Once upon a time.
But that is how all stories are to begin, is it not? With hopes and dreams of a happy ending? Well, I don't know how this story is going to end, I haven't told it yet. I don't know if it will end with "And they all lived happily ever after" or with something like "And with his true love gone, he ended his own days". But I fully intend on telling this story. The story which many and some have called "The Story Of The Trap-Door Lover". But this story of song and betrayal, of sensuality and deception, of angels and demons. This is above all, a story about love.
This is the story of:
"The Phantom Of The Opera"
XxX
Chapter 1: The Angel
Christine Daae caught the scent of a long stemmed, single blood-red rose which was held daintily between her fingers. Her eyes were alight with true happiness, and something else, something that was always there, a certain warm glow behind her chocolate brown eyes.
She fingered the black satin ribbon which was faithfully tied around the dark thorns. Her plump lips turned upward softly, a smile which showed that she was thinking. But she was more likely daydreaming.
About an angel.
She sighed, leaning back on her pillows and pushing the sound of soft snoring out of her mind as she remembered their last musical encounter. Her smile widened as she remembered how he had half teased half scolded her for being late. She couldn't help but laugh slightly when he had spoken. And then he actually questioned her on his humor. He always never ceased to amaze her, delight her, and even, sometimes, romance her. But that was impossible; he was an angel, and she… She was a sinful earth child. How she wished he were like her, made of flesh and blood, with a heart that beat only for her. But she refused to believe she was in love, if she did, he might leave her. That would be more a tragic story than that of Juliet and her Romeo.
A particularly loud snort brought her head down out of the clouds as she glared around the dormitory. Christine loved her life at the Opera Populaire, but really, being a chorus girl did have its disappointing areas. She looked around the sea of wrought iron beds in the faint glow of her solitary candle. She couldn't stand the darkness. She had always insisted upon having a lit candle on her bedside as a child, and now she had grown so accustomed to it, that a lit candle had followed her through the years to the age of sixteen.
The dormitory was a single grand room. A long dressing table lined one wall, and an oak wardrobe on the opposite. The dressing table was filled with cheap, empty liquor bottles, powders and shadows, lip stains and such. Ribbons and jewelry also seemed to be part of the organized chaos that resided there. The wardrobe was practically exploding with colorful costumes and dresses, stockings and scarves lay scattered on the floor in front of it. A faint smell of lavender and roses wafted through the air and intoxicated the girl's dreams as they slept in their uniquely decorated beds.
Christine smiled warmly. This was home, ever since she was seven years old, and this would always be her home, she promised herself that. Besides, why would she ever want to leave her Angel of Music? She would never deceive him. She sat up, leaning over the rose once more, her chestnut curls falling over her face, creating a curtain around her and the blossom. She then finally turned away, her porcelain skin catching on moonshine as she placed the rose beside her candle. This way, she would see it when she awakened, and the day would already be perfect. Perfectly perfect.
XxX
Meg Giry awakened, as usual, bright and early. She rubbed her eyes slightly, to adjust to the tinted darkness. The sun was just rising on the horizon, spilling its lovely splendor of purples and pinks onto the world. Meg pushed herself onto her knees, bouncing slightly on the spring mattress as she twisted to rest her arms on the windowsill above her bed. Paris was slowly awakening, the lights starting to glow in certain windows. She sighed wondering what the sight would be like from the roof, and she longed to find out.
'Well, why can't you?' Thought the little ballerina to herself.
She bounced of the bed excitedly, but quietly. She pushed her blonde tresses off her face and shoulders, braiding it quickly so it would stay like so. She pulled a robe over her simple cotton nightgown and pulled on a pair of slippers she had gotten last Christmas from Christine. Christine. Perhaps she would like to come as well? No, she would only fuss about how early it was and roll over to return to dreaming. She smiled at this thought of her dearest friend and threw a glance at the bed which was usually moving up and down ever so slightly with Christine's steady breathing. But the bed was made, with Christine nowhere to be seen. Meg was only slightly taken aback by this. Christine indeed had a tendency of disappearing, but she had never done anything so rash in the early morning. She stood there for a moment, contemplating on whether or not this was a problem. She then decided she would worry about it later, instead of missing a perfectly wonderful sunrise.
