Chapter 1
A New Home
Notes: Hello everyone, and welcome to A Night in the Opera House. Starting on 11/08/16, I will try to update regularly - I am shooting for every Saturday, though chapter 7 should be coming out earlier this week. Reviews are welcome, and I hope you all enjoy the first chapter!
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or story for the Phantom of the Opera, but the fanfiction below is from my imagination.
A young girl craned her head upwards to take in the looming building. Her chestnut curls bounced along her back as she walked at a brisk pace to an enormous stone staircase. Her youthful face drew down into a frown, with her eyebrows shifted together, creasing her forehead.
"Madame Giry?" The girl whirled her head around as she said this, searching for the stranger that whisked her away from her home. Her gray dress hung from her bony frame, and the skirts flew up with her sudden movement.
"Yes, Christine. Follow me." Madame Giry said. Her tone was that of the exhausted part. Christine noted her raven black dress was fitted tightly around her waist, expanding outward from her hips down. Madame Giry started climbing the steps, and Christine followed. Giry had her graying light brown hair tucked into a bun, not a strand out of line.
The doors to the building were made of solid oak, and they swung open with an undeniable grace. Christine marveled at them, and was almost left behind before the woman with the bun shouted for her from the inside.
"Christine, welcome to the Palais Garnier." Madame Giry said. "Your new home."
Erik watched from behind a painting as a girl came into the opera house. He gasped in surprise when he saw her, but quickly recovered and chided himself for his mistake. No one seemed to notice his obnoxious sound. The woman in black that worked in the opera house talked to the brown-haired girl about the history of the large building. When the girl left the room, Eric silently slid down the wall behind him. He look around himself. This is no place for me to live, he thought to himself. Inside the wall, the dank ceiling was low, almost to the point where he could touch it with his hand. The walls were a dark, washed out gray, and the smell of mildew was almost too much for him to bear.
"But similar to what I said earlier Christine, if you wish to leave once you come to the age of eighteen, you are allowed." Erik faintly heard the woman say. He stood up, and looked through a small hole embedded into the wall and through the painting. He watched the girl's delicate movements. She wore a plain gray dress, with no embellishments. Her light brown eyes scanned the room, and it locked on the painting that he looked through. Automatically, his hand flew to his face to cover it, forgetting for a second that she could not see him. Her full lips were a plush pink, complimenting her graceful cheekbones. Ringlets cascaded down her shoulders to mid-back. His lips slightly parted, and he immediately had the urge to talk to her. Before he could, he tore himself away from the hole, and took off running through the small space.
After descending several staircases and ramps, Erik found came to a lone boat floating in gray murky water. He took a long paddle and started repeating the motion of raising and moving the paddle through the water, and eventually came into a small clearing. Music sheets were spread near and far, and a lone organ stood in all of its majesty in a far corner of his so-called "room".
Erik exited the boat, and immediately after stepping foot on ground, a wave of exhaustion settled over him like clouds on a stormy day. He walked through the stone cavern coming to a translucent midnight blue curtain. He reached his hand out and drew it back, revealing a circular bed shallowly sitting on the ground. Erik's heart filled with a sadness, and a longing that he could not place as he slipped out of his ratty shoes and hopped into the bed. He covered himself with a single frayed blanket he stole from the freak show. He curled up in it, shivering slightly, and while he slowly drifted off to sleep, laughter filled his head. He saw himself in a cage, his music sheets covering the ground, lastly - before he slipped away into oblivion - he saw the girl in the gray dress, with the chestnut ringlets, and her delicate walk. Christine, he thought. He heard a haunting melody before everything went black.
After wandering for a few days in the Palais Garnier, Christine decided that she should stay in her room. She rather liked it, and appreciated how the soft pinks of the walls blended effortlessly with the white colours of her bed. A full length mirror stood in the corner of the room against the wall, and on most days she would stare at herself in it, just to see her father in some parts of her face. Today, however, she recognized that her heart was filled with grief. She thought about her father, before he died. His face was a pale sickly colour, and his clothes stuck to him with sweat and dirt.
"Christine, I am not leaving you." He told her. "I will come back to guide you. I will not leave you alone. You must continue to sing Christine. I will help you. I will be your angel of music." The last words barely escaped his lips before his bony hand that had been gripping hers so tightly went slack.
As she cried and screamed, her maid Veronica took her to another room while the doctors removed his body. Veronica held her close, and slowly, Christine's gasps and cries became only faint whispers, cutting through the silence of the stale air.
Christine did not like to think of that moment too much. Although it had happened recently, the memory always led her to break down sobbing. Angel of music? She always thought. What does that mean? But today, she decided to pray instead of let sorrow control her.
"Father, I miss you dearly, and do not know what to do since you are gone. Please, help me. Be…" she hesitated for a second before continuing. "Be my angel of music." Her last words resonated through the quietness of the room.
Erik waited for Christine to continue with her prayer, but she never did. He felt a great sadness for her, one he did not understand. He watched her sheepishly stand up and go to lie down on her bed, throwing her hands over her eyes. She sobbed, crying out to anyone, pleading for them to help her. Erik wanted to jump right through the wall - to hug her and tell her that it would be alright. He was unfamiliar with these feelings, but he felt them all of the same.
He listened to her whimper for a while before coming to a decision- a risky one, no doubt. He moved to a patch of wall where he could not see her but he could hear her whimpers become louder. He placed his hand on the wall and spoke.
"Christine…" Erik said in the most soothing voice he could muster, but it cracked on the way out. He shifted, and cleared his throat. He heard Christine sit up rapidly.
"Who is there?" She strained. He voice was shaken with fear.
"Do not be afraid. It is your father."
"Father? Is that really you?" Her voice was so filled with hope that he felt the smallest amount of guilt for lying to her like this.
"Yes. I am your father. I told you I would come back to you. I love you. I am your angel of music."