Veritas
By Adarabelle
DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING HERE APART FROM THE IDEA ITSELF. KUDDOS TO GASTON LEROUX, SUSAN KAY AND ANDREW LLOYD WEBBER.
A/N: I made this story based on what could have possibly happened. Christine is hated by most of us for her wrong choice and sometimes understood. But what if she was the reason for all of it? What if…
You think you know the story. You think you know the characters through and through. Let me make it clear, here and now; you don't. You don't know anything about any of us. You don't know what really happened.
In fact till now, no one has gotten the story right. My story right.
So, do you want to know what happened? Do you want the truth about the Phantom of the Opera? Here it is, so finally all the lies will end.
When I first met Erik, I was but a child. It was a strange time for me. I lost my papa. I was alone. The ne came. He understood my pain. He understood my confusion. I called him my angel for I did not know who or what he was. He never objected to that.
My angel came every year to be with me on my father's death anniversary. Every 3rd of March, I would sit in my room and take out the little treasure box my father gave me. I had everything there, at least, everything that belonged to him. His scarf, his violin, his music notes. I would lie down and my angel would play for me, the sweet sad music that he writes.
It was a tradition of sorts for both of us. Every year since I was eleven.
Then everything changed. When I was fifteen, my angel became my teacher. I was just a chorus girl. But he saw more. He told me I could be more. He took me under his wing. So one night, he came to me in his true form. I must admit, I was rather disappointed. My imagination was dashed and replace but the reality; my angel was a man. A deformed one. And his name was Erik.
Truly, he was quite a sight to behold. No face but what looked liked plaster around his skull. I screamed when I first met him. No, wait, I didn't. I was too afraid. The beautiful angel was a disfigured creature. I didn't want anything to do with him at first. He was patient, he understood that I was scared. Yet, he persisted telling me that he was going to help me. He persuaded my reasonable side to think, all this time, he had not hurt me, why would he start now?
I followed his every word. I took lessons from the musical genius. When I was not performing, he would take me to one of the unused boxes where no one could see us and explained what the prima donna was doing wrong. He wrote letters to the directors explaining his points in what I call a direct manner; all this under the pseudonym 'Opera Ghost'. Erik never lied. He would clap if the performance was good; he would merely stare if Carlotta did not live up to his expectations.
One day he asked me if I would like to be like Carlotta, if I wanted to be an opera singer. Surely I did. Of course I did. That was the pinnacle of success in my eyes; to be on stage, to have all eyes on me. What else could a simple chorus girl ask for?
He promised me he would make me better. He promised me to push me so I could truly show the world my true capability. He would make me a étoile , a star brighter than all the other in all of Paris. "Ma petite fleur sera une étoile brillante," he used to say. "My little flower will be a shining star." I loved the very idea. My lessons grew more tedious then. I would be singing whenever practice was not held. I would escape my friends claiming that I had outgrown their petty childish games. Even Meg Giry, my closest friend could see the change in me and she too left me alone. I only saw Erik and the prize that awaited me if I listened to his words. He became my complete center.
We practiced in his home. We practiced on the roof. In the hidden rooms of the Opera House, Erik would play the music and showed me how to perform with gusto and power. I learned to not only sing but to act. I do believe that I was his best student, his only one and his most talented.
So I proved him right. Once he thought I was ready to star, he wrote a letter to the directors. Now, the Opera Ghost was not just a silly game that someone played. It was a critique that they took seriously. So Carlotta was not cast in the production of Faust. I was. When I took to the stage that night, I sang for Erik. I searched for him in the crowds with my eyes, never finding him. I knew he was there. I knew he was listening.
That was the night that made history to me. I was now his étoile. I was considered the fresh, young talent. I was happy. And so was Erik.
Then I grew hungry for more.
My world had been limited to the stage. I was trapped in the Opera House, never venturing out. But my new found fame brought all sorts of thoughts to me. I received flowers, I received gifts. When I saw the presents I was overjoyed; such precious things, such beautiful items. I had heard that Carlotta got many fine dresses and jewels from the patrons of the opera house but to see these pieces before my very eyes, for me was overwhelming.
My mind was occupied by only that. My teacher wanted me to think of my music. I had ideas of my own. I had my own dreams, my own plans. I dreamt of tea gowns, of Swarovski jewels. I wanted to be noticed. I wanted to be adored. Erik thought all that as foolishness. I was promised to do his craft. I was promised to live in his world, to do his will, to be his protégé.
I went along with it for as long as I could bear to. I acted it all out, pretending that I did not have the desires I did. All an act. All a pretense.
Then I met Raoul. Raoul my, well, what do I call him?
A friend. Yes, that is all he ever was to me, all he ever is. We first met when he was a young child when he went on vacation in Northern France. My father and I were performing in the local fair when I first saw him. He was a curious child who followed my father and me to the seaside where we played. He was a companion who saved the scarf my father bought me from sinking into the ocean.
