FINAL
I
**I decided to write my own story about "The Phantom Of The Opera". Reading it's title you will already be able to guess what it is about. It is my version of the end – I promise not to be too boring, as I am of course not the first to do this task. I am sure there are also more exceptional solutions to do it, but in the beginning one can never know what comes out in the end, right? Every writer knows that – and there is another thing that every writer knows also – being blocked. Lately I am blocked very often and that is part of the reason, why I try to write this story. There seem to be many people out there who want to read phantom-phictions and so I simply thought, that getting replies of people who read my story would cheer up my self-esteem. I'll only make it short, I plan three chapters. And the fact that I already know the plot and the characters, and don't have to come up with them on my own, can be seen as an advantage – the secret is how to make the slight changes that make it worth reading.
And now after this long introduction I hope you won't already be bored enough to decide not to read my story. Here it is ... ***
Christine was prepared. Prepared and ready for everything, Erik would like her to do. She had decided to follow him everywhere, and be it into this dark cold cellar that he seemed to call his home. Why not? Actually she would be pretty thankful, in case he really wanted her to stay with him for the rest of their days. More closely considered it didn't disturb her very much, that she would have to stay down there without sun and without ever seeing a living soul again, but Erik.
For such a long time she had already known, that she was not made for living in this world. But where else? She had told herself, that it could not be. There was only this world and this life to live in. She had to take this one with all it's troubles and discomforts, as everyone else did, or take nothing, give up this life – without anything instead. She had often wondered what it could be, that made others hold on. Were they so much different from her? So much harder and stronger? She was not like all the others. And then sometimes she found herself trying too much to be like them. She tried just to do what was expected from her, just not to attract anyone's attention – except when being on stage.
But Erik gave her the feeling that the way she was, it was perfectly right – as long as she sang perfectly right .... But she wanted to sing, had always wanted. Only people had made her forget how much joy she once had had with it – and her father's death.
"Father?" she said and looked at her reflection in her dressing-room- mirror, as if she could see him there. "You would be proud of me!" she continued aloud and added in her toughts "I am in love with the angel of music." She knew, she could never be sure whether she was alone or not here in her dressing-room.
The look of her eyes fell on a bunch of roses lying on her table. From Raoul. He sent roses every day. This ones had come this morning. Now it was short before the evening performance of "Faust" and she still had not watered them. She had not even dared to touch them. The poor heads of the flowers were hanging down sadly.
She stared at them very long. No, it didn't harm her to look at them. She didn't love Raoul. She told herself that again and again. She had only loved him for the sake of old childhood memories. There was no need to feel bad because of him. She would stay with Erik. Raoul would go to the north- pole, where he would forget her. And she would forget him. When being with Erik she had never been missing Raoul. It was an excellent solution. It had to work.
She put on her costume. She was going to be Marguerite, because "La Carlotta" had a rather tricky problem with her voice lately. It had started that night when this embarrassing thing had happened to her. Somehow Christine felt awkward herself, when remembering. If she only knew why. Probably every vocalist would, because of being afraid that this could also happen to her, but there was also another thing, it had to do with Erik. She didn't want him to make bad things happen to other people because of her. That was what scared her when thinking of him. What would he do next? She wondered. What were the things she didn't know? Soon that would not be necessary anymore. She would be with him and sing for him all the time. And she would never make him angry. She would try to please him and to always obey to what he told her to do. Everything would be easier then. There wouldn't be any decisions to be made. He would make them for her. But what would there be to decide anyway. Nothing would disturb them. All she would be doing would be to make him happy.
Well, maybe not everything would be quite as predictable. Erik was not predictable. He had moods - sometimes so scary. She would get used to this moods as she would get used to his face. Maybe she would find it beautiful someday. She decided to find it beautiful. What was an ugly face compared to his genius and his voice and his whole fascinating presence. Maybe he looked like a corpse – not only his face – but that was alright. She liked it. She herself felt like a corpse sometimes here in this city – buried alive. But he seemed so alive . Hurting words and mean treatments of people had not been able to kill him. He was strong. She knew he was and he had the right to hide after being in human company for far too long. But he should not be lonely because of that. He needed her - so much more than Raoul needed her.
