For the Love of a Rose
Summary: Adam Leroux was one of the most talented male opera singers in France, and he knew it. One night the Angel of Music cursed him to a life in the shadows due to his arrogance, where he was to remain, disfigured, until he can learn humility by writing music for another to perform. Years later, when Belle arrives at the opera house he knows that she will be the one to break his curse, so he teaches her to sing in order for her to perform his work. Only when she performs it and he can learn to appreciate others will the spell be broken.
A/N: This is an idea that came to me while watching Phantom of the Opera about a month ago. I have been debating whether I should post it because I am quite fond of it, but nervous about whether it will be something people would want to read. I've decided to post it because it simply will not leave me alone. Adam/Phantom's story just needs to be told, I guess. Anyway, I will obviously continue on with When the Last Petal Falls, but this will be my other work for now. Please let me know what you think!
Overture: Many Years Ago
Adam Leroux waited in the wings of the Opera Populaire for his cue to enter the stage. He could feel the anticipation rising, building in his core, waiting to be let out. He lived for the rush of performance. The wild applause of the audience after he'd performed Robert Cambert's Pomone, or Jean-Babtiste Lully's Cadmus et Hermione was a drug that he simply could not get enough of.
That night the cast was performing another of Lully's work entitled Armide. It was an ambitious piece about one woman's love for a man she once hated, who calls upon the Goddess of Hate herself to make her fall out of love with him.
Though not the center star of the opera, Adam's part in the work was substantial. By the end of any performance he was able to draw the audience's eyes to him. He knew that night would be no exception.
When it was his turn, Adam sauntered on to the stage, comfortably slipping into his role as though he'd been born to play it.
By the encore, the audience began throwing all assortment of flowers at the performers' feet. Adam noticed proudly that most of the flowers landed by him. He was vaguely aware of the others throwing him annoyed looks, but he paid them no heed. He was too caught up in the moment. The audience loved him. Why should anything else matter?
When the audience finally finished applauding and throwing their tokens of affection upon the stage, the curtain drew to a close and Adam's fellow cast members marched off to their dressing rooms.
Adam followed them, but not before gathering the most elegant of flowers from the stage to take back to his dressing room.
A few people, both cast and crew, stopped to congratulate him on a wonderful performance, but he was hardly bothered to reply. He merely muttered a vague, "I know," to a woman who told him he was the true star of the show, not noticing the disgusted scowl she shot at his retreating back.
He arrived at his dressing room a moment later. His first order of business was replacing the flowers he'd taken after the previous day's performance with the ones in his hand. Once that was accomplished he proceeded to change out of his costume.
The moment he had changed back into his every day attire, there was a soft knock on his door. He swept to his feet, suspecting that he was about to greet another admirer. He occasionally received people at his door insisting upon showering him with praise even hours after a performance. It seemed tonight would be no exception.
Adam put on a dazzling smile and swung open his door, expecting to find a horde of giggling young women, as was his usual crowd. Instead there was a single cloaked figure. He or she was dressed all in black with the hood was pulled over the head, making it impossible to distinguish the gender. He paused momentarily at the odd sight, but recovered himself quickly.
"Hello there. Have you come for an autograph?"
The figure did not answer. Adam stared, waiting for some type of response, but when none came he became agitated.
"I have had a long night, so if you do not wish to say anything I will be on my…"
"You do not appreciate the talents of others."
The statement was so bold, so final, that it took Adam by surprise. He could only stare, unsure of what to say. The figure seemed content to wait for a reply because it did not move. Despite not seeing any eyes, Adam could feel the figure's penetrating stare burning into him.
"You do not know anything about me!" he exclaimed angrily, and began to slam the door on the imposing figure.
Only the door did not close.
It came to a casual halt in the middle of its progress, then swung almost lazily back to its previous position, so that the hallway, and mysterious figure haunting it, was in plain view.
Adam gaped, truly alarmed though he tried hard not to show it. "Who are you?"
"I am the Angel of Music, and I am here to show you the error of your ways."
Suddenly all light was extinguished, both in the hallway and in Adam's dressing room. He started, looking wildly around him. He did not like being unable to see the figure who he somehow knew instinctively was responsible for the abrupt blackout. His suspicions were confirmed seconds later when his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The first place he looked was the spot where the mysterious Angel of Music had stood.
