Hi! Alright… please bear with me, people. I'm new to PoTo. I've never written a Fic other than this for it, but I've read MANY. In my opinion, Meg Giry is adorable, La Carlotta needs to die, Erik is very handsome *swoons*, and Christine is beautiful! Raoul is… cool. I don't hate him, but I ship Christine X Erik. I also ship Meg X Erik. Don't ask. Yeah. By the way, Little Giry is fifteen in this because I'm an idiot. In the abridged version I read, Jammes (or however you spell her name) was fifteen, and I got her and Giry mixed up. I am SO SORRY, people. Also... can I just ask… WHY ARE BOTH CHRISTINE AND ERIK ANGELS OF MUSIC?! Just pick one! *Flips hand like a Valley Girl* No, I'm just kidding. I get it. :)
Also, I know they didn't have V-Day back in the 1800s, but I'm trying my best to make it sound more… antique… I suppose.
BY THE WAY: I OFFICIALLY HATE LOVE NEVER DIES. IF ANYTHING NEEDS TO DIE… IT'S ALW! (Except then PoTo couldn't have happened. Wait… he could make PoTo, and THEN die.)
My Sincerest Regards,
-Almost Novi
Christine Daae was quite excited for Saint Valentine's Day. Though she enjoyed all of the other holidays, ever since her dear Papa's passing, they had been hard to celebrate. She could remember countless Christmases sitting with him while he played his violin and she caroled in operatic voice. Even meaningless holidays had been fun. The one holiday Papa had hated was Saint Valentine's Day. He'd always said it was because it was hard to celebrate without Christine's mother, but she had suspected that he found the outright sappiness of the holiday too much. While Christine had agreed with her father on almost everything, this was the one exception. She'd always loved Saint Valentine's Day more than any other holiday. From awkward childhood romances to hand-making candy, she'd always found something to do on the day. She'd always written Papa a poem about how much she loved him.
Sadly, though, most of the opera-goes and staff thought the holiday silly and childish. Everyone except for Little Giry and La Carlotta. Carlotta was always proclaiming how much she loved the holiday because of the many suitors she had. Little Giry had had her eye on a frequent opera-goer, a viscount named Raoul, for some time now, and she was absolutely positive that he would proclaim his love for her. (*Author Interruption* Yes, I ship Meg X Raoul. Why? Because I can.)
As Christine wandered through the halls of the opera, she realized that she'd been so lost in thought, she'd gotten completely, well… lost. "Hello?" she called, risking humiliation for getting lost in her own workplace. A resounding silence came back. No screeching (Ahem. I mean singing. Okay… last interruption now. I promise.) from La Carlotta, no giggling from the ballet rats, nothing. Christine looked around. She wasn't quite sure where she had come from. The ceiling seemed a bit lower than usual here, but the walls were all the same, and there were no doors that she could see. She wasn't quite scared, per se, but definitely lost… and quite confused. She tried to call out again: "Meg! Raoul!" She even tried crying: "La Carlotta?" Admittedly, this cry was much quieter than the others, and more questioning than her calls for Meg and the viscount. She knew that if the toady prima donna found her, lost and wandering the halls of the Paris Opera, she'd never hear the end of it. She sighed. I may as well sit here for a while, the young woman thought. Maybe someone will find me.
She sank down to the floor and leaned against the wall. It was mellow yellowish color, sort of like a bee's wax candle. She smiled as she remembered Papa lighting candles one Christmas…
Christine, aged ten, pranced around her tiny cottage, singing out Christmas carols on constant repeat in a voice that was surprisingly great for such a tiny child. "These three kings of orient are-" she sang for the sixth time in a row. Even though she had a beautiful voice, her father was getting tired of the song.
The older man grinned and grabbed his daughter, swinging her over his shoulder. She squealed and beat her fists against his back softly so he knew she was joking. "Sing something else!" her father moaned dramatically. "Oh, please Lady Daae! I beg of you!"
Christine giggled. "P'pa, put me down!" she squealed. Seeing she could bargain, she smiled slyly. "If you put me down, I promise I'll sing a different song."
