face. In his solitude, he would softly sing, and the forest animals would come, transfixed at the child with the angel's voice, and when he saw them, he would try to catch them, the childlike side of him emerging, but they would run, the wolf cubs crying bloody murder, ki-yi-ing for all they were worth. The deer would run, their soft graceful legs carrying them with the pounding hooves until all the animals had taken flight, far away from the monster with such an ugly face.

And while he was being shunned, in a resplendent house in Sweden, violin music played to a fair haired young baby, young daughter of daddy Daae. She was christened Christine Daae, and her mother was a flaxen haired beautiful young dancer, married to the famous Swedish violinist, Gustave. But one night, in a flight of fancy, this young dancer took flight and eloped with another young dancer, thoroughly breaking the Swede's heart. Together with his child, they traveled the land, performing for anyone who would listen or hire them.

In resplendent Paris, the father would often hear his young child exclaim of her love to join the opera troupe, to sing and to dance. Dancing came easy for her, as a Swedish child, she had learnt of many dances from the villagers. And at seven, when health problems and the weariness of constant traveling finally caught up the elder Daae, she was sent there as an orphan boarder, to learn the trade her heart so desired most. Madame Giry, with her firm set lips and wrinkles, set an imposing figure for the young Daae, but upon knowing her and her daughter, who was the same age as Christine, the young child soon found an everlasting companion. While she wept, the both Girys would comfort her, and help to fill the gap left by losing both her parents. And as she entered into the glitz and glamour of the stage, little did she know she had caught the eye of a little gypsy boy rescued not too long ago by Madame Giry.

This child had long ago considered the opera house to be a sort of palace for him, and he put in all sorts of trapdoors and constructed an underground playground for himself. And it was in this hallowed halls, with the likes of Adolphe Adam, Handel, Gluck, Beethoven and all being played that he would begin his little apparent kingdom. And he decided, almost from that moment that he heard her childish plaintive cry to join the ranks of dancers that this girl would be his queen.

As he sat at the beautiful pipe organ, which he had somehow squirreled away from a store in Paris, of course with leaving a small bit of money, he remembered his childhood. The day when he had woke up to find leering faces of gypsies all looking at him, treating him like an exotic bird on display. Except that he had not been exotic in the way the bird was, he was a deformity, a freak show, and as he later learnt, the new installment of this gypsy traveling circus, The Devil's Child. His small body fought and kicked, and he struggled with all his might to escape the bonds they had place around him. And his mother, smoking a hand rolled cigarette, leered at the male gypsies in a manner that even at his young age he would know to be wrong, slutty, and what he expected of someone who worked as she did, a prostitute. He saw no remorse in her eyes as the gypsies bundled him up and placed him in a rickety cart that felt it would fall apart at any second. He arched his back as the wooden splinters cut into his skin, as the rope did. As if the beatings he received from his mother and her lovers were not enough, he mused in silence, angrily. The cart trundled along, and he stared out at the world, with the children of his village, mocking and screeching at him as he looked out at them. He had a gunnysack pulled over his head, as his crudely fashioned by his own mother makeshift mask. Softly, he sobbed, as the tall gypsy who sat in his cart beside him brutally delivered blow after blow every time he made so much a tiny sniffle, until he could take it no more. Slowly, he curled up in a ball, the pain of the wounds both old and new blocked out by the pain in his heart, the pain of rejection, as he fell into a dreamless sleep of pitch black darkness, without so much of a spider's thread out of the darkness. The gypsy sat, yelling at his band mates, sipping out of his gin bottle with absolute crudeness, the child thought, his eye opening a crack as their journey continued, and a new day broke.

He would create a kingdom, a kingdom of music, he mused. There would be a queen with a beautiful voice, lilting as her laugh. He smiled, and hummed. A small light filtered in through a crack in the cart, and somehow in the back of his mind, he could hear a melody, soft and sweet, and see a Queen in all her finery.

Mine, he whispered, mine.