Setting: This is a Love Never Dies story with essentially all the same elements of the original. However there were many things in Love Never Dies that made no sense to me. First and foremost, the setting. God knows why ALW chose to move Phantom of the Opera, the most beautifully tragic romance story ever to be written, from Paris, the city of love, to Coney Island, literally the most disgusting place on earth (told from a lifetime New Yorker). So I decided to keep the story in Paris, where their love begins and where it will grow. Another aspect of the setting that confused me was the timeline. ALW said he set Love Never Dies approximately 10 years after the original story, however Love Never Dies is set in the early 1900s. The original story was most probably set during the 1880s and the 1900s is a bit of a stretch to fit the timeframe that ALW gives. For creative purposes, however, I've decided to use 1879 as the year the events of Phantom of the Opera took place. In doing so 10 years after would set us in Paris 1889, during the World Fair Expo. The setting seemed to fit for a Phantom of the Opera sequel much more than a theme park in Coney Island.
Characters: Another major problem I had with Love Never Dies is how the characters don't feel genuine. Raoul, Meg, and Madame Giry all felt like completely different people. Hopefully in this retelling I do these characters justice.
Disclaimer: I sadly don't own any part of the Phantom of the Opera fandom. The musical belongs to ALW. Phantom belongs to Susan Kay. And Phantom of the Opera belongs to the genius Gaston Leroux.
"What story would you like to hear, my dearest?" a woman asked.
"The Angel of Music," a small excited voice replied.
"The Angel of Music? Why, you ask for that story every night," the woman's voice held an air of amusement.
"Please, Mama, it's my favorite," the little boy pleaded from his bed.
"It was my favorite too," the woman's eyes glazed over in nostalgia and her smile wavered. She focused her eyes on her small son and gave him a tender kiss on his forehead. She tucked him in tightly and began the story.
In the doorway, a man listened. He listened to the quiver in his wife's voice, and the excitement in his son's as he said the next part from memory. He listened to the tale of the Angel of Music with a heavy heart and clenched fists. He had assumed that he would be rid of that cursed Angel of Music when they got out of that Opera House, when he and Christine got married, when they moved out of Paris, when their son was born. He expected to remember the man beneath the Opera House as nothing but a nightmare they would soon forget. He didn't expect that man to still consume Christine's thoughts after 10 years. And he certainly didn't expect to hear the story of her cursed Angel every night as a cherished bedtime story for their son.
The story was finished. Christine stood up from the bed and whispered a goodnight to her tired son. She smiled gently and brushed away a dark curl from his forehead.
"Why do you have to tell him that story, Christine?" the man in the doorway asked.
"It's his favorite. You heard him ask for it," Christine didn't turn around, instead choosing to gaze upon the sleeping face of her son.
She heard him sigh. "I just don't understand why you told him that story at all."
"My father told me that story and now I'm telling it to my son," She replied softly.
"You know that's not the story that your father told you, Little Lotte."
She knew. She knew that even though she repeated the same lines, they weren't the same. The story she told was nothing like the original.
"Christine, I'm sorry. I'm not trying to-" Raoul let out a heavy sigh and started rubbing his eyes, "-I'm not trying to fight with you. I just simply don't understand how you can still think of him as your Angel."
Raoul entered the room to wrap his arms around his wife. "But I know that he's important to you both, so if you both still want to think of him fondly, then I won't take that away from you," he placed a soft kiss on the back of her neck. He felt her place her hand on his foreman and squeeze in reassurance. He smiled into her curls.
"I've still got some work to finish up, you go on to bed first. It'll be a few hours before I'm done," he placed one last kiss on her neck and walked away.
Christine's hands were shaking. She didn't turn around so he couldn't have seen the tears in her eyes. Of course he wouldn't understand; Christine didn't even understand either. Why she couldn't move on.
Raoul. Dear sweet Raoul.
Christine entered her own bedchamber with a heavy heart. A wife that lies to her husband every day, a son that isn't his, a night that her marriage forbids. She's the one that needs to sleep with that.
"Father! Father! Look what I drew," Gustave ran into Raoul's study.
Raoul let out a small laugh at the child's excitement. He picked Gustave up and placed him on his lap.
"What have you drawn, Gustave?" The boy handed him a piece of paper covered in charcoal. Undoubtedly the boy was talented beyond his years, the likeness he could capture on paper was astounding. The boy was a genius, but it wasn't the talent that made Raoul speechless, it was what was drawn on the paper. It was like seeing a ghost.
"Why-why have you drawn this, Gustave," he breathed out.