The man sat his daughter down, kissing her on the forehead. "I was only joking, child," he smiled gently. "Sing whatever you wish."
Christine smiled blithely. "Okay, P'pa!" she said, and then proceeded on a seventh chorus.
Her father shook his head and chuckled, lighting the bee's wax candles all around the house. The small cottage was filled with the soft aroma of melting honey, and Christine stopped singing to inhale deeply. It was her favorite smell in the world, those candles. They just stated "HOME." She smiled and hugged her father, whispering, "I love you P'pa."
She didn't sing the song for the rest of the night
XXX
Erik, The Opera Ghost, The Phantom of the Opera, or The Angel of Music, whichever you preferred to call him, was wandering the halls as well. He knew no one would be down here on Saint Valentine's Day, a holiday which he loathed. All of those horribly sappy couples, squealing to each other. The ballet rats always shrieked about their latest, ah, "adventures" with their suitors, which made Erik's face (the half the rats could see) turn scarlet. He had stopped keeping their company a long while ago. One of the more bearable ones, Little Giry, had had her eye on the Vicomte de Chagny for a long while now, which helped Erik considerably. He knew that if Little Giry wasn't so busy wooing the fop, he'd have swept his Christine off her feet many months ago. He was quite thankful for the girl, and made it known by not dropping a single set piece on her or her mother for three months now.
The Phantom had been so deep in thought that he didn't notice the sleeping Christine until he tripped over her. She had been slumped against the wall, her head hanging from her neck, her chin almost touching her chest. Her legs had been sticking out at unseemly positions, and that was how the infamous Opera Ghost had tripped and fell, sprawling on the floor, cracking his chin, and ended up uncomfortably draped over her legs. The first thing out of his mouth was, "OW!"
Christine jerked awake and couldn't help but laugh. Her Angel's hat had skidded about eight feet away, looking like a shot bird. "You tripped over me?" Christine giggled.
Erik finally pulled himself together and remembered that he was lying across the legs of the love of his life. His face burned and he quickly stood up. "I apologize," he said stiffly.
"Angel!" Christine squealed. "You're bleeding!" It was true; when his chin had crashed into the floor, he had hit a rough edge and scraped it quite badly. "Bleeding on Saint Valentine's Day," she added, almost as an afterthought. "A shame. If I knew where I was and how to get out, I would lead you to somewhere where we could get bandages."
Erik cracked a small smile. "Erik assures you he is fine," he said, referring to himself in the third person the way Christine liked. She had once said that it made her laugh, the way he seemed so uncomfortable around her. He was right; she giggled despite her concern. "You say you are lost?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. Of course, Christine could only see one eyebrow, but that was beside the point.
She shrugged. "I seemed to have lost my way," she said carefully, knowing that Erik could be in good spirits with her one minute, and then scolding her for being stupid and childish the next. Especially in situations like these. "I was lost in thought."
"And dreams as well," Erik said with a gentle smile.
Christine inwardly gave a sigh of relief. He was being gentle, which was a good thing. "I suppose," she giggled, embarrassed. "I fell asleep." She looked up at Erik. "Why are you all alone on Saint Valentine's Day?" she asked softly. What have I done? she cursed herself. Of course he would be alone! He even hides his face from ME. Why would he alone?! Why did I just ask that? Deep inside, a tiny voice whispered "Because you want to spend it with him."
Erik's gaze hardened. "Foolish child," he spat, angered. "I despise the holiday. It is for children and dreamers. I am not a child, and I have no dreams!" Except to be with you…
"No dreams?" Christine asked quietly, secretly barbed by each and every word. "How can you have no dreams, Angel of Music?" She tried the term of endearment to see if it would soften him a bit.
It worked. He sank down the wall and sat next to her cautiously. "I was never allowed dreams, my Angel. When one's love comes from a mother who refuses to look at you or a whip from a cruel ring man, you learn very fast that dreams are foolish things."
Christine gulped and put her hand on top of Erik's. She waited for him to rip his hand away and stalk off, but he didn't. All he said was: "What are your dreams, Angel?"
"I would like to be a singer and an actress," Christine babbled happily. "I'd like to be famous, to make P'pa proud. I would like to get a lead role now and again."
