Yes, well Hello. I am Authoress. I won't have an author's note for every chapter… probably just a quick hello… but since this is the first chapter I figure there are some important things I should state.
First: I love The Phantom of the Opera and all things related… including books, the musical, and several of the other movies. Of course my preference for pairings is E/C… I wouldn't have it any other way although Raoul really isn't a bad guy. This is a modern story, which will take place in this year. My writing style is kind of funky… and at first the story may be a bit confusing and perhaps a bit slow… but I urge you to continue reading! I love phantom and I love writing so it's a perfect mix! I only wish to please! And to receive reviews!
My characters may be OOC but mostly I like to keep them in character. (I try). My Erik will undoubtedly be a bit OOC for reasons that shall be explained in the story! Anyways…. If anyway of you actually bothered to read that…!
Without further ado, Here Is My Story:
"You are a very smart child." He looked down upon the boy who sat next to him near the violin. "You will amount to great things."
The boy looked up at him with wisdom beyond his years. "That's not what she says. And isn't she supposed to say that? Isn't she?"
"Perhaps." The man said thoughtfully. "But I am telling you that you will bring the world to its feet one day. You are- for lack of a better word- a genius."
The boy's face twisted into a strange smile. "I'd love to spread my- as you put it- genius. I'd teach the world—" the boy's smile faded "I'd teach the world if they'd let me."
The man, not stupid himself, caught the underlying sadness etched into the child's words. "I believe you would Erik. I believe you would."
Concord, New Hampshire, 2000
Christine Daae looked fondly at her piano. Here, glowing softly in the candlelight, who would have noticed the blood? Who would have seen the knife hilt, its cold hard surface forever tainting the innocent piano? Christine inched forward, her candle wavering slightly as her ragged breath passed it in short bouts.
There. It was hard to see in the lighting; perhaps that's why she did it. There, tarnishing the beautiful ivory keys, the crimson blood shone darkly. Christine cringed. Why? Why destroy something so innocent with something so dark, so incredibly wrong?
Christine called out into the night, "Why?" And there was no answer but her own anguished echo. Of course the room had perfect acoustics. Christine took one last forlorn look at the ruined piano before blowing out her candle.
A soft 'whoosh' left Christine in complete darkness. It enfolded her, surrounded her in a billowy blanket of blind trust. She didn't trust the dark at all. But for now, it protected her. Tears began to fall down her face, tracing small lines of day-old mascara down her pale face.
She mourned the death of innocence- the death of music. The piano- her sweet, blameless, pure piano. It was tainted forever. Her music was dirty- it had blood on it. Yes, the piano could be washed off; it could be polished so it would look as good as new. But Christine knew- the piano's soul was diminished, once part of the darkness, there's no returning- and she grieved.
6 Years Later Carmel, California"Chrissie! Chrissie! Get down here right now!"
I leaned over the banister. Below me, Meg was attempting to calm Shadow. It was a lost cause. Shadow has always been a lively dog- he was currently jumping at the walls, trying to catch the moving lights splayed against them by the ocean's waves. I couldn't resist smirking as I leaned against the top of the staircase.
Meg glared up at me. "You're not going to help me are you?"
"No." I descended the stairs. "We agreed. He is your dog."
"Yes, but-" Shadow jumped at Meg and nearly knocked her over. I raised an eyebrow. "But-" Meg sputtered helplessly, "You named him!"
I sighed, shook my head, and laid a tentative hand on the dog's head.
"Very observant of you Meg." I said, and the dog let out a small yelp before settling into my embrace. I had indeed named him. It had seemed so appropriate when I had first seen the puppy, his fur silky black and his spots a murky gray.
"But if I remember, you were the one who wanted a pet."
"Yeah… but you don't have to be so detached about it. See, he likes you!"
"Yes." I said absently, before scooping Shadow into my arms and carrying him over to his basket. It wasn't that I didn't want to take care of her pet. It was just that- Shadow was her pet and I didn't want to taint him. God knows I've done enough of that already.
