Disclaimer: Andrew Lloyd Webber Wrote the Musical, Gaston Leroux Wrote the Original, and Susan Kay made the Masterpiece.
A/N OMG... what has it been, I think, 2 1/2 years. Wow. For those who have never read anything of mine, Hi! For those who remember me, and our hours together being creepy phan girls and boys.
Hey guys. Lavender, thank you for your review, I tried emailing but it just didn't work honey. I went back and read rebellion... I still have all those phanfictions on my computer. Anyways, back to those who haven't read my stuff. Hi everyone. I guess I should just make a few things clear. I have seen the movie. I didn't think it was terrible, but I admit, I was disappointed in some parts. I KNOW though that's just my obsessive compulsive nature taking over and me just wanting it to be EXACTLY the way I wanted it. Other then that, I've been a phan for over11 years. I have alot of years under my belt. ("I was a phan before you were even in diapers young missy!")
Therefore, go ahead and imagine about it whatever you wanna. If you liked Gerald Butler as the phantom? By all means, imagine his snexy face plastered all broodingly like to my little novella. Yet I like taking a little bit from everything phantom. I like referring to stuff from Kay, Webber, Leroux, and dare I say it, I might refer to Schumacher. Clear up a few things, Yes I did have this up before, but I realized I hadn't been giving it my undivided attention, and I would not have anything but my best.
Also, if people are going "huh, Nadir's in this?" sort of, I kinda explain his absence, and that Madame Giry is still the Ballet instructor. Later, I'll explain how I changed everything to make that possible. (I just love ALW's Madame Giry WAY too much to make her only the boxkeeper)
I HATE this quick Edit thing... it's REALLY not working for me, every time I upload something it looks like crap, does anyone have a solution?
Chapter One: Angel Of Music Among Other Things
"Angel of Music!
Guide
and guardian!
Grant to me your
glory!"
As the carriage bumped and churned, Christine sat there mulling over the events of the last year. She thought of every little detail, every whispered word that had led her here, into Raoul's carriage, into his arms. After thinking over the time they spent last winter in the opera's off season, and the pre-honeymoon they had just taken, her thoughts finally rested on him. She thought on how her angel had turned out to be a devil, knowing deep within her heart, some parts of her did not care.
It was true; he had loved and hated her at the same time. He had tried to bend her will, and yet, strangely wished her to come to a conclusion herself. He had been her father when she needed one, and a passionate lover when she didn't. He had been her strange and seductive teacher, her enigmatic, callous and hurtful angel. It all had come down to one thing; one moment built on lust and hate, on love and mislead devotion. Even in the midst of the chaos, he had allowed her to make the choice.
Now she wondered if she had made the right one.
She had, she couldn't question that anymore, she couldn't keep allowing herself to think that the perfect life with Raoul was not what she wanted. After all, it was going to be perfect to be apart of Raoul's world. Christine felt a gentle squeeze on her hand; she looked down at the glove covering her own. She thought about how foreign it felt, the leather and lace entwined. She finally lifted her eyes to Raoul. His grin was uneasy, as if he knew just moments ago, she had been questioning her choice to run away with him, that she was still allowing the Phantom to enter her thoughts. Knowing he needed some reassurance, Christine flashed him a comforting smile, which allowed him to think again that she was completely and utterly his. At her confirmation, he seemed satisfied and turned again towards the window in the cab.
No! She couldn't keep reliving those last precious moments with her angel; they had parted their ways on the riverbank just weeks ago. If she were to keep up this reminiscing, she was afraid she would eventually end up resenting Raoul, and she truly did love him. She had since she was five years of age. Love like that doesn't just die, no matter what happens. Besides, that was all that really mattered now, Raoul and she were finally together after years of unending trials; and the Phantom, her Phantom was the past. The past was behind her. If she thought about what she left behind, which was nothing and everything all in one, she knew it was quite possible she might ask for the carriage to be stopped and beg Raoul like a mad woman to turn around.
As though the carriage had heard her traitorous thoughts, it halted so suddenly that it shook her stomach. Once completely stopped Raoul slowly climbed out and took her hand.
"Welcome to your new home, my love." he said gaily.
(' ) '
-
"If he finds me, it won't ever end . . .
and he'll always be there,
singing songs in my head . . .
he'll always be there,
singing songs in my head . . ."
