Authors Note: This is my first attempt at a Phanfic. I've loved the Phantom of the Opera (2004 film) since I first watched it nearly eight years ago. I can watch it over and over again without getting sick of it. However, I do believe it would have been better if Christine had ended up with Erik in the end, despite the things he had done. And so, I present to you If She had Love Him, my take on the 2004 film.
Please try to leave constructive criticism as gently as possible, as I am still new to "Phanfiction". I do appreciate the pointers you could give me.
If She had Loved Him
Shella DragoNoid
1. The Gala
When Madame Giry had offered Christine Daaé's name to replace the lead Soprano, La Carlotta at that night's gala, she had been terrified. Carlotta, though a diva with a terrible temper and even worse attitude, had been the lead Soprano for years at the Opera Populaire. Christine was just a chorus girl, as Monsieur Andre had been so kind to point out. Yet, when she had stepped forward and began to sing, the room had gone dead silent. Actors who had disappeared backstage after Carlotta's diva tantrum returned in awe to hear a chorus girl who had hidden in the shadows for years step forward and begin to sing like an angel.
After her unexpected audition, Christine got caught in a whirlwind of activity. She found herself in La Carlotta's dressing room, her hair and make-up being done. Seamstresses were working as fast as they could to fit what would have been Carlotta's gown to Christine's petit size. Madame Giry might have been at her side for a moment during the craziness, but she had been pulled away quickly; the ballerinas still had to be prepared for that night's gala.
When her hair, make-up and dress were finally done, the house had already opened. Guests wearing fancier clothes than Christine had ever dreamt she would wear flooded through the open doors, up the steps, and into their seats. She was standing backstage, wringing her hands, when Madame Giry approached her for the first true time since she had given Christine over to audition to replace Carlotta.
"Are you nervous, my dear?" Madame Giry asked, her eyes narrowed with compassion. The elderly woman hadn't meant to put Christine on the spot – the young ballerina had been like a daughter to her – but she knew what great talent Christine had been hiding, and wanted her to be discovered so her talent wouldn't go to waste.
"Yes, Madame," Christine answered honestly. She swallowed. "I've never had any real practice with the number for the aria, I'm an unknown voice, and everyone out there is expecting Carlotta to be singing tonight."
"You shouldn't be nervous, Christine," Madame Giry said, placing her hand on the girl's shoulder. "Just remember what you have learned from your teacher."
"Madame Giry, I don't have any idea who my tutor even is," she said, exasperated. "How do I know what he taught me is what I need to know?"
"You must have faith, my dear," Madame Giry smiled affectionately. "You will do very well tonight, I promise you."
"And if I don't?"
Madame Giry shook her head. "You will do fine."
"Mademoiselle," a stagehand said as he grabbed Christine's arm. "It is time."
Christine cast one last desperate look over her shoulder at Madame Giry before putting on a smile. The curtain opened and she stepped on stage.
She couldn't even begin to imagine the audience's shock at seeing such an unknown girl on the stage. This was not Carlotta. This was not what they were expecting. This was not what they paid for. In frustration, those that weren't mesmerized by this strange girl's beauty – the white dress and star barrettes in her hair caught the fire of the stage lights beautifully – climbed to their feet, ready to demand their francs back. Then, she opened her mouth and began to sing.
Think of me.
Think of me fondly when we've said goodbye.
Remember me once in a while please promise me you'll try.
And when you find that once again you long to take your heart back and be free.
If you ever find a moment, stop and think of me.
Her Soprano voice was beautiful; it carried all the way to the back of the opera house; the high notes she hit came out clear and pure, not strained and screechy. It was definitely not what the people had paid for; it was better. Those that had started to leave wordlessly sat back down, staring wide-eyed at the stage.
The song continued, and Christine found herself having more and more fun. As she reached the final chorus, she heard a voice call from above her in Box 5. The unidentified man shouted down at her, "Bravo!" and clapped louder than most in the audience. His praise gave her strength to add extra power to the last few verses. When the aria finished, the audience didn't sit in stunned silence as she had expected, but immediately climbed to its feet; a standing ovation. Flowers were thrown onto the stage at her feet.
Unable to keep the smile off her face, Christine bowed, letting the applause wash over her.
The next few minutes passed by in a blur. So many people were congratulating her on a surprisingly job well done. Christine may have been in the limelight on stage – and been okay with that – but now that she actually had to meet with these people face-to-face…she felt uncomfortable. As soon as she found a quiet moment, she slipped into a back room and up a flight of stairs.
She fled to her quiet place, as she called it. Here, a picture of her father was waiting for her. Every night before she went to sleep, she would sneak up here and light a candle for her father to respect his memory. She did this now, bowing her head and whispering a prayer. Her prayer was interrupted by a man's voice calling out to her quietly, "Brava, brava…"
It wasn't the same man who had been sitting in Box 5; this man's voice was different…it was hard for her to describe. Shocked at hearing someone's voice in her quiet place, her private place, Christine looked around her, eyes wide. It could only be one person.
"Angel?" she whispered. "Is that you?"
"Christine?" this time, it was a girl's voice calling to her. "Christine, are you here?"
The man's voice, her angel's voice, whispered, "Christine…"
As his voice faded, a young girl about Christine's age with long, blond hair and pale skin entered the room. She smiled when she saw her childhood friend sitting before her father's altar. "There you are. Christine, we've been looking for you for hours."
"I haven't been up here for hours, Meg, only a few short minutes."
Meg slid to the ground next to Christine. "It doesn't matter. You shouldn't be hiding up here. You're the star of the gala; everyone is saying you're even better than La Carlotta." She leaned in closer and whispered, "They think you should be Opera Populaire's new leading Soprano."
Christine laughed. "After only one gala? Meg, that's ridiculous. Carlotta has years of experience on me, as well as talent."
"Not according to our audience. They seem to think that you have more experience and even greater talent." Meg studied the picture of Christine's father. "I have to ask Christine. I've never seen anyone suddenly be able to sing like that. You must have an instructor, a tutor of some kind… Who is he?"
"I'm not sure, Meg. All I know is that before my father died, he promised that after he'd gone to Heaven, he would send me an Angel of Music. This angel would be only my Angel, and he would protect me, watch over me." Christine wasn't sure why she was sharing this now. She hadn't told anyone, not even Madame Giry who had been the only mother Christine had ever known.
Meg watched her quizzically. "Do you think it's the spirit of your father?"
"I'm not sure, Meg…but who else could it be?"
Before their conversation could continue, Madame Giry entered the room.
Does everyone know of my quiet place? Christine thought in despair.
"My dears," Madame Giry hissed impatiently. "You are being looked for everywhere. Meg, you know better than to hide away after a gala. And Christine…as the star of tonight's performance, you definitely should be out there!"
"Pardons, Madame Giry," Christine responded, bowing her head. "I just… I don't like all the attention…"
Madame Giry pulled Christine to her feet after helping Meg up. "I am sorry, my dear, but you best get used to it. If things go the way I'm imagining they will, you will be receiving a lot of attention in the next few days."