All Christine wanted in the world was to escape…
After the death of Christine's father, her mother struck gold in terms of marriage. The Massey family became everything that a high-class family should be. They were the stereotypical "fancy dinner parties every week" kind of family. Christine, however, was the only imperfect part of what she would loosely call her "family." From the very moment that she announced her decision to keep her father's name, Daaé, she could sense the immediate feeling of disconnect from the Massey side, including her mother.
Mr. Massey in particular had a very presence that screamed self-proclaimed superiority over everyone else. His tone of voice, even in the most casual conversations, was belittling.
Another day, another glamorous party. Christine stayed out of sight as much as possible, and certainly didn't speak unless directly spoken to, which was a rare occurrence. Everyone was sitting around the table, mindlessly chattering away while Christine sat silently, pushing her food around on her plate.
"Are you not pleased with your meal?" an older lady sitting next to Christine asked her sweetly. Unlike most of the other guests, this woman really did mean well.
"I'm just not very hungry, thank you," Christine responded softly, giving the lady a half-smile.
Mr. Massey's eyebrow raised as he overheard their brief exchange. "Is there a problem, Christine?" he spoke across the table, getting everyone's attention and causing the table chatter to silence completely. Christine timidly shook her head and stared down at her plate, wishing to just disappear. "Then why are you not eating?" His eyebrow rose further with his question. Christine continued looking down and refused to answer his question.
"Such an insolent child," one of Mr. Massey's employees whispered too loudly, clearly trying to gain his employer's favor. "Why have you not disowned her yet," he said, semi-jokingly.
"Yes, why have you not disowned me?" Christine whispered under her breath, thinking that no one could hear.
Her step-father, however, easily picked up on Christine's words. "That can easily be arranged," he spoke with authority. Christine looked at her mother expectantly, waiting for her to interject. When that did not happen, Christine took matters into her own hands.
"Oh? And what authority do you have to do that? You're not even my father!" she challenged, staring straight into his eyes, daring him to counter her argument.
"You will not speak to me that way, child!" His eyes were shooting daggers at Christine across the table.
Infuriated to her breaking point, Christine slammed her hands down onto the table and shot out of her seat. "If it was up to you, I would have been disowned years ago," she screamed. After shooting another lethal glance at her mother's husband, she stormed out the door and up to her room, fuming with anger.
Her mind blinded, all she could do was turn to the one thing that had been with her for her entire life: music. She whispered a familiar song to herself that her father had taught her shortly before his death, tears escaping from her eyes. "Why did you have to leave me, father?" she asked aloud, making the tears fall harder.
She knew that she had nowhere to go, yet she knew that she couldn't remain here with these horrible people. They would surely drive her to madness if she did not somehow escape soon. As her tears had begun to calm, Christine heard the most beautiful music that had ever met her ears. Strangely, though, it sounded miles away, like it was coming from somewhere outside. And it was a bizarre sound, one that she certainly recognized as music, but nothing like she had ever heard before. It called to her, beckoned her to some faraway place, away from her pain and suffering…away from those who did not care for her, and into the arms of music, her eternal friend. In a haze and unaware of her actions, Christine followed the sweet sound. Nothing else mattered except for the sound that surrounded her and filled her very soul.
The sounds carried her floating down the streets of Paris. It carried her across the cobblestone pathways, seemingly miles away from her home. The more she traveled, the closer she seemed to come to the source of this strange music, still sweet and flowing in her ears. It continued to guide her like a shadow hand in the night, pulling her toward her desired destination and away from heartbreak and pain. Her mind was far too entranced to contemplate the absurdity of her traveled, and her heart was far too damaged to care.
As she grew closer to her unknown destination, the music began to intensify and take form. First, the melody formed a silhouette that roughly took the shape of a grown man, though it was nothing more than a shadow cast by darkness. A string of chords followed, adding detail to the shadow: an arm that slipped around Christine's small waist, a ghostly hand that threaded its fingers through hers, and lastly a perfect face that whispered sweet words and sounds in her ear. Together they walked hand-in-hand, Christine led by her musical manifestation.
The shadow led her to a place that she vaguely recognized as the Paris Opera House, its gilded exterior reflected in the moonlight. The mysterious notes hit a crescendo as they entered the building, Christine still being led, intoxicated by this sweet, unearthly collection of sounds. The two traveled through the catacombs, deep into the underground levels of the Paris Opera house, a place that few had seen, and even fewer had lived to tell about. The music still rose and swelled as Christine crossed an underground lake, the music making her almost glide across the surface of the water. The music had reached its peak as Christine's feet were met with solid ground below them. As the final heavenly notes were played, the shadow disappeared, restoring Christine's natural state of consciousness and leaving her face-to-face with a mysterious masked man.