Phantom of the Opera
Please bear with me, this is my first fan fic ever and I love Phantom so much I worry that I might ruin it. But I want to give this a go! All rights do not belong to me, I just made up the story and maybe later some characters. Peace and love.
This starts with the last scene of ALW's Phantom from varying points of view.
"do you want with me, only free her!" Her foppish lover shouted, reaching a hand forward as if he could break Eric's grasp from around her throat with that one pathetic movement.
Eric snarled
"She is mine, she can never be free from me!" Raoul or whatever his ridiculous name was opened his mouth to plead but then his facial expression changed as Eric realised Christine was rather silent for someone who's lover was about to be killed in front of her.
Horror seeped through him, cold and fluid as he realised that his grip – gentle at first, only to scare her – had tightened and Christine was on the verge of losing consciousness.
Instinctively Eric let go and she crumpled like a puppet whose strings had been cut, her skirts fluttering about her like wings.
"Christine!" The Vicomte sprinted forward, apparently forgetting that Eric desired him dead or at least gone.
"DO NOT TOUCH HER" he bellowed, shoving the idiot out of the way. Eric scooped Christine up so that her torso rested in his lap, brushing her tangled locks out of her face so she could breathe.
"Give me your knife"
"Get your hands off her! Give you my knife? Do you think me a fool?!"
"Yes I do, now quickly so I can get her undressed-"
"YOU MONSTER-"
"SO SHE IS ABLE TO BREATHE YOU FOP!" Roaul could shout, but Eric could shout louder. Too impatient to wait for the boy to get his senses together, Eric knocked the back of his knees so that Roaul fell; dumping Christine face forwards into his startled arms he began clumsily undoing the back of her corset.
My inexperience with women's undergarments may cost her her life Eric thought darkly. Finally his beloved was free – not showing anything indecent of course, but her corset was undone at the back enough to reveal milky white skin and – more importantly, to allow her breathe.
"Get her some water" Eric said, making eye contact with Roaul for the first time. He could be considered handsome if it weren't for his ridiculous clothes.
"from where?" Roaul clearly couldn't believe Eric had something so civilised as running water.
"Never mind" Eric murmured. Christine's eyes were fluttering. Her throat was red where he had almost killed her…
"She needs a doctor. And to be away from you! You say that you love her and you almost killed her. To stay a moment longer would be insanity". A new voice joined the now somewhat calmer scene.
Eric did not need to turn around to recognise the voice nor accent. He knew it was the Persian, and that he would be wearing his unusual hat, with a well-tailored dark suit that seemed non-descript until you saw the lining – purple silk. Eric noticed details such as these from a young age.
Back to the matter at hand.
"I cannot disagree with you Daroga, but I will not be handing her over to this fool"
Roaul made noises to protest but Christine stirred again and Eric became conscious for the first time that he still was not wearing his mask.
Self consciousness and anxiety gripped his throat like a vice.
"Fine. Take her" he choked, a hand over his deformity, and then scampered away to his room, his threats forgotten.
Christine's eyes fluttered. Raoul stirred from the hunched up position he had been sitting in at her bedside in the Persian's apartment. The Daroga had insisted they stay there to pacify Eric, who he was extremely concerned about.
"It's just not like him to let someone go like that…and someone so special to him, he is devoted to her…" he had said, pacing by the fire as Raoul pulled a blanket over Christine on a plush chaise-lounge.
"Daroga, he almost killed her. Let us make sure she is well before we do anything rash" . The Daroga nodded.
Now, hours later, the sun had begun to rise, enough to dimly light the room with a dusky glow.
The most beautiful thing on earth, in Raoul's eyes at least, was next to rise. Christine was so light on her feet- being a ballet dancer – that he didn't hear her approach until she was close enough to timidly place her cold hand on his shoulder.
"Christine" he whispered, enjoying the feel of her delicate touch but concerned at the bruises that had bloomed on her throat. Tears began to drip from her eyes when she registered that she was in unfamiliar surroundings, and she was likely also in considerable discomfort.