The Phantom smiled a pained smile. "Anything else?" he pressed.
"There is a man I long to be with," Christine sighed. " Though he treats me as if I am an incompetent child sometimes, and as if I were a delicate flower other times. I'm not sure what he thinks of me."
Erik immediately knew that the man was himself. He brightened. How could she love a monster like me? "I'm sure the man thinks of you lovingly," he said. "But he also wonders if you love him. Are you afraid of him? Do you think I –er… he – would hurt you?"
"No," Christine answered honestly. Erik had never struck her. Sometimes he threatened to strike out of anger or exasperation, but he had never hurt her on purpose. She smiled, glad that Erik knew of her affections for him, and even seemed to return them. She was happy to play this game of third person with Erik. "I don't think he would ever hurt me. I think he has been hurt by others many times, and he does not know how to care for others, but he is learning. I think he's a very lonely man."
"He is," Erik agreed. "I'm sure he would be very happy to have someone like you."
Christine turned to look at him. "Would he?" she asked quietly as Erik pressed his hand into the back of her brown ringlets.
"Yes," Erik said. When their lips met, it was bliss.
XXX
Meanwhile, three floors above the mismatched pair of lovers, Little Giry was doing some wooing of her own. The Vicomte de Chagny was right in front of her, and she knew if she didn't say something, her chance would slip away. She took a deep breath and called, "Raoul!" Her voice hitched and squeaked. She then realized that she had said this so loudly that the entire cast had turned to look at her. She flushed bright red.
La Carlotta frowned and screeched, "BE QUIET, MEG GIRY! I AM TRYING TO REHEARSE!"
Meg wanted to sink below the opera house and drown in the Phantom's subterranean lake, she was so embarrassed. The Vicomte de Chagny looked up and smiled, beckoning her to him. She slunk over to the man, her cheeks still burning. "Hello, Christine!" Raoul said with a bright smile. "Happy Saint Valentine's Day!"
"I return the sentiment," Meg mumbled.
Raoul's eyes twinkled. "What's wrong, Little Giry?" he teased. "Most fifteen-year-old girls enjoy this holiday. You seem especially glum."
"I'm not glum!" Meg snapped in a pouty manner. "And I can assure you, m'sieur, I'm far more mature than your average fifteen-year-old."
"Oh?" Raoul challenged. "Then where is your husband, Miss Giry? Don't most "mature" girls have spouses?" He winked a chocolate-brown eye, and Meg nearly melted.
"I… I'm much too young to be thinking about spouses, Vicomte!" Meg shrieked, tugging the ends of the blonde hair nervously.
Raoul frowned. "Too bad, Little Giry. I'm sure you'd make a lovely bride. You are quite young, but any man would be lucky to have you."
Meg was pretty sure she knew where this was going. And she was quite happy about it. "Even you, M'sieur Vicomte?" she asked innocently.
"Even me," Raoul murmured, leaning forward to kiss the blonde-haired ballet rat.
Meg let out a muffled "MMMF!" It was loud enough that the entire cast looked over to see the two in a passionate embrace. There were gasps from around the entire theatre. Finally, Meg pulled away. The first thing she uttered was: "W-wow." Then she added, "Does this mean we're getting married?" The expression on her face was blank, struck dumb.
Raoul nodded like a happy puppy. "We're getting married!" he cried loudly, ignoring the cries from the ballet rats.
Just then, Madame Giry marched towards the happy couple. She grabbed Meg by the shoulders and shook the girl hard. "You are fifteen years old, child!" she shrieked. "Engaged to an older man?!"
Meg was confused at what at just happened. She had been innocently flirting with the Viscount, and… now she was his fiancée? Why did he seem so happy about it? Why was Mama shrieking? "What just happened?" the dazed girl asked.
Raoul ignored her question and put an arm around her, glaring at Madame Giry. "She is my fiancée, Madame," he said curtly. "I do believe that puts her in my keeping."
Madame Giry couldn't argue with that.
Well? *Squees* What do you think? What do you think? Love it? Hate it? PLEASE REVIEW! ^^