The night surrounded him like the cloak he wore. The air was rather damp against his flesh, and he could smell the fresh rain that had fallen from the sky just minutes ago, as he clasped the fabric closer to his lithe frame. He had escaped his fate of death that Firmin and Andre had been so intent to assign him. Yes, he had scurried away like the rat he was, and to him, it was blasphemous that he had. After all the pain he had caused his darling angel and others around him, it was quite obvious to almost everyone, including himself, he should have been condemned to a murder so brutal only he could imagine it. Besides, after everything he had been through, all the treachery he had done, she had been horrified with him killing Piangi, at a stage in his life where he had killed for less. He tried to remember a time when it had been harder for him to just, remove any obstacle standing in his way. That insufferable man! He had been ruining his maximus opus with his piteous acting and howling voice.
As for Bouquet, well the man had met his end at his own hands, not a mystery caused by the Phantom. Those were days long past, after everyone had already condemned him to a monster, and he realized the rules of the game where to either kill or be killed. If he didn't strike fear into their hearts, they would realize he was something that ruined their self-righteous world ordained by perfection, and they would see fit to rid themselves of him without another thought. After all, there were worst things then death, and he would know. Oh yes, he too was a perfectionist.
Unfortunately, his subjective conscious had reminded him that to wait for impending doom by giving into the murderous mob was too easy. In fact, it would be suicide, and he had never believed in that egotistical ritual of self-loathing. It was for the weak and above all things he was not weak, unless, it had to do with Christine. Besides, he had died in a different way. He had been so close! In the end, when she had kissed him, he knew it was really to save the boy's life, but in that moment, when their lips joined chastely, he felt heat rise from her and draw him into her heart as though it were a sanctuary. Those few moments were the most precious of his life, more so than any diamond or jewel Raoul could ever offer her, and he was sure that she felt it too.
He had lost his angel, the light at the end of his proverbial tunnel. Yes, the night surrounded him as it always had, engulfed him in the magic that comes along with it, and all he could hear was her sweet voice ringing through his ears. He laughed at the gravity of the situation, here he was standing outside the château Raoul had brought her too and he knew now that he had made the right decision to let her go.
She was an angel; literally, for if God knew a creature as beautiful and mystifying as Christine was running freely on earth, He would try to bring her back to the heavens she so rightfully belonged in. He realized he could not keep her locked up underneath Paris the rest of her life like he had been himself. No, she deserved so much more, so much more than he could give her, and he had given all he could give. So it had come to this, it was now it was this young man's turn.
Even if the angels did not weep at her singing, this Angel did, for wasn't it I, her angel of music?
That is when he made the decision, more of a promise to the young girl he passionately loved. He was her angel of music, but he could have been so much more. Yes indeed, he gave her all the knowledge he possibly could and she took that. As for his love, he had given her that too, and he would continue to do so until she died.
So what more could he give? He had once said he was her guardian and guide. The guiding force that would help her choose the right path's in life. He just wanted her struggles to be over, for her to find happiness in whatever she touched. He had never intended to be touched by her innocence. He decided would not stop or rest until he saw her live her days out happy.
He would be her angel forever, whether he was apart of her life or from a distance.
(' ) '
-
"Past the point of no return
the final threshold -
the bridge is crossed, so stand
and watch it burn . . .
We've passed the point
of no return . . ."
Christine paced around the well-lit room all while looking around at her dwellings. It was a far cry from the small, cramped room supplied at the Opera Garnier while she had been working for the Populaire. She smiled faintly at the thought of the room with one oil lamp. The soft glow was always welcoming after a long day of rehearsal, her vanity in one corner, the bed in the other, and no windows to for the sun to make an appearance. She remembered that most distinctly, how hard it was to tell time in the large Opera house, since there was barely a place where the sun could be seen, and how it wasn't uncommon for someone to be asking you what time it was. She thought on the scent of the old wood, and how every board throughout the large Opera house had it's own distinctive creak. Then, of course, there always had been Erik, before she knew his name, when he was her angel of music and Raoul was some distant memory she never dreamt to resurface. Where would she be if Raoul decided that he did was not intent on supporting the Opera that season? Would she be in Erik's arms right now? Bathed in darkness, yet content? Her smile widened at the thought's of the small gifts he would leave her in the room when she pleased him. A single rose, a lovely comb, a note telling her she made him proud, all things that were dear to her heart. Now she was standing here in the large room that was to be hers until Raoul and she were wed. The large floor length windows that lead to a private balcony let too much sun in for her liking. Instead of cedar, oil and roses, the room smelt of moth malls and fresh linen. She looked to her vanity, which was much bigger than the Opera Populaire could ever afford to bestow on a chorus girl, there was a letter from the managers, Firmin and Andre. It's contents summed up in one question: did she wish to return?