"What happened to my corset?" Christine frowned, a crease appearing between her brows. Roaul imagined It would be somewhat alarming to wake up in a strange place with your undergarments tampered with.
"The phantom and I loosened It to help you breathe and on the way home I thought it seemed silly to leave it half on so I took it all the way off. It was all very decent, I assure you my love".
"Take me back". Her face was unreadable – back to the opera house?
"I know you want to be in your own bed but you are safer from him here-"
"-No, talk me back to him" she removed her hand from Raoul's shoulder.
"Madame, that would not be wise" the Daroga spoke from the doorway. Christine's frown indicated she had indeed been unconscious when he arrived on the scene last night.
"Welcome to my apartment. I am…well it matters not. Most people just call me the Persian. My accent surly implies why this is – but anyway, as I was saying, it would be most unwise to return to the Opera house at this time".
"And why should that be Sir?" Christine drew herself up to full height, wincing audibly when it stretched her sore neck. She was starting to get into one of her stubborn moods, Raoul mused, brushing at the stubble that had formed on his face.
The daroga and Raoul exchanged a glance. She would find out soon enough.
"Because it is on fire".
Christine held the back of a chair – or something, she did not care what it was – for support. Fire. The opera house – her home since her father had perished – was on fire.
What if her angel was still inside?! And Meg, and Madame Giry! Her only friends in the world – except Raoul, who had lost her confidence since he had removed her corset without her consent, betrothed or not. She had to see if she could help put out the fire, or repair damage, or get people to safety…
"Where on earth are you going?!" Raoul's indignant voice followed her as she passed the Daroga out of the doorway of what appeared to be a sparsely but tastefully decorated reception room.
She wandered down a hallway, the Persian slowly persuing her with a curious look on his face.
"Would you like a tour of my apartment?" He asked, in a friendly mocking tone not unlike that of her phantom.
"No thank you monsieur, I should just like to find the exit" she retorted, not looking at him but searching for a door that might take her to the outside world.
A tall man, about as dark in skin tone as the Persian approached her holding a dress that looked to be one of her size, and what appeared to be her corset.
"Ah Miss, these must be for you? I am Darius – We can become acquainted another time.." Blushing furiously Christine took the garments for him and marched back to the lounge to change.
"Get out" she spat at Raoul. He appeared shocked at her tone, standing and leaving without question.
Dressing as best she could without help – which meant poorly, as her corset laced in the back, but her visit to the opera house could need her to bend and lift, so a tight corset would do her no favours. This reassuring her, and the fact that her waist was in good proportion to the rest of her anyway, Christine took a moment to glace in a small mirror.
Ah.
Her throat looked a lot worse than it felt – rest had done her good and she remembered nothing from her state of unconsciousness. How on earth she had ended up in a stranger's apartment in her thin shift under a blanket that smelled like foreign incense she had no idea. How had the phantom been persuaded to release her? Had she really wanted him to?
By removing the choice from her, she had not had to consider what would happen. She would stay with him, Raoul would live and find someone else to make him happy. Her and her phantom could make music together under the opera house where no one could hurt or judge them.
But she would miss Meg and the outside world – the feel of wind on her check, people's laughter in the streets at a joke she could not hear. Picking flowers and listening to buskers – violinists touched her heart when they had talent, as their scruffy clothes paired with the purity of their music brought her father to mind.
She still may not have to choose where her life would go. As her beloved home and workplace may be in ashes.
Throwing open the door and marching back to the hallway, Raoul grabbed her arm.
"Get your hands off me! I am not yours to command!" She tried to wrench her arm back but he held fast, his nails beginning to bite her flesh.
"I am not him. I do not seek to control you Christine, I just want you to be safe! I care for your wellbeing!"
"If you care for my wellbeing then you will let me go! I will go mad if I do not help in some way, my friends are there-"
"Your phantom is there. You are going back to him!" Raoul spat jealously.
Christine barely noted the swing of her hand, nor the feeling when it connected with his face. But she heard the slap and saw the shocked look in her fiancés eyes. She did not linger to hear what he had to say but whirled on the spot with the grace of a dancer and left through a door she had observed Darius walking through, and onto the street.
What would await her?