Ars Gratia Artis – Chapter 1 - Nightmares
AN – Hello ladies and gentlefolk! This is my 2nd FanFic; some of you may know me for Meus Dulce Angelus. Anyway without any further ado, enjoy!
Skaramoosh x
Disclaimer – I do not own POTO.

Summary – Five years after fleeing the opera house, Christine finds herself alone. She finds solace in her art, but how long will it be until her past comes back to haunt her?

Nightmares
C POV

It's been five years since I last sung. I have tried once or twice, but it brings back too many bad memories. Memories of an opera house, a man masquerading as an angel and such sad, haunting music. Music that will forever plague my dreams... or are they nightmares? I can't tell the difference. I always knew that I would never forget Erik, he made too much of an impact on me. I always knew that Erik was different, but I never imagined that Raoul, a man who had seemed so kind, so gentle, could become more of a monster than he ever was. We married not long after we left Paris. We moved to Italy, it had always been a little fantasy of mine to experience all the grandeur first hand. I remember once when Erik told me of his travels there, of all the fine art and culture. I didn't share this with Raoul. He agreed that Rome is a beautiful city, and for six precious months we were very happy there. Until that one fateful evening.

'Raoul?' I called, hearing him come through the door, a little later than usual. 'Darling is that you?'

'Who else would it be, bitch?'

I gasped. I had never heard him use such language. I knew full well that it existed, but I didn't expect Raoul of all people to throw about a crude term so carelessly. I gave him a good look and cautiously approached him.

'Raoul, you look drunk.'

'So what if I am?' He slurred and staggered over to the sofa.

'Can I tell you something Christine?'

'Of course you can.'

'I don't love you, I never have. It was fun, having to fight with that Erik, he was very entertaining. I wanted your money, until I found out you didn't have any. I've only put up with you this long because I want your body. Give me what I want, sugar.'

His words felt like daggers, each one sinking deep inside me, until there was nothing left but a broken shell, a ghost of a woman.

'I... I cannot consummate a marriage made of greed. It's called making love for a reason.'

My voice shook. He walked over to me, anger radiating from every feature, and hit me hard in the face. I fell to the ground in shock. He stalked into the bedroom, leaving me hurting on the floor. I knew then that I couldn't stay with this man; I threw my essentials into a bag and left my ring on the bedside table. I watched him sleep for a while, and then gave him on last kiss before I left.

I wandered around the streets of Rome for while and thought about what my life had become. I had become so shallow and pedantic, how did that happen? My life used to be enriched with music and dance and Erik, now it was just a void, filled only with my love for Raoul. Now that was gone, I was empty.

I moved back to Paris, as much as a loved Rome, France is my home. I found a little place of my own and busied myself with an education. I studied languages such as Latin and Ancient Greek. I found myself most enthralled by art. Something about how much one simple picture could covey amazed me. I began to visit the famous galleries religiously. I spent every day gazing at beautiful images and occasionally making notes on a particular style or concept that inspired me. From a very young age I had always had an appreciation for things such as this, a trait first installed by my father and continued by Erik. It wasn't long before I began creating my own art. A very interesting man saw me drawing and gave me a part in a gallery, but for a price. My art meant so much to me; it was my only reason to live. So I gave him what he wanted, not that I had much of a choice. My success grew and grew until almost everyone in Paris knew my name; it wasn't long before news of my first art show spread like wildfire across the city. As much as this new turn in my life brought me happiness, I often wondered of Erik. What had become of my angel of music?

E POV
Christine, my Christine. She is as perfect as an angel could be. I only hoped that she was happy wherever she was, she deserved nothing less than a beautiful life. Such a life could never include me. I spent my days consumed by never ending thoughts of her, even when I busied myself drawing new architecture for the rebuilding of the opera house. It now has even more secret passages and my underground lair has been expanded with extra rooms. I still thought of her when I rebuilt my organ, and when I composed. She fills my mind and my dreams... or are they nightmares? After five painful years, I ventured out into the city of Paris, keeping my cloak well over my face. I overheard the meaningless trivial chatter of the ordinary folk, not really caring for the substance of their conversations, until I overheard one word. Daaé. I stood rooted to the spot. Why would my precious Christine be a subject of conversation in Paris? I had been keeping an eye on the opera and much to my despair, she hadn't starred in anything. She hadn't even been a part of the ballet or the chorus. I heard her name again. Daaé. Acting on instinct, I followed them, wishing to understand more.

'I heard she's the best artist in all of Paris, why else would she get her own show?'

Artist? Christine? I wondered what on earth was going on. After some eager research I discovered that she had turned to art, and had her own show upcoming to display some of her work. I was proud of her. I had to go to this art show and see her once more.

AN – What do you think? I have a vague idea of where I want to take this, suggestions are very much welcomed.

Skaramoosh x