"It's the Angel of Music, Father, don't you like it?" The boy asked unaware of Raoul's horror.
His grip tightened on the boy as his blood ran cold. Gustave happened to capture that horrid beast's face. It made Raoul's stomach turn, having to look at the deformed face once again. The face of the man who nearly killed him years ago. The absence of a nose, the visible skull, the malformed lips, Gustave captured every twisted feature.
"Gustave, why have you drawn this! Tell me why!" Raoul's hands tightened even more on the boy's sides. His voice was scratchy and hollow.
The boy's face scrunched up in fear, his eyes began to water, and his throat tightened. He'd never seen his father act like this before. "Father, please, you're hurting me," he sobbed out.
Raoul suddenly released the child out of his grips, shocked at what he had done.
"Gustave, please, I never meant to-" Raoul started but Gustave jumped off of his father's lap and ran out of the room, sobbing.
Raoul didn't chase after him, he was still much too shocked of what he'd seen and how he reacted. He never expected to see that twisted face again. He wished to bury that horrible face from his memory under the Opera House. Still, Raoul couldn't believe how his son captured the Phantom's face so perfectly, nor could he believe how he acted. Oh god, he was horrified of me, Raoul thought. Never once had he laid a harsh hand on his son, never once had he spoken that way to his son, that wasn't the man that Raoul was. So why did he act like that?
Christine knocked lightly on the open door to signal she was there.
"Christine," he breathed out.
"Raoul, dearest, what happened? Why is Gustave so scared?" Christine asked worried. She spent the last 10 minutes calming him down and putting him to sleep and she was quite confused.
He wordlessly handed Christine the picture their son had drawn. She let out a gasp. "Erik," she whispered softly. Raoul's head snapped in her direction upon hearing the tenderness in her voice.
"Christine, I don't like this. I don't like this one bit. Our son shouldn't go around, romancing this idea of your beloved Angel of Music," Raoul spat out the words.
"You said that you wouldn't try to take him away from us. You said it yourself, he's important to us," Christine began to feel defensive.
"But that doesn't mean I understand! That doesn't mean that I want our son running around and looking up to that psychopath!" Raoul's voice rose.
"He's not a psychopath," Christine shot back quickly.
"He's manipulated you into thinking he was an Angel sent by your father. He was a false idol. And he took you Christine, he took you and killed so many people. When we were down in his lair, he almost killed me! He wrapped that lasso of his around my neck and tried to force you into marrying him! How could I let our son believe in a man that almost killed me, Christine? And seeing that picture again, I was frightened. I was so scared, it was like I was there on the night of the fire. I was scared to lose you all over again, scared that he would hurt Gustave, and kill me. All that came rushing back once I saw his face. Now I let you tell him those stories, but this has gone too far. It has become too real. Those stories aren't just stories for him anymore. He's starting to believe them."
"Well what does it matter if he believes in them or not? He's dead, Raoul. He died. He's not coming back. He can't hurt us. He's gone, buried, dead. Nothing but a mere memory anymore," Christine's voice rose louder and louder until she was close to hysteria.
"Christine," Raoul came rushing over to her side. She hugged him tight, he hugged her tighter. "I'm sorry, Christine," he whispered more apologies into her hair and soon she began to calm down.
"I'm sorry, but I just don't understand. Why do you want our son to remember him, Christine?"
"One good thought. He at least deserves one good thought," Christine mumbled into Raoul's chest.
Raoul realized that he would never understand Christine's affinity to that man. And he knew that if he tried to take that away from her, he would lose her.
"How about we go to sleep now, Raoul. It's been a long day for all of us, we're going to need our rest," Christine suggested.
Raoul let himself be led to their chambers. Both of them dressed silently and got under the covers. Christine was fast asleep, but Raoul was still up. He leaned over to wrap an arm around her and she stirred a bit but fell still after a few moments of shifting. 10 years. It's been 10 years and he is still fighting for Christine. 10 years of fighting a ghost and he needing to sleep with the fact that Christine will always be half in love with a fairytale.
The next morning, a letter arrived at the Chagny estate.
Dear Madame and Monsieur Chagny,
Fondest greetings to you all from Opéra-Comique. I'm sure you're aware L'exposition Universelle of 1889 is arriving in Paris in the next coming months. We have been blessed with a chance to perform during this joyous event, and we wish to debut a new soprano. The talents of Madame Daee have been the talk of Paris for years. We would be honored if she joined our humble Opéra for a few performances during this fair. All expenses will be paid for as well as lodgings and transportation, if you do wish to agree.
Sincerely,
Opéra-Comique
The penmanship was sloppy, almost child-like.