"Chrissie!" I cringed as Meg's voice adopted a whine. "You know you love Shadow! Why don't you ever help me with him?"
"Because he's yours." I strolled into the kitchen. "What would you like for dinner?" I asked, pulling on one of the few aprons I had left lying around.
"Chrissie-"
"I could make pasta, unless you want something else. Stir fry maybe?"
Meg glared at me for a second before sinking down into one of the fashionable wooden chairs at the dining table. "Yes fine." She said dejectedly. "Pasta. But we're not done with this conversation."
"There's nothing else to discuss Meg." I said, placing the pot of water on the stove. I turned to face her. "Shadow is-"
"My pet." She said, nodding, "and this is my house. And I let you live here because you are my best friend and I love you. And as long as you live here, Shadow is your family also."
I turned from her and busied myself with opening to box of pasta. Family, she had said. What a strange word. It sounded funny on my tongue. What family did I have? Did she want to include me in that sacred word? A family?
"Thank you Meg," I poured the pasta into the boiling water and added a few of my favorite spices. Family.
I didn't quite believe her. But at the moment, it was the most delicious lie I had ever heard. And I ate it greedily.
After dinner, Meg retired to her room, and I wandered out into the living room where Shadow slept.
"Family." I whispered into the room, and the only response I heard was the lapping of the ocean a few blocks away. I looked out the window. I hadn't seen the ocean for a while.
"Meg!" I called upstairs. I heard a muffled grunt of a reply. "I'm going out."
I grabbed a windbreaker from the hook near the door and slammed it shut behind me.
The wind hit me before I expected it. It was cold, and the sun had already set behind the waves. I started down the stairs of Meg's house and made my way down the avenue towards the ocean. Stars were just starting to glitter above me, and the moon had already taken her seat at her throne. Darkness was just beginning to settle around me, and I couldn't help the memories that started to resurface.
I had found him in the music room. He was still, his back was turned to me, but then, at 15, I still been so naïve. I hadn't thought anything of it. I called his name, and he didn't answer. I figured he must have been sleeping.
I never understood why my father had been murdered. He had been a violinist. He had never dealt with drugs or liquor or done anything to anger anyone. The murderer was never caught. The police said there were no fingerprints left on the knife. When I had moved, they asked if I wanted to take the piano with me.
I left it there, along with my soul. My music had left me that night my father had been killed. He had been the only one to ever accept me. It had been that year, when I was 15, that I had first met Richard, and I first discovered how evil human beings could be. My dad had helped me through it. After the fire, he had been my only friend. He had accepted me. He knew that I was still the same, even if I didn't look it.
So I had taken his violin with me in my wild flee across the country, my desperate attempt to forget and move on. And I found myself in California, and then I began high school and rented a small apartment with the money my dad had left me. I knew exactly where his violin and his music were; locked in the closet I never dared open. I couldn't face music. I couldn't see that violin, so innocently lying there, knowing that I had betrayed me father, and my very soul.
And then there was the ever-present Erik. He had become almost like a myth, a god almost. My father would always mention Erik, his prized student, the genius of music. My father would tell me stories about him until my head would spin, and I would build up a picture of this Erik, this perfect man. My father believed in Erik. He told me that if I ever needed help, if I was ever alone, that I should search out Erik, and he would help me. My father said he would understand. I didn't believe that. I didn't know if Erik even existed, and if he did, I doubted that he would remember the time he spent with Gustave Daae.
I looked out upon the rolling waves of the ocean. Nighttime wasn't so bad. Here, in the dark, people couldn't see me. If they knew I was here, I was simply a girl, yearning to be accepted, searching for the music I knew I had lost forever. I took off one shoe and sank down onto the beach, savoring the feeling of the cool sand underneath my feet.
I sometimes came off as cynical, that I knew. And now, at 21 years old, I had a business going. I was the head of my department at the contracting company, where I had met Meg six years ago, and she had offered to take me in. I knew that she was one of the few good people left in the world.
Still, she had never seen all of me. I don't think I'll ever show anyone again.