She was someone for him and she was meant to stay with him. She wanted to forget everything else, she only wanted to live for Erik.
**Why shouldn't she want to go with him? Isn't that the point we all kept wondering about since we got to know the original. Please Christine, stay with Erik!!!**
***
Raoul had to stay calm. He had to seem normal and quiet. People must not call him mad. He was shivering all over. The night before he had ruined the window of his bedroom by shooting two bullets of his gun though the glass. Still no-one believed him that he had seen something very threatening outside. They all thought he was about to go crazy because of a young vocalist not replying o his love. Poor spoilt boy!
No one believed what he was trying to explain about Christine's angel of music.
"You try to find an excuse for her rejecting you." they probably thought.
The angel of music was dangerous. Didn't they believe? No ...!
"You are jealous, because she has another lover!"
The angel of music was real, and he was not an ordinary 'other lover'. And he wasn't an angel. And no ghost .... He was very human.
And he tortured Christine, threatened her , he was even more jealous. Said he wanted her because of her voice. And she was so naive to believe he was the Angel of Music that her father had promised her.. But whom could he talk to about that. Even his brother gave him only a pitiful smile, when he started to explain what it was that pained him. And this was the least. He knew he made himself impossible, when running after a girl. A singer. A mad singer. A mad singer who had another lover, and who was not at all interested in him. He wanted to stand up in his box and shout: "Christine! Please come back to me!"
But instead he hid his face behind the velvet box-curtain and tried to get control over his trembling body.
He sat on his chair in the De-Chagny-box and tried not to cry. His brother had met someone he knew in front of their box and had left him alone for a moment – no further embarrassments for now.
When his brother entered he pretended to be reading the programme, but truth was, he could not even put the words together into decent sentences.
"In the intermission I must introduce you to the Comte de Thibaud." Philippe said. Very tactful of him not to mention that it was actually the Vicomtesse de Thibaud, the Comte's sister – about three years younger than Raoul, whom Philippe wanted Raoul to know.
He smiled at his older brother: "Thank you. There is nothing I would rather like to do in the intermission."
Then he again let himself sink against the wall of the box, his face covered by the curtain. Only for a short moment – because his brother gave him a slight bump and a sharp look and so he took a more dignified position again. Staring strait ahead he started pondering again.
Well, he did not understand Christine's actions at all. There had to be a "ghost" – another one. Only that could explain at least a part of it. She had promised to marry him and then given him back the ring – just a few days ago. Then he had been drinking with his brother. Just sitting in Philippe's study, a decanter of fine cognac on the table, sipping out of crystal-glasses – none of them had said a word, and then the following night it had happened. The "ghost" that had poisoned his relationship to Christine had appeared on the veranda – in front of the bed-room – with intention to kill his rival.
Raoul had seen them – the eyes, nearly glowing in the dark. And then after the shot – the blood! One must believe him, but ......
"It was an animal. A cat maybe ...."
But he had seen it and he had felt in his bones that it was something else ....
"You were drunk, you still seem to be!"
The curtains rose – the performance began. Raoul was getting more and more fidgety. He knew that Christine "la nouvelle Marguerite" would perform. But he did not know, whether it had been really a good idea to have come watching her.
When she first appeared on the stage he believed to feel a pain like a dagger turned around in his heart. His eyes hang on her lips with every syllable she sang, and in the end he would not even have been able to tell, whether she had been singing, would not even have been able to tell, whether she had been doing good or bad. But he tried to keep the expression of his face as calm and as motionless as he could.
But was it really true that she was looking in his direction all the time? Her eyes were so distant, as if she was not even seeing him ....
He was still like paralysed, when suddenly – just like a short flash – the lights flickered – it was dark for a moment. Vanished into nothing, leaving her duet-partner alone and confused on the stage.
"Philippe!" Raoul shouted at his brother, jumping up from his seat. "Do you see that! If not I tell you! Christine is not there anymore. Do you hear that? She isn't singing anymore!"
The older one looked at him in a concerned way and his strong arms pushed Raoul gently back to his chair.
