15 years passed and Madeleine was no less entranced by the music. So much so she now kept a piano in her room, so that she might hear it every day. She had begun to learn to play on her 16th birthday. Her aunt had sat her one night by her side on the piano bench. As Madeleine had opened her mouth to request the piece, Aunt Stephanie had instead placed her hands on the correct keys and quietly instructed her where to play. The young girl would retire to bed every night, softly humming the melodies even in sleep. Her dreams were filled with dancing figures in a ballroom in flames; and her mind never wondered far from the Opéra Populaire and the scarred figure that reigned over it. Christine's diary became her favourite bedtime story and the Phantom a compelling fascination.
"Madeleine. For just one day, may we please have, just an hour free of that GODFORSAKEN MUSIC!" Gabrielle yelled from her bedroom opposite.
"Leave her be Gabrielle…" A soft voice began,
"But must she practice every day, Aunt Stephanie?" whined Gabrielle.
"It is no crime! I don't often hear Madeleine or Josephine complain of your repetitious vocal practices my dear!" Stephanie winked at her shocked niece and crossed the dimly lit hall to Madeleine's room. A young, pale woman glanced up from a piano, her fingers still resting on the keys and the ghost of her last note fading into nothing. Stephanie nudged her up the piano bench and sat beside her. The pair heard a muttered, "clearly my vocal practises aren't worthy of complaint then…" before the heavy, rustic door clicked shut.
"However much I enjoy your enthusiasm for your piano, child, Gabrielle may have something of a point. You are spending far too much time alone here, Madeleine…it worries me." Aunt Stephanie stroked the girl's pale cheek tenderly. She waited a moment but Madeleine said nothing. She lowered her head until her soft, brown curls curtained it from Stephanie's gaze. Aunt Stephanie tucked an aged finger under her niece's chin and raised it gently. "Why is it Madeleine? Hmm? Why do you lock yourself up in this godforsaken room all the time? Perhaps the piano was a bad idea…" Stephanie mused, stroking it absent-mindedly. Madeleine's dark eyes flickered up swiftly into the worried face of her aunt. She sighed.
"No Aunty. It wasn't." She paused, letting her fingers drop from the piano keys; her aunt raised an immaculate eyebrow. Madeleine laughed softly. An easy laugh that for a moment quieted the fear in Aunt Stephanie's eyes. "Honestly Aunty I enjoy my solitude! It is nothing more sinister than that." Aunt Stephanie laughed. Solitude. That was where you could guarantee to find her eldest niece. She was quite different from her sisters in that sense. She was a child that was content with her own mind and company; who could amuse herself with no words other than those found in the stacks of books that plagued her bedroom. But the girl worried her. Every book, every newspaper scrap and every photograph concerned in some way or another the history of the Opéra Populaire, or of her great grandmother, or indeed the "Phantom".
"It isn't your solitude that concerns me dear, more the company you keep in it." She gestured to the mess around her niece warily.
"What these? Oh it is just a hobby Aunty, I enjoy history is all." Madeleine replied, retuning her gaze to her now clasped hands resting in her lap.
"A little too much I fear. We barely see you child! You spend all your days in this room locked away with your music and your history and quite frankly it's becoming unhealthy!"
"If this is about the piano I'll tell you Aunty that you know I love the music and I may play often, but I don't care. I do not care what Gabrielle says either." Madeleine scowled, unaware of her clenched fist and even less aware of the concerned expression her aunt wore. Aunt Stephanie reached for Madeleine's hand and gently unfurled her fingers, grasping them firmly.
"Madeleine this is NOT about the piano, or your sister. It is about this obsession! You must realise it's getting out of hand." Madeleine winced. It was not the first time her Aunt had questioned her interest in her great grandmother, but it was the first time she had accused that interest of become obsessive. It hurt Madeleine greatly. After all, her Aunt had introduced the girl to the stories, raised her on them, shared a passion for the Phantom of the Opera, and supported that passion for years. She was the only woman that allowed her to be strange. It was no mystery to Madeleine that neither of her sisters obsessed over anything in particular. They didn't read half as many books as Madeleine did, their musical tastes were modern, extending far beyond the few pieces found in Christine Daae's memoires. They attended parties, they had friends…and Madeleine had no interest in these things. No interest in anything but her indescribable pull to the Opéra Populaire, a pull that had existed and strengthened ever since she first heard that music, to the point where Madeleine had sometimes caught herself questioning her own sanity. No, she was no stranger to her own strangeness but she was unused to such harsh criticism of it.
