This is based mainly off the ALW musical, with a few random bits from other versions (including Leroux) here and there. It should be short and fairly dark. The title and the inspiration come froman odd little jazz song "Eurydice Meets Hermes."
"A voice of wind and shadow, my song is an invitation, a song to call earth and night."
The story takes place in the weeks leading up to the beginning of the story...before Christine's debut in "Hannibal."
The sunset wove tendrils of amber light through the crowded boulevards around the Opera Populaire.
The wind was strong and the air shimmered with snow, but the man ignored the cold as he walked slowly to the parapet and looked down on the crowds gathering in the Place de l'Opera below.
Woman clutched their furs close about their diamond-collared throats and men held their silk top hats in place as they hurried up the steps of the theatre.
His theatre, of course, though they would not realize it.
Snowflakes began to dot his black cloak, their white brightness dissolving quickly among the delicate black beadwork that trimmed his shoulders.
Gaslights flickered below as the veins of light retreated from the streets and the people vanished into the warm, bright lobby of the opera house.
The man leaned back against the hard chill of a pedestal, the great wings of Apollo draping shadows over him, darkening the white mask he wore.
He wanted to remove that mask. To remove the cold white covering and feel the icy bite of winter on his skin, to tear off the wig and let the wind tear across his scalp.
It had been so long. Surely no one would see him here.
No. He would not give into whims.
Below him, far below in his theatre, the crimson curtain would be rising, its heavy fringe lifting from the stage to reveal a city painted from a Greek myth.
They were giving a new opera tonight, hence the crowds braving such a bitter night. The story of Eurydice.
Any moment now, La Carlotta would appear in the center of the stage, her auburn hair draped with a sheet veil, her elegant figure in white and silver. And the audience would murmur in anticipation and appreciation.
"Enjoy it while you can, Signora," he thought, his lips drawing back in a wry smile, "it will not last much longer."
A few more lessons. Yes, just a few more and Christine would be ready. Her pure, clear voice…the voice he had given her would be his triumph, his compensation for the decades of isolation and bitterness and hatred.
They would never love him, but they would love her…his protégé.
A quiet girl…no, a quiet young woman with a voice that had, from the moment he heard it, half-lost amid the chorus. It had left him feeling as if his heart…the twisted remnants of it… had been pierced by the sweetness.
He could picture her now, standing quiet and poised amid the chorus, a garland of vivid flowers draped over her arms as the ancient wedding of Eurydice and Orpheus played out for the entertainment of Parisian society.
When it was over, she would come back to her dressing room…tired, but eager for her lessons.
She was so trusting and sweet. Not a fool, but so innocent. Never once did she question him, believing in him completely.
One day...one day when she had won the world's heart with his music...
He closed his eyes, imagining her pale against the black velvet of a settee, a few curls straying dark and soft over the silk of her gown. He would lift his violin to his shoulder and play...only for her. She would look up and hear him and smile...only for him.
And they would be happy. Together. Alone and together.
"My angel…"