"Of course I have seen. And now please stay calm, or do you want everyone here get as nervous as you are?"
"No! That is not possible. They are not scared for Christine." He looked around quickly and den abruptly jumped up again. "I have to get her back. Or he will do something terrible to her. He won't give her back again! I know!" And before Philippe could say a thing Raoul had run away and disappeared into the crowds of people.
He ran as if it was for his life to Christine's dressing room. He knew the mirror. Through the mirror he could get into the subterranean labyrinth.
The door was open, he stormed inside and pressed his ear against the glass. No voice, he only senced the cold and smooth surface.
He pulled and pushed the frame in every possible direction, but it did not want to move. He ran against it tried everything. But nothing happened. In desperation he hit the mirror with his fists and shouted again and again her name.
Then suddenly he felt a firm grasp on his shoulder. "Not so loud!" a voice behind him whispered. The persian.
**Raoul is still the old one ... But what is going to happen? I am still not sure what part I'll let the persian play in the end of my story. It is all up to me what happens ....**
***
Someone was watching everything that was going on in the opera house in gerneral, Christine and Raoul in particular. He did it with a feeling of triumph because of being able to see everything without being seen himself – and with the bitter knowledge of the ever-present lonelyness, because of having to hide.
But that would change tonight. For one person in the world he was not a monster, not something to be ashamed of. He knew she appreciated him as a human being, as a man and as the genius that he was. And this one girl – Christine Daaé – was enough for him. He only wanted her to love him and he loved her with all of his heart. The only thing in the world he wanted was her and he would do everything he could, just to achieve this final aim, for something in him still believed that even he could maybe deserve some happiness. He had never had it, and now, after so many years the time had come also for Erik.
He had planned everything very well. He was an expert with everything concernng the construction of the stage, the lights, the whole opera house – he had constructed it. And that was useful. Only a little moment without light and "the new Marguerite" had disappeared, and while opera-goers were still shocked and paralysed he carried her through the dressing-room-mirror down to where no-one ever could take her away from him.
**Everything goes as planned. Do we want preplanned endings?**
to be continued ......
I
**I decided to write my own story about "The Phantom Of The Opera". Reading it's title you will already be able to guess what it is about. It is my version of the end – I promise not to be too boring, as I am of course not the first to do this task. I am sure there are also more exceptional solutions to do it, but in the beginning one can never know what comes out in the end, right? Every writer knows that – and there is another thing that every writer knows also – being blocked. Lately I am blocked very often and that is part of the reason, why I try to write this story. There seem to be many people out there who want to read phantom-phictions and so I simply thought, that getting replies of people who read my story would cheer up my self-esteem. I'll only make it short, I plan three chapters. And the fact that I already know the plot and the characters, and don't have to come up with them on my own, can be seen as an advantage – the secret is how to make the slight changes that make it worth reading.
And now after this long introduction I hope you won't already be bored enough to decide not to read my story. Here it is ... ***
Christine was prepared. Prepared and ready for everything, Erik would like her to do. She had decided to follow him everywhere, and be it into this dark cold cellar that he seemed to call his home. Why not? Actually she would be pretty thankful, in case he really wanted her to stay with him for the rest of their days. More closely considered it didn't disturb her very much, that she would have to stay down there without sun and without ever seeing a living soul again, but Erik.
For such a long time she had already known, that she was not made for living in this world. But where else? She had told herself, that it could not be. There was only this world and this life to live in. She had to take this one with all it's troubles and discomforts, as everyone else did, or take nothing, give up this life – without anything instead. She had often wondered what it could be, that made others hold on. Were they so much different from her? So much harder and stronger? She was not like all the others. And then sometimes she found herself trying too much to be like them. She tried just to do what was expected from her, just not to attract anyone's attention – except when being on stage.
But Erik gave her the feeling that the way she was, it was perfectly right – as long as she sang perfectly right .... But she wanted to sing, had always wanted. Only people had made her forget how much joy she once had had with it – and her father's death.
"Father?" she said and looked at her reflection in her dressing-room- mirror, as if she could see him there. "You would be proud of me!" she continued aloud and added in her toughts "I am in love with the angel of music." She knew, she could never be sure whether she was alone or not here in her dressing-room.
