Disclaimer: Obviously, I am not Gaston Levoux. Nor Andrew Lloyd Webber. Thus, I do not own Erik or any of the Phantom of the Opera. (Sadly..)
A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed chapter 1!
I love you all. XD I'll try my best to not dissapoint. ;) also, about
the grammar thing - I know, everytime I go back and read chapter one I
always find one more mistake I missed while editing it (Which I swear I
did at LEAST 10 times.) I'll try my best to avoid that, but it seems to
always be my curse when I write. Thanks again to all those who reviewed!
Chapter 2:
Lattice and Lace
The loud knock at the door stirred Christine from her sleep on the luxuriously plush loveseat set in her large room. The light that shone through the white lace curtains caused her to squint her eyes and she wondered how long she had been asleep.
She recalled returning home the evening before and retiring to her room rather early. She found a book half open atop her ruffled bodice, a thin hand still resting over the hard cover. She remembered she had sat down to read and must have fallen asleep, unknowing of how very tired she had really been.
Another knock from the front door brought her from her thoughts and she stood quickly to straighten herself out, in case it were a caller there to see her. Unlikely as it was. She moved to the armoire and pulled out a lavender dress so light it was nearly white. It was one of the many gifts given to her by Raoul since her arrival to his flat, and was most definitely one of her favorite gowns. The man really was very sweet..
With a little help from a maid, she put herself into a corset and slipped the gown on over her undergarments. She felt like a doll every time she was forced into this uncomfortable attire. Forced to wear what is found to be "proper", no matter the circumstances.
"There is someone here to see you, Mademoiselle Daaé." A young maid came to the door, speaking with a timid voice and bow, her eyes set on the ground shyly. Christine smiled and nodded to her, letting out a little squeak as the older, more scruff maid ruthlessly tightened the back of her lavender dress. "T-Thank you.. Um." She paused, giving the girl an inquisitive gaze, she had been in the house for nearly half a year, and still had not been able to learn all the names of the many helping hands that made up the Vicomte's home.
"Eliza." The girl piped.
"Thank you Eliza." She let out a slight sigh of relief as the dressing was finished and she picked up a small, lace fan from her vanity, proceeding to the first floor without another word.
Who would be coming to see her? She was so used to company always being for her Vicomte. But he was far from Paris right now. Christine could not help but feel at times that she had disappeared from the face of the earth to all who had once known her. Raoul just overshadowed her so much since her seemingly permanent retire from the Opera.. Though it had been greatly against her wishes.
She glided down the steps, toward the front doors, but stopped with a shocked gasp at who she saw standing in that doorway.
"Hello Christine.." Meg Giry spoke warmly to her long-time friend, a weary smile worn on her small, delicate face.
"Meg!" Christine exclaimed throwing her arms out to embrace her friend, forgetting all the good manners of a soon-to-be-countess. "I have missed you so much!"
Meg laughed and returned the embrace happily. "I have missed you too, Christine. Everyone has." Christine smiled at the thought of all her friends from the Opera, so they still thought about her.. But just as she was about to ask her friend about Mme Giry and the others, Meg interrupted her.
"But that's not why I'm here, Christine."
It was then that young miss Daaé noticed the single, withered rose she held in her petite hands - a black velvet ribbon tied about its green stem.
-
Meg told her all about cleaning up after the accident, and that for awhile there was question that the Opera could even be used again. Finally they had been able to move the shattered chandelier out of the audience seating and had repaired much of the damage that had been caused. Though there was still much damage left from the fire and much more renovating was needed. Many of the workers still wondered if they would be able to repair a gaping hole that had been burned in the center of the stage.
9;
All the while, there had been no sign nor sound of the Opera Ghost. Many believed he had died that night in the cellars. Possibly, he had been caught in a fire, or had even committed suicide to avoid being caught.. Or for other reasons. Mme Giry refused to acknowledge him or the strange happenings before that night ever since Christine's final performance.
Christine turned the rose over in her hands, many of Meg's words going in one ear and out the other. Until, that is, at the mention of the infamous Opera Ghost who had once plagued her dreams so long ago.
Meg paused a moment between words, her eyes drifting to the rose that Christine held in her hands. "Christine.. I found that rose in your dressing room the night of Don Juan Triumphant. It was after you and Raoul had gone, and the fire had been extinguished.." She seemed to hesitate, as if afraid to mar her friend's emotions. "No one ever told me who those roses were from- But that night, I just knew. I know this may be hard.. But who was he Christine? What happened all those nights? I just.. Need to know."
Her eyes remained static on the blackened petals, and Christine's whole form seemed to become as motionless as the marble pillar she sat next to. Like a petrified rabbit ready to run, she remained still. She was shocked at the sudden flurry of questions. She didn't want to speak of it, she never did. She only wanted to forget those nights, but she felt as though she owed an explanation to her closest, and dearest friend.
"I suppose.." She began, "He was.. A piteous murderer with a hopeless obsession.."
"An obsession for you." The pieces were slowly beginning to come together for the girl formerly known as Little Meg. She had only known small parts of what had happened, and hoped to find the missing pieces that left her in such puzzlement. There seemed to be a sort of sadness that overcame the young girl as she spoke the next few words. "And he loved you… Did he? Mama said so when I asked her.. And she would tell me nothing more."
Her friend did not nod, her eyes slowly climbing upwards to Meg's pale face. "But it is over now. He is gone." She surmised quickly. By looking at Meg's face, she realized how hard the past several months must have really been. She appeared as though she had matured much over six months, and small bags under her eyes were beginning to show.. She needed sleep. "Perhaps we should speak another time.. You look exhausted dear Meg." Christine stood, relieved for the change of subject but was soon drawn back as Meg just gazed at her through her brown eyes.
"Did you love him? Did you love him in return Christine?" She asked this in a way as if Christine were a little girl who had stolen cookies from the cookie jar.
The hard stare from Meg startled and worried Christine, and all words seemed to escape her.