When the Viscount de Chagny approached me one night after my performance, I must confess I had no clue that he was who he was. My friend from my past. He reminded me of the scarf and only after I pushed him away I remembered. He claimed to adore me, he claimed to love me. It came more as a surprise than a joy. He was far to pretty to be even considered a lover. Poor, poor Raoul. To this day, he believes that his confession did win me over.
Erik however had his own opinion. He considered my foppish friend as a threat to my career. He told me that I should not talk to the Viscount for he would distract me from being the true prima donna he knew I was to be. He rambled on and on about how the riches of the world that the garçon enfantin, the childish boy would tempt me with would destroy me.
I must say that it was really my teacher, my angel that gave me the idea. Indeed, Raoul could give me all that. I could get all the finery I wanted. I could have it all if I played my cards right.
I needed a way to break free
He was there
So I used him
And I'm not ashamed of it.
So I met my friend and I weaved a tale of sorrow since my father died. I claimed to share the same love he said he had for me. I cried, I looked the very part of a pitiful love struck girl. The Viscount lapped up my acting eagerly. He held me to him and bought my lies. Did he forget that the opera had taught me well? Did he forget that I could cry at will, that most of my lines were from the very acts I performed on stage? Practice really could help me get whatever I wanted.
But there had to be a clincher in this deal. I had to make myself so irresistible that Raoul would never look at another woman again. I told him about Erik. Naturally, I embellished my story. I told him that my teacher was in love with me. I made up the passion that my teacher had for me. I claimed that Erik seek to have me for his wife. I belonged to Erik. That was not a complete falsehood, I was important to Erik. Only for his music of course, but Raoul did not know that, Erik didn't either.
So to put my plan into action, I wrote the letters to the managers. I made the comments regarding Carlotta. I disappeared by telling Erik that I needed the extra lessons so he stole me away. He knew that I wrote the notes about Carlotta but found it amusing. He thought I was wanted the post a prima donna even more strongly now. He helped me without ever knowing my true intent.
Carlotta was stubborn and I thought my plan was just going to fail. But a technical error with the chandelier helped me. Erik had nothing to do with that. Clearly one of the workers was sleeping on the job and let the ropes loosen. No one was hurt but the incident shook the Opera House. No one would ever mess with the Opera Ghost's threats. I had a more believable story when I told Raoul that indeed it was Erik who caused the crash of the chandelier.
It was all working.
However, I forgot one key piece on my chess board. I forgot that before me, the real Opera Ghost did have eyes and ears everywhere. Erik saw through my plans in the end, proving his genius. He was angry. He thought I belonged on stage. He thought I losing my focus.
So in the middle of my performance of Othello, he took the place of Piangi and whisked me off the stage. He took me away from the world into the darkness. I was to find my true self there; to remember how much music meant to me, to remember the dreams we once shared.
So I told him the truth. I told him how I wanted to be free of him. I wanted to be the rich wife of a Viscount and not a prima donna. I told him I was tired. I wanted 'out' of this world of acting.
My teacher's reaction was one of anger and disappointment. I was his greatest achievement. I was his gift to the world. I was the beauty to replace his ugliness, his redemption in the eyes of the public. He set me free and made me promise to never come back.
Where was my 'lover' in all this? My heroic friend thought he would come and save me from the demon who would not set me free. I was a damsel in distress and he was to save me. But Raoul got trapped in one of the many secret rooms that my teacher had so cleverly come up with to hide the world form him. He ended up in the Mirror Room where images would be played before one's eyes to confuse and to stun them. The images would rotate fast enough that the person would be dizzy and lose consciousness.
That is how I found him. I took my friend away and brought him to the surface. The dizziness had given him a slight amnesia and he was disoriented for a while. So I filled in the gaps with my dramatics. Again he believed me. I told Raoul we should escape and marry far away and leave Erik be. I think my teacher would be grateful for the way I potrayed him, the struggles that he faced in letting his 'true love' go. Maybe he did go through those struggles. When I left, the music left with me.
No one heard of the Phantom of the Opera ever again after that. I became Raoul's wife and I must say that these riches are such a comfort. I married a simple yet blessed man who treats me right. Not out of love but convenience. I am married to my best friend. How more convenient can it be?
So what is the truth? The truth is Erik never did do anything as you have read. It was all me. I made up the story. I made up the lies. And I tell you this now, so you will understand. Don't hunt down a murderer that does not exist. Don't look for a man who clearly did not commit any of the crimes I accused him of.
Who is the true Phantom of the Opera? I am. I hid so well that no one would ever suspect the poor, innocent chorus girl who was caught up in a world that a tortured mastermind created. I do believe that my time spent on stage did help me with the theatrics essential to pulling this off.
So, here it is the true and honest account of the strange and curious of the Phantom of the Opera.
Sincerely,
O.G.