The look of her eyes fell on a bunch of roses lying on her table. From Raoul. He sent roses every day. This ones had come this morning. Now it was short before the evening performance of "Faust" and she still had not watered them. She had not even dared to touch them. The poor heads of the flowers were hanging down sadly.
She stared at them very long. No, it didn't harm her to look at them. She didn't love Raoul. She told herself that again and again. She had only loved him for the sake of old childhood memories. There was no need to feel bad because of him. She would stay with Erik. Raoul would go to the north- pole, where he would forget her. And she would forget him. When being with Erik she had never been missing Raoul. It was an excellent solution. It had to work.
She put on her costume. She was going to be Marguerite, because "La Carlotta" had a rather tricky problem with her voice lately. It had started that night when this embarrassing thing had happened to her. Somehow Christine felt awkward herself, when remembering. If she only knew why. Probably every vocalist would, because of being afraid that this could also happen to her, but there was also another thing, it had to do with Erik. She didn't want him to make bad things happen to other people because of her. That was what scared her when thinking of him. What would he do next? She wondered. What were the things she didn't know? Soon that would not be necessary anymore. She would be with him and sing for him all the time. And she would never make him angry. She would try to please him and to always obey to what he told her to do. Everything would be easier then. There wouldn't be any decisions to be made. He would make them for her. But what would there be to decide anyway. Nothing would disturb them. All she would be doing would be to make him happy.
Well, maybe not everything would be quite as predictable. Erik was not predictable. He had moods - sometimes so scary. She would get used to this moods as she would get used to his face. Maybe she would find it beautiful someday. She decided to find it beautiful. What was an ugly face compared to his genius and his voice and his whole fascinating presence. Maybe he looked like a corpse – not only his face – but that was alright. She liked it. She herself felt like a corpse sometimes here in this city – buried alive. But he seemed so alive . Hurting words and mean treatments of people had not been able to kill him. He was strong. She knew he was and he had the right to hide after being in human company for far too long. But he should not be lonely because of that. He needed her - so much more than Raoul needed her.
She was someone for him and she was meant to stay with him. She wanted to forget everything else, she only wanted to live for Erik.
**Why shouldn't she want to go with him? Isn't that the point we all kept wondering about since we got to know the original. Please Christine, stay with Erik!!!**
***
Raoul had to stay calm. He had to seem normal and quiet. People must not call him mad. He was shivering all over. The night before he had ruined the window of his bedroom by shooting two bullets of his gun though the glass. Still no-one believed him that he had seen something very threatening outside. They all thought he was about to go crazy because of a young vocalist not replying o his love. Poor spoilt boy!
No one believed what he was trying to explain about Christine's angel of music.
"You try to find an excuse for her rejecting you." they probably thought.
The angel of music was dangerous. Didn't they believe? No ...!
"You are jealous, because she has another lover!"
The angel of music was real, and he was not an ordinary 'other lover'. And he wasn't an angel. And no ghost .... He was very human.
And he tortured Christine, threatened her , he was even more jealous. Said he wanted her because of her voice. And she was so naive to believe he was the Angel of Music that her father had promised her.. But whom could he talk to about that. Even his brother gave him only a pitiful smile, when he started to explain what it was that pained him. And this was the least. He knew he made himself impossible, when running after a girl. A singer. A mad singer. A mad singer who had another lover, and who was not at all interested in him. He wanted to stand up in his box and shout: "Christine! Please come back to me!"
But instead he hid his face behind the velvet box-curtain and tried to get control over his trembling body.
He sat on his chair in the De-Chagny-box and tried not to cry. His brother had met someone he knew in front of their box and had left him alone for a moment – no further embarrassments for now.
When his brother entered he pretended to be reading the programme, but truth was, he could not even put the words together into decent sentences.
"In the intermission I must introduce you to the Comte de Thibaud." Philippe said. Very tactful of him not to mention that it was actually the Vicomtesse de Thibaud, the Comte's sister – about three years younger than Raoul, whom Philippe wanted Raoul to know.