XxX
Christine smiled as the breeze brushed a voice up against her ear.
"Christine."
The voice was liquid smooth, which sometimes turned to fire during a time of frustration. But it was still, the only voice she ever wanted to hear. The wind picked up on her curls and blew them over her shoulders, as if pulling her forward, to step off the roof and fly with the fading stars. She had awakened early, for what reason she didn't know, but she looked out the window over Meg's head, she had seen a very thin, golden line across the city and on the horizon. The urge to see this from a higher perch, was far too overpowering to simply roll over and search for sleep. And now here she was, a borrowed blanket around her bare shoulders, and her nightgown billowing around her ankles. She looked around at the rooftops scattering the land and wondered if anyone else, was experiencing the wonders of standing under the golden Apollo's Lyre.
"Christine."
She smiled, finally turning away from the splashes of orange and purple to face the rooftops shadows.
"Angel?" She asked the sun-touched statues softly.
"I am here Christine."
She loved the way he said her name, it was as if she were a queen, but at the same time, as if she were a child.
"Your roses are delightful." She called out, craning her neck as if he were hiding, and all she had to do was look harder and he would be there.
"Thank you child." His voice was right at her ear, making her jump.
"Christine!" Meg Giry called from the roofs entrance. "Christine, what one earth are you doing here? And so early?" Meg asked, staring out across the sky, admiring it for a moment before turning to her friend for an explanation.
Christine was still at a slight shock, at first, from the voice, and second from Meg screaming out her name like that. "I-I couldn't sleep." She finally sputtered, turning back to the sun, slightly upset. She had hoped to share this with her angel. But her best friend would have to do.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Christine asked.
Meg nodded as she too, became entranced with the awakening of the city around them.
"Not as beautiful as you, Christine."Christine blushed as she watched the new day at its birth.
XxX
La Carlotta's notes were already making Christine cringe as she and Meg rushed around the now empty dormitory, trying to make up for lost time as they tugged on their costumes and ran combs through their hair.
They were horribly late.
Earlier, on the roof, their conversation had gotten amusing and they soon sat to speak of many things, the silly making of a young girls mind and how they each yearned for some type of adventure and how neither wanted to marry and leave the Opera. Their eyelids had gotten slightly heavy from laughter and talk, and they had fallen asleep. Which was quite unbelievable for the both of them. They had been leaning against a corner pillar, enjoying the warm, summer morning breeze, and they were suddenly dreaming under the early sun. It was Christine, who had felt a cold hand at her cheek, and heard a warm voice telling her to awaken. She loved the feel of that hand and the sound of that voice. She had leaned into the palm, and soon felt soft lips at her temple.
"Wake-up Little Lotte, wake-up. Wake-up Cheríe, a new day awaits."
And then the lips had moved from her temple to her cheek and something was placed in her lap. Then the hand, lips, and voice disappeared altogether. That was what had awakened her. She would have though it all a dream, if there hadn't been a rose lying across her legs. She had raced to her feet calling out to him and searching every corner. Her angel, had kissed her?
Christine sat, flustered and almost sliding off the stool altogether. She steadied herself at the dressing table, searching desperately for something to hold her hair back.
"Christine? Are you ready?"
Christine turned; holding her restless curls off her face and raised her eyebrows at her friend. She sighed at the perfection of the angelic glow that Meg seemed to perfect every morning, a goddess, and Christine was nothing more than a very ugly looking doll. If her angel were human, he would most defiantly choose Meg.
Christine shook her head. "You go on without me, it is no help to either of us if we are both late."
Meg nodded as she watched Christine turn away from her. She watched her for a moment, amazed at how beautiful this sister-like girl became, more and more everyday, then she disappeared, wondering if Christine was a doll come to life.
Christine waited until Meg's footsteps faded away. She then buried her face in her arms and sighed deeply. She rubbed the tears away from her eyes and sat up again, taking the hairpiece from its place in front of her. She pushed her curls back, placing the golden bands securely on her head. She turned on the stool and stood. The costumes bangles and bells jingling and such to the rhythm of her footsteps. She walked to her bed to find a small bouquet of roses lying across her pillow, a black satin ribbon faithfully bringing their stems together. She choked back her tears and sat, stroking the soft pillows.
She could not lie to herself, pretend that it wasn't true.
She loved him.