Okay, I am a newbie and this is my first phanfic, so please be gentle.
This is strictly an E/C fic, although not unfriendly to Raoul. This fic is what I wish in my heart happened after the end of the movie version (in other words, happy ending). This story takes place six months after where the movie leaves off. (Except please forget the entire black and white sequence in the graveyard at the end of the movie. We all know Christine should not have ended up with Raoul anyway.) Also, I envision the characters as they were in the movie, not as they were in Leroux.
None of the characters are my creation, of course. That credit belongs to Gaston Leroux for the novel version, and Andrew Lloyd Webber for the stage and movie version. I tried to stay as true to the movie characters as possible, with one exception: I believe that the kiss in the lair forever changed both Erik and Christine. Erik, as a result of that kiss gradually becomes more gentle, more human. Christine, in turn becomes stronger and more daring as a result of her encounters with the Phantom.
For some story background, Christine has been staying at the de Chagny mansion at Raoul's insistence since the Opera Populaire burned; however, a date has not yet been set for the wedding. (An evil cackle ensues...)
I appreciate your comments. Please, no flames. My confidence as a writer is still pretty fragile.
1. Apollo's Song
The air hung heavy and sweet in the midsummer twilight. The sun offered up its last glorious rays triumphantly in a burst of magenta and gold, then slipped gently from view, as the people of Paris ventured out into the cool evening after the heat of the afternoon. Christine Daae watched from her balcony as the velvet curtain of night descended gracefully upon the city. Her gaze traveled upward to the starlit sky, and she breathed deeply as if to take in the intoxicating darkness. It was ironic, she thought, that she had once dreaded night's coming, and now she awaited it like an impatient child. She stood, listening intently, but after several minutes heard nothing and sighed. She retreated at last from her disappointment back into the luxurious suite she had been given in the sweeping mansion that was the de Chagny residence.
Though she listened often, she could hear nothing in this place. Of course there were the everyday sounds of the household staff, of the horses in the stable, of carriage wheels, of polite reserved voices, and on nights like tonight, even something that might be called music. But the sounds that she heard here all sounded hollow and lifeless to her ears, like cheap imitations of something deeper and more powerful that could not be matched.
Christine stared out into the darkness beyond the balcony doors. She remembered a story her father had once told her of a beautiful girl who upon hearing tales of his enchanting voice had begged Apollo to sing for her. Apollo was taken with her beauty and wished to please her, but he warned her that once she had heard his voice, she would never be the same. Still, she had insisted until Apollo finally relented and sang to her a beautiful love song. When his song was finished, he returned forever to Mt.Olympus where she could not follow. The young girl waited endlessly in that same spot for him to return and sing to her once again, until she wasted away with despair and longing, finally turning to dust.
Is that to be my fate, Christine thought bitterly? She ran an impatient, restless hand through her unruly auburn curls. She felt that she would go mad from the silence, or rather from the absence of the particular sound she longed for. She was both blessed and cursed with memories of music as the gods had meant it to be - passionate, full of emotion and longing, hate and love, tragedy and triumph - a vessel through which to pour out the glory and agony of the human soul. Her hands flew to cover her ears in frustration. She seriously doubted that the gods had ever intended their sacred vessel to carry the mindless fluff of shallow sound she heard emitting from the ballroom below,
Christine dropped her hands to her lap almost guiltily and sighed heavily. She was being terribly unfair. After all, didn't the de Chagny family employ only the finest musicians money could procure for their galas such as this? She, a woman utterly untrained in any instrument other than the human voice should not deign to hold judgment. And yet, in her scant seventeen years, she felt as if she had known music in its purest, most unadulterated form, and that form was a man...She shook her head as if to clear it of those thoughts which inevitably followed - thoughts too painful to endure, and yet too bittersweet to let go. Ultimately, her effort to forget was in vain once again.
Christine glanced at the clock. She would be late, but somehow tonight, she did not care. Her lovely eyes were drawn to the gentle dance of the gossamer draperies, stirred by the touch of the beckoning breeze. Something about this warm, summer's night made her feel passionate and reckless. Suddenly, she cared nothing for the good opinion of Paris' finest downstairs. She stepped without hesitation to the grand four-poster bed and cast aside the demure white gown Raoul had chosen for her. She then reached far back into her armoire and reverently produced a resplendent red creation of silk. Christine deftly slipped the delicate garment around her slender, yet womanly frame. The color was deep red, like the darkest of red roses, and the skirt long and full. The bodice of the dress was well fitted and the neckline was seductively low, showing all of her cream shoulders and the rounded curves of her breasts. The dress draped just below the curve of her hips and swept to the side before tumbling dramatically in cascade of red silk to the floor. She carefully arranged her chocolate curls in a loose chignon at the back of her head and held it fast with a silver comb. As an afterthought, she took a single red rose from the vase near her vanity and tucked it amongst the delicate ringlets.
She surveyed herself delightedly in the mirror. The color, far deeper and bolder than she normally chose suited her mood somehow and the woman looking back at her from the glass was both the one she knew and yet a different creature entirely from the pale, thin, timid thing she had been when she had first come to the de Chagny residence six months before. Then, she had been a bedraggled and confused ex-opera star without a thing to her name except an unfairly compromised reputation. She had clung to Raoul, as a drowning woman to a life preserver. She had given up her career at his request, attended every god-forsaken society function in the city, and had nearly killed herself trying to earn the right to belong in his world - this world of titles, old money, grand parties, and meaningless pleasantries that she found herself so discontented in now.
She took one more glance in the mirror, and with a wicked grin, thought that tonight she would truly look the part of the scarlet woman they all thought her to be. She cared not, for this night she would throw caution to the wind. Let safety, security, and the propriety of good society be hanged! She could live this lie no longer!
Christine stepped back onto the balcony and breathed in the warm, sensuous fragrance of the Paris night. She listened once more. No, not yet, but something told her that tonight she would hear what she longed for. And as she passed Raoul pleasantly in the hall and heard his faint intake of breath at her appearance, she secretly hoped she would have the same effect on the true person she had dressed for that evening.