He smiled at his older brother: "Thank you. There is nothing I would rather like to do in the intermission."
Then he again let himself sink against the wall of the box, his face covered by the curtain. Only for a short moment – because his brother gave him a slight bump and a sharp look and so he took a more dignified position again. Staring strait ahead he started pondering again.
Well, he did not understand Christine's actions at all. There had to be a "ghost" – another one. Only that could explain at least a part of it. She had promised to marry him and then given him back the ring – just a few days ago. Then he had been drinking with his brother. Just sitting in Philippe's study, a decanter of fine cognac on the table, sipping out of crystal-glasses – none of them had said a word, and then the following night it had happened. The "ghost" that had poisoned his relationship to Christine had appeared on the veranda – in front of the bed-room – with intention to kill his rival.
Raoul had seen them – the eyes, nearly glowing in the dark. And then after the shot – the blood! One must believe him, but ......
"It was an animal. A cat maybe ...."
But he had seen it and he had felt in his bones that it was something else ....
"You were drunk, you still seem to be!"
The curtains rose – the performance began. Raoul was getting more and more fidgety. He knew that Christine "la nouvelle Marguerite" would perform. But he did not know, whether it had been really a good idea to have come watching her.
When she first appeared on the stage he believed to feel a pain like a dagger turned around in his heart. His eyes hang on her lips with every syllable she sang, and in the end he would not even have been able to tell, whether she had been singing, would not even have been able to tell, whether she had been doing good or bad. But he tried to keep the expression of his face as calm and as motionless as he could.
But was it really true that she was looking in his direction all the time? Her eyes were so distant, as if she was not even seeing him ....
He was still like paralysed, when suddenly – just like a short flash – the lights flickered – it was dark for a moment. Vanished into nothing, leaving her duet-partner alone and confused on the stage.
"Philippe!" Raoul shouted at his brother, jumping up from his seat. "Do you see that! If not I tell you! Christine is not there anymore. Do you hear that? She isn't singing anymore!"
The older one looked at him in a concerned way and his strong arms pushed Raoul gently back to his chair.
"Of course I have seen. And now please stay calm, or do you want everyone here get as nervous as you are?"
"No! That is not possible. They are not scared for Christine." He looked around quickly and den abruptly jumped up again. "I have to get her back. Or he will do something terrible to her. He won't give her back again! I know!" And before Philippe could say a thing Raoul had run away and disappeared into the crowds of people.
He ran as if it was for his life to Christine's dressing room. He knew the mirror. Through the mirror he could get into the subterranean labyrinth.
The door was open, he stormed inside and pressed his ear against the glass. No voice, he only senced the cold and smooth surface.
He pulled and pushed the frame in every possible direction, but it did not want to move. He ran against it tried everything. But nothing happened. In desperation he hit the mirror with his fists and shouted again and again her name.
Then suddenly he felt a firm grasp on his shoulder. "Not so loud!" a voice behind him whispered. The persian.
**Raoul is still the old one ... But what is going to happen? I am still not sure what part I'll let the persian play in the end of my story. It is all up to me what happens ....**
***
Someone was watching everything that was going on in the opera house in gerneral, Christine and Raoul in particular. He did it with a feeling of triumph because of being able to see everything without being seen himself – and with the bitter knowledge of the ever-present lonelyness, because of having to hide.
But that would change tonight. For one person in the world he was not a monster, not something to be ashamed of. He knew she appreciated him as a human being, as a man and as the genius that he was. And this one girl – Christine Daaé – was enough for him. He only wanted her to love him and he loved her with all of his heart. The only thing in the world he wanted was her and he would do everything he could, just to achieve this final aim, for something in him still believed that even he could maybe deserve some happiness. He had never had it, and now, after so many years the time had come also for Erik.
He had planned everything very well. He was an expert with everything concernng the construction of the stage, the lights, the whole opera house – he had constructed it. And that was useful. Only a little moment without light and "the new Marguerite" had disappeared, and while opera-goers were still shocked and paralysed he carried her through the dressing-room-mirror down to where no-one ever could take her away from him.
**Everything goes as planned. Do we want preplanned endings?**
to be continued ......