"They never found him aunty…" she whispered.
"Erik, again Madeleine?!" Her Aunt interrupted. Madeleine jumped.
"Oh it is simple curiosity Aunt Stephanie."
"Curiosity is a dangerous thing Madeleine, look at Christine! You know her better than you know yourself, how did curiosity work out for Christine Daae, hmm?! It drove her mad, Madeleine! She would disappear for days and come back in her trances murmuring every time about 'angels' or 'phantoms'. Does that remind you of anyone?" Madeleine frowned, frustration and hurt seeping into her voice,
"It is NOT the same Aunt Stephanie. I don't hear voices in my head like your grandmother did. And I am most certainly NOT mad. And you talk as though the stories aren't true. You read them to me. You told me about the Phantom of the Opera! And now you call it madness, you told me you believed in it all!"
"There was a time, years ago when I told you a story, a story, Madeleine. Your great grandmother wrote that she had two lovers, and that she did choose Raoul. But there was never any proof of any Phantom. A man named Erik may have existed a long time ago but the mystery of the "Phantom of the Opera" has long since died unanswered. It is nonsense to dwell on such fantasy and Christine Daae is proof that I speak the truth. The Phantom of the Opera was a fairy tale I told to three little girls 15 years ago." Aunt Stephanie rose to her feet and wondered toward the wooden door of the bedroom.
"Aunty?" Madeleine's soft voice cracked as the tears started. Stephanie turned to face her niece, and her stern face crumpled into sympathy. She could not recall ever seeing Madeleine Beckett cry, in all the years she had cared for her.
"Oh Madeleine," she sighed, and started back towards her niece. Madeleine shook her head.
"Oh this is so silly," Madeleine laughed uncertainly through the tears. 'But…" she paused, ordering her thoughts carefully. "I can't do this. I can't stay here disappointing you like this." Her voice rose barely above a whisper.
"How can you say that?" Aunt Stephanie gasped, her eyes wide. It caught the aged woman quite off guard. Stephanie prided herself on being a woman without prejudice, and that included her nieces. No one could accuse her of favouritism (despite Gabrielle's predictable mutterings about injustice and bias whenever her Aunt disciplined her for anything); but she had always felt a closeness to her eldest niece. There was something about her philosophical, dreamlike nature that struck a chord with Aunt Stephanie. Of course, Madeleine could be rather intense, and although she loved the quiet, imaginative world Madeleine had created for herself, as a guardian she understood its danger. She wanted to support the girl but she also knew that Madeleine had to, to put it frankly, grow up, and she had tried to encourage Madeleine to forget the Opéra Populaire and it's stories, or at the very least take them a little less seriously. But to hear her niece talk of 'disappointing' her aunt, made Stephanie feel very much like she'd failed her. And that was unacceptable.
"I look at Josephine and Gabrielle and all the other people on the streets outside my window doing normal things. Things I can't even bear to think about. There's no room for it Aunty! My head is just filled with it all, and there's this awful feeling in my stomach, like there's something I've forgotten, or someplace I should be. This constant impatience and unrest that doesn't leave room for anything else and I just can't stand it! You may even be right! Maybe I'm mad. I don't know, I just can't bear it! Everywhere I go, anything I do, it just won't stop. These thoughts and questions and feelings, they just won't GO AWAY." Madeleine trembled and allowed the tears to fall fast and fierce.
Stephanie stood speechless; gaping at the woman standing before her; so Christine-like it was barely believable.
"Madeleine. I think you should go." She said, her eyes on the ground. Madeleine chocked.
"You-you're sending me away?" She whispered. "You really do think I'm crazy don't you?"
"Don't speak nonsense child." Aunt Stephanie snapped, "I think you ought to go to the Opéra Populaire. You need to get this 'unrest' out of your system because I certainly can't stand to see you like this anymore. You should have told me these stories were getting too much for you, I would have put a stop to them sooner or else put you in a damn car to the Opéra Populaire myself."