NOTE: ...Okay. Time for some explaining. I actually wasn't planning on posting any of this story for the longest time, but after writing 12 chapters within a week, I figured that at my friend's urging I probably should. So here it is. I caution you though, fair reader, that updates with this story will most likely be sporadic and completely random. Though I'll most likely never drop the story completely, it will most certainly not tick to any kind of schedule. Fair warning.
At any rate, enjoy I suppose. R&R.
A roll of thunder boomed outside, causing the girl within the house to glance up from her book. Quite the little storm, she mused to herself. Figures, it was after all Friday the 13th. She turned her attention back to the last page, to the last few paragraphs. Once finished, she tossed the book aside, and with a sigh stood up. What to do now? No sense watching T.V, it would be most likely impossible to get any reception through the weather outside. A movie then. She walked out of her room, stretching out her back. As she walked down the hall, she caught sight of herself in the mirror on the wall.
She paused, and stared with distaste at her reflection. Truly, she should've been born albino; it would've made more sense than her current coloration. Her hair, while technically blonde, was such a hideous and muted shade of blonde that in darkness it looked gray and made her seem old. It was also cut in a strange way, a bit like a boy's. It was layered and cut so that it clung and shaped her head and neck. Her skin was even worse, the color of a vampire, or maybe even a corpse. If it wasn't for the splattering of freckles that spanned from cheek to cheek, that dotted her shoulders and oddly enough her hips, people would surely mistake her for a ghost. The fact that she was thin to the point of being skeletal, as if she had long spidery limbs, certainly did not help.
She brushed her long bangs out of the way for a brief second, once again deeply regretting she hadn't inherited her father's warm brown eyes. Hers were an icy, cold blue, and could never give off the same feeling of emotion his gave off. Turning her head to the right, she gave a relieved smile at the rainbow-colored ear cuff. She turned away from her reflection and moved on to the living room. Humming a little ditty to herself she let her fingers trail over the many DVD spines that sat on the shelves beside the T.V. Finally her fingers paused on a single title. Phantom of the Opera.
"E-excellent, m-more heartbreak f-from love triangles th-that went horribly wrong," she joked to herself. She set the DVD up, and went and sat on the couch, studying the information on the back. Christine. It was such a pretty name, far prettier than her own. She knew her father had meant well when he'd dubbed her with it, but honest to god, where the hell did he get Orva from? Who the fuck calls their daughter such an ugly-sounding name as Orva? What does it even mean? She shook her head, and turned her attention back to the screen. Grabbing the remote, she pressed the play button, and started to watch her favorite film for the umpteenth time. She curled herself up into a warm little ball, once again adjusting the sleeve of her father's gray sweater-vest, which was really much too big on her.
Normally she didn't wear his clothing. Only when he was away on business trips, which was fairly often. It gave her a small comfort, reminding her of how he had always been the light in her darkness. Soon the movie reached one of her favorite parts; the famous leading of Christine down to Erik's lair while the main theme was sung. As the song came to a close, Orva started mouthing the words to herself. Reaching the part where Christine vocalizes, she decided to give a shot at hitting the angelic notes.
"Aaahhh~aaaahhh~aaaahhh..." Yikes, horribly off-key. She tried again with the next note. Better, but still way off. Another try, and she managed to get even closer to the true sound. Better. Closer. Better. Closer. Finally, the intimidating high C. Orva screwed her eyes shut in concentration, and released the air in her lungs. Perfect. The note rang high and true, matching Christine's. There was even a slight echo to it, as though the sound was reverberating off of stone walls rather than her simple living room.
"Booyah!" she cheered once she was done, pumping her fist into the air and opening her eyes. What she saw before her made her freeze. Instead of the television playing the movie, she saw a cave wall covered in many drapes and tapestries. Looking to her right, an organ. To her left, Gerard Butler and Emmy Ross-
"Holy shit!" She jumped, the action causing her to fall from the small ledge, knocking over a candle stand. "Ouch!" For a few moments she lay there, rubbing her head, until she heard the creak and slight splash of someone getting off a boat. Eyes opening wide, she saw an upside-down version of a very angry looking Gerard approaching her. With a small "Eep!" of fear she rolled onto her feet and picked the candle stand up, setting it right. She quickly backed away from the dark shadow.
"I-I a-am s-so sorry, I-I-" she tried to apologize.
"How did you get down here?" he snarled.
"I-I-I d-don't kn-know, I-"
"Get out!"
"I-I-I'll j-just s-see m-myself ou-out th-then," Orva agreed, turning straight for the water and walking right into it. "D-Don't w-worry a-about th-the b-boat, I-I c-can w-walk." So saying, she splashed her way through, the water eventually reaching chest height. As she waded, she could hear Gerard moving on to his next musical number...and then it slowly began to occur to her. What the hell just happened? One second, she was enjoying herself and singing along with the musical, the next she was here. Wherever that was. Perhaps the set of the film? She looked at the nearby mossy walls; no camera people as far as she could see. The water felt terribly cold and wet and real, so she supposed that ruled out a dream.