Did she wish to return, or did she wish to stay as far away from the Opera house as possible? It was a question she did not know the answer too.
Raoul's thoughts were set that she should. She had always loved the stage and, according to him, it lit up with her presence. Society be damned, yes she was to be a Vicomtess, but he supported her, and if others had a problem with it, he would deal with their gossip and disapproval. Andre and Firmin surely wanted her to return as well, or they wouldn't or written to her. After all, she never truly had known how they had felt about her singing. Carlotta had left the stage since the death of her husband, Piangi, so the role of Prima Donna was left open. Was she really wanted back, or like Erik, did Raoul pressure them since he was patron of the Opera Garnier's company, the Opera Populaire?
Erik.
She sat down in her chair and sighed. Slowly she entwined the lace of her dress between her fingers. Surely, he would not be there anymore, for if he had lived through the murderous mob, he would have moved on. Was he even still alive after she had left him? Always so melodramatic Christine, quite vain, you leaving Erik may have not KILLED him. Yet was that what she was disappointed about? Did she feel there was no point if her angel wasn't there to leave her approving notes and soft-pedaled roses? No, wasn't it; it was the memories, the sad and terrifying memories.
She picked up the pen and started to scratch the blank parchment in front of her.
"Dear Monsieur's..."
Then she put it down. She couldn't deal with such a loaded decision right now. She was going to go out for a ride.
She went to the stables and chose her horse." Come Phantom." She clucked and laughed at the irony. Raoul had named the horse long before he had even seen her again, and when they had first visited the stables when she arrived at this house, he was afraid that she wouldn't like the strong black steed. However, she was drawn to the horse, black as night and surprisingly strong. Raoul expected her never to ride him, mostly because he still found the subject of the last year of their life rather taboo. She still couldn't figure out if it was because he hadn't believed her for so long, or because he too realized that in the end, she was still undecided as to whom she really did want to be with. Oh yes, she knew her mind screamed Raoul, yet she couldn't deny what she had told the phantom in her father's graveyard… her soul did obey him more than she would have liked too. Therefore, Raoul was still sometimes visibly upset when she did ride the horse that brought up memories, although he tried to hide it. He never would say of course, straight out that he didn't like her riding him but she could see his jaw clench when she told him she was heading off to the stables
Poor, dear, sweet Raoul, she thought. He went through so much trouble. She had put him through so much. After that entire dilemma, he still welcomed her into his life with open arms. He still wished her to be his wife. She smiled, soon they would be married and everything would be all right. Erik was most likely dead. She would never see him again, so she could devote her life to Raoul.
(' ) '
-
"A freak of nature . . .
more monster then man . . ."
He looked off into the distance and saw her heading towards the stables. She had a beautiful blue silk dress parted down the center with white lace peaking out. Her neckline was considerably high and peered out underneath a large black cloak. Her brown curls fell down her back and bounced as she walked towards the magnificent creatures in their cages. She then chose a black stallion, who he had had his eye on for some time.
"He would have been my choice as well, my dear." He said silkily under his breath.
He looked up towards the sun that outlined his body. It had been many years since he had been out in the day, and if he had any friends to relay how peculiar the situation was, he would have. Sadly, he thought of Nadir and Madame Giry, both caring and stern personal friends.
"Erik? " He heard Nadir shout, "Erik, dear friend... Please say something if you are indeed still down here!"
Erik sat amongst the scores of music, all torn and ripped to shreds... years of work wasted. He didn't even think upon it, he couldn't grasp the situation before him. He had heard Nadir's rough, but kind words, and he still stared deeply at the monkey in Persian robes, reliving over and over her scent, the softness of her skin, the wonder in her deep eyes, the love that engulfed him in those brief seconds.
"Erik, Praise Allah... Erik, are you alright?" Nadir asked his friend, sitting there. "I had suspected they would come down here when I saw you take Christine. Where is she Erik, what have you done to the Vicomte?"
If Erik had been paying attention he would have found the change in Nadir's voice from concern to reprimand quite amusing.