It was empty.
"If this is some kind of practical joke, it is not funny!" he exclaimed, hating the waver of fear in his voice. He glanced frantically down both sides of the hallway, finding it empty. Maybe the strange person had disappeared or decided not to proceed with the joke it obviously thought would be funny. He took a deep breath before trying again to close the dressing room door. That time, it closed without incident.
Thinking he was alone at last, he turned around to grab the last of his things, his pace considerably quicker than it otherwise would have been, but he stopped in his tracks at the sight of the figure who had somehow managed to enter his dressing room without crossing the threshold.
"What is this?" Adam demanded, truly alarmed now.
"You do not appreciate the talents of others," the figure repeated. The voice seemed to surround Adam, coming at him from all directions. "You are spoiled, selfish, and unkind. Your arrogance knows no bounds."
The Angel of Music paused, as though somehow daring Adam to deny anything that had been said thus far.
Adam did not respond, mostly because all ability to speak seemed to have been taken from him.
"To learn the error of your ways, I relegate you to a life in the shadows, where you will learn humility and modesty. Your appearance will be scarred in order for you to overcome your vanity. The more you try to resist, the worse your appearance will become." The Angel of Music paused to let the words sink in.
Almost immediately, Adam felt a searing pain on the right side of his face. He cried out in anguish, hunching down and automatically bringing his hands to his face. He was horrified to find that there were jagged scars running along his cheek from his jawline to his cheekbone. His cries worsened when he felt part of nose scar in a similar manner.
"H-How long must I endure this agony?" Adam begged minutes later, once the scarring finally abated.
"Your curse will end when you learn to appreciate others, and not just yourself. You will do this by composing a grand opera for another to star in. You will write the greatest piece the world has ever known, and you will do it knowing you will not be the star. Only when this is accomplished will the curse be lifted."
The Angel of Music clapped its hands together, and Adam felt a strange warm flow through him. For a moment nothing happened, and then he seemed to be floating through time itself. He closed his eyes against the onslaught of air rushing around him.
When he opened his eyes he was no longer in his dressing room. He now found himself somewhere cold, damp, and very dark.
When he finally got up the courage to explore his new surroundings, he found that the place he assumed was a dark sewer was actually a labyrinth of tunnels that seemed to go on forever. He explored, hating the smell of his damp surroundings, and stopped what felt like hours later, when he came upon a large opening with a dingy bed and an old piano.
The implication was clear enough.
Adam walked to the bed and curled his lip in disgust. How long would he be relegated to this moldy existence? Why was this happening to him? There were plenty of other conceited opera singers in the country. Why couldn't this have happened to one of them?
Questions flowed through his mind at a rate faster than he was able to process them. How long was he supposed to work on this opera? Who would perform his work? How could he get another to sing when he was relegated to the shadows? He almost wished the Angel of Music would reappear, if only to demand the answers to these questions.
His only hope was for his fellow cast members to question his disappearance and go searching for him. Surely he would not be that hard to find?
Little did he know that the Angel of Music erased all trace of the great Adam Leroux from the minds of everyone who ever met him. He was no more the most popular male opera singer in the country of France. To all who had once known him, he was nothing more than a ghost.
Adam lost all track of time. As the years passed, he did not lift a finger to write the opera he'd been assigned. For a time he merely wallowed in self-pity, hardly bothered to get out of the bed that was now his own.
He was only bothered to rise the day the faintest whisper of a cry carried down into his chambers. It was a cry that was so sad, so full of despair, that it seemed to echo the feelings that had been stirring inside his own being for years. When he stood and came up from the bowels of the opera house for the first time in what felt like decades, he was surprised to find a young girl.
Tears flowed freely down her cheeks as she knelt in the chapel of the opera house. She knelt before a single lit candle, her hands held together in an obvious prayer. Other than the trembling and occasional sob that escaped from her lips, Adam would otherwise have never known she was there. Her dark brown hair hung past her shoulders, and her wide brown eyes were full of tears.
And he knew without having to be told that she was the one who would perform his work. All he had to do was teach her to sing and wait until she was older. He would make her the greatest singer the world had ever known.