Then perhaps...the world itself? Impossible, she wanted to argue with herself. How could that even happen? The same magical musical bullshit that happened in the film, which allowed candles to rise out of the water and light the second the came out of the water, let alone the fact that nobody had even touched them? Maybe. The rest of the way down the canal, she thought deeply about it. Eventually she reached the steps of the other side. With some difficulty she managed to lift her water-logged tennis shoes out of the muck and onto the first steps. Shivering from the cold, she lifted her hand to eye level and proceeded to walk as closely along the wall as possible, for fear of trap-doors.
Wait, if I really am in the world of The Phantom, then I wonder... What could she do, to change the dreadful fate of the main characters? It had always bothered her, the first time she'd seen the film. While she didn't blame Christine for choosing Raoul(any sensible person would), the situation still left much to be desired. While Erik was still a deranged, obsessive murderer, she couldn't help but feel her heart strings be tugged at how lonely he seemed. Poor lonely Erik, never to have known love. Poor Christine, to have felt so hurt and betrayed to see that her angel had been a farce all along. Poor Raoul, for...actually, what did he really go through because of the events in the film? Orva shrugged. It didn't matter so much with him. She gave a little nod to The Phantom's horse as she passed him.
Finally she reached the hall that led down to the mirror that opened to Christine's room. Wrapping her arms around herself, her chattering teeth and footsteps made little echos. With a light push, the mirror slid open. Once closed behind her, she walked to the door on the other side. But when she grabbed the handle, the door would not open. Oh yeah, he locked it. She sighed, and walked behind the nearby screen. Surely sweet Christine wouldn't mind if she borrowed her clothes for one night, right?
She laid the dripping wet clothes out to dry. Reaching into the pocket of her pants, she pulled out the small case which held a pair of contacts which changed her eye color from ice-blue to warm-brown if she so desired. Most likely those would have to be washed. She set the case on the desk, and walked to the bed. She had to gather the nightgown about her in order to not step on it. Luckily, she and Christine appeared to be close in size, with Christine being just a bit taller and more filled out. Orva fell asleep almost as soon as she slipped under the covers.
-0-0-
Christine stepped back into her room and Erik slid the mirror back into place behind her. He regretted letting his guard down, to have allowed her a glimpse at his horrid face. He started to retreat back into the darkness, until he caught sight of the figure lying in Christine's bed. He narrowed his eyes; it was the girl who had somehow managed to make it down to his lair, completely unmolested. Normally he would have killed the girl on the spot, but he had to make a good impression on Christine(fat lot of good that did), and so he simply ordered her to leave.
He began to back away, still glaring in the girl's direction. He made a mental note to kill her some time later.
0-0-0
Leaning over the girl, Christine placed a hand on her shoulder, and gently shook her awake. She mumbled something incoherent before opening her eyes. At first she jumped and looked around herself, but then relaxed.
"Who are you?" Christine asked.
"I-I'm O-Orva," the girl stuttered.
"What are you doing here at the Opera House?"
"I...I c-came to w-warn you," Orva told her slowly.
Christine raised her eyebrows. "Warn me?"
Suddenly Orva reached out and gripped her arm. "Y-you m-must listen t-to me, you a-are in terrible danger," she whispered urgently. "Y-you m-most likely w-won't believe this, b-but I've seen the f-future. All that currently lies d-down the path before you is h-heartbreak and death. But I think I-I know how to avoid this, if you're w-willing to trust me."
"What are you talking about?"
"Y-your A-Angel of M-Music is also Th-the Phantom! He's obsessed, h-he loves you to death a-and will do whatever it t-takes to try and make you h-his. Please, as far as I can s-see there is currently only one solution to th-this."
"What? The Phantom? Why that's absurd!" Christine said with a laugh. "The Angle of Music is kind and caring, while the Phantom is wicked and causes all sorts of trouble."
"R-roses h-have thorns, th-they say," Orva argued.
Christine's smile faltered a bit, but was quickly back in place. "They are two completely different people. There's nothing to fear."
"H-how c-can I p-prove to you th-that I'm right?" she asked desperately.
"You can't." Christine stood to go change behind her screen, when Orva's voice stopped her.
"W-when th-the Opera t-tries to perform I-Il Muto, the Phantom w-will request that you play a-as the Countess, and Carlotta the p-pageboy. The Managers will disobey these orders, a-and instead cast you both as the opposites. Th-the Phantom will be angry, firstly because they didn't l-listen to his casting suggestion, and secondly because Box F-Five will be occupied by Raul. He will cause a slight d-disturbance, which will interrupt the opera briefly. During that time Carlotta will g-go off stage and have some lubricant sprayed into her mouth, except it's n-not really her lubricant, it's some sort of poison that will turn her v-voice into a croak. That will cause the opera to pause for quite a while l-longer while the managers will have you jump into the role of the countess. During this t-time, to keep the audience entertained they will have the ballet from Act III performed for them. D-during the performance however, Joseph's corpse will be dropped from the rafters, a noose around his neck," she quickly rushed out to her. Christine stared. "W-when th-that happens, t-try to say th-that the Angel and Th-the Phantom are two separate b-beings to my face once again."
"It...won't happen. And besides, how will you even be allowed to stay at the Opera House long enough to see it come true yourself?"
"I-I'll g-get a j-job here," Orva argued, jumping up from bed.
"You can perform?" Christine asked with some surprise.
"O-oh g-gosh no, h-haven't you noticed m-my stuttering problem? I m-meant as a stage hand."
"Oh...I suppose it can't hurt," she relented, feeling rather uneasy.