"Erik you killed Piangi didn't you? Did you kill the girl and her fiancé?" Nadir asked frantically. "ERIK please! You must tell me! Or I shall go to the sur..."
"No." He quietly offered, never looking up from the monkey.
"No?" Nadir repeated.
"No I didn't kill her or her fiancé," he quietly told Nadir... He couldn't say her name; he couldn't say his name.
"What about Piangi?" Nadir shakily asked him.
"It was an accident... I was trying to scare him. I wanted him to be too frightened to return to the stage, so I may take his place... I didn't realize he would struggle; I was just so consumed with thoughts of us on stage... I didn't... ease... I'm... so sorry..." Erik softly and brokenly whispered.
"I was so fed up with being a monster, so intent to prove that I was really a man, I ended up crossing a line and proving them all right. Erik, lover of trap doors, personal assassin for the shah still lives on!" he yelled holding his head in his hands.
"Erik... your music... everything..." Nadir replied... it was all he could say, how could he reply to Erik's cry of despair when it rang true. Murder was still murder, and although Nadir did care for his friend and knew that there would always be times when things like this might happen, he was always torn between disappointment with Erik and disappointment with the world.
"Nadir... just go... you have nothing to fear dear friend. But it is time for you to stop living for my soul and start living for yourself. Believe me you will never have anything to fear from 'the phantom' ever again." He stated, and then stood from the floor where he had sat.
Nadir realized how young he looked just then, like he was reliving moments from when he was ten or so... the tear tracks had dried leaving a broken pattern down his scarred and torn visage. His lack of hair was mused all over and he felt suddenly guilty he had seen his most elegant friend in the throws of his own pitiful demise.
As Erik walked towards Nadir, he slowly pulled the catgut from his belt, and handed it to his friend.
"Here Nadir... The Punjab Lasso... I haven't a use for it now. If I'm ever in trouble, I shall either embrace my fate, or fight it with these hands." Erik said looking down at his long fingers.
"They may get dirty, but they've been soaked in blood many times."
Nadir had moved from Paris as far as he knew, to England. It was amusing to Erik that one of his oldest friends may fit in better with the more proper English than the passionate and stubborn French.
Now, all he could think of as the sun shone down upon him, was how before the risk had been too high to wander in daylight. No one would understand now, and the only person that had truly understood him, now was about to ride off into the distance with high priced garments and an expensive steed. For a split second, he loathed her, hating her for her departure, abandonment. He thought of tearing the fine silks from her body and laughing at her cruelly for feeling naked like he did without his mask. As suddenly, as they had reared their ugly heads, his rage and contempt receded back into him. He had learned they were always looming and lurking in the shadows of his mind, making him feel guilty for thinking such things of his angel, but not enough to feel the need to apologize for such thoughts.
Slowly he climbed down the hillside to get a better look at the surrounding grounds. It was then he found it was very difficult in a suit, waistcoat, cravat and a cloak, but he managed as best he could. He smiled coyly as he reminisced on how everyone thought he was a master of grace. If they only knew how often he walked the halls of the Opera house, how it was more or less apart of him. His grace was connected to how well he knew his home, and on solid ground he was more graceful then any ballerina. It just took familiarity. Thoughts of music usually helped, but now, he was songless, an empty void that no music could fill. Silently, he watched as she mounted her horse and kicked gently to get the horse to begin its trot.
He smiled faintly; she seemed so elegant even when she rode.
He watched as she took off in another direction before he dared to move again. Then, when he was sure she had left the area for good, he began to walk up the mountainside, until he was deep into the trees. That night was spent in the forest amongst the stars, it had been a beautiful sight, and though he would love to do it again, he soon realized he had to find living quarters. He certainly couldn't go back to the Theatre; for he had tried that after the police had left. Unfortunately, they had blocked off the tunnels with sand bags. He didn't know if they intended to permanently fill them in with concrete or not later. He imagined sardonically, going back down to his lair and being trapped underneath the Opera house, a large, and rather appropriate tombstone, where the music could be his epitaph.
Oh those catacomb's, He thought. The catacombs had been his haven for a large portion of his life, now he could never return, and all for the price of a love he never truly received.
No, he would find somewhere to belong. So he began to walk through the forest, looking at all it's splendor. He had not seen such beauty since he had seen Christine's face up close. No, he would stay here amongst the forest, and it would be his new mask.
He would trade one beauty for another.
