Yes I know some really cool author notes used to be here, but some advice from a good fan- you know who you are- lead me to belive that funny a/n in a serious fiction can be distracting. But I promise you- as soon as I'm done with this fiction I'll write a parody for all of you to read bout me and my adventures...
Disclaimer: Which I forgot last time- oops- as if you all didn't know. I DO NOT Own ERIK…
…yet.
Chapter Two: Sing for me!
Excerpt from the diary of Marguerite Daae-
I had hidden in my room all of that day for neither Meg nor I thought it wise to show my face. Some had a grudge against my mother, for her bringing of the Phantom. Though Meg has told me he had always been there, the notes from the dear "Opera ghost" had many mentionings to my mother. Many believed it was she who motivated him. Indeed I had heard the tale of this Phantom, but had never actually believed it. But when I crept out that night to watch the rehearsals, my beliefs were changed drastically.
***
Marguerite was quietly opening her suitcase. It was barely noon, but Meg had told her to stay in her room. She had thought that it wasn't safe to venture out just yet. It hadn't discouraged the girl, she had known that it would probably come to that. As she popped open the suitcase, she gazed once again at the booklet of music laying on top. "Don Juan Triumphant" gleamed in gold letters on the red cover. She sighed, this is what had gotten her disowned in the first place. Her mother had given it to her for her twelfth birthday. This was "demon music" according to Raoul, her once loving and caring father. But she hadn't packed the music- she wanted to leave it on the piano so mother would remember her after she left for good. But when she had opened her suitcase at the train station, she had discovered a sack of money, fruit, the opera, and a note lying neatly on top.
Marguerite read the note again as her fingers lightly and lovingly traced her mother's perfect cursive.
Marguerite my love,
I know money and food will not make up for the wrong I have done you but I cannot leave your father. I have notified your godmother, Meg, of your coming. Yes, you are going to Paris the place you have dreamed of. Perhaps you will take up where I left off and become the Prima Donna that I never was. You have the heart that I have lost ages ago. Whatever you do, remember I love you. Perhaps when you are famous, my darling, I will be able to convince Raoul to come to a show of yours. But I'm afraid that that probably will not occur until you are older, at least five years from now. I want you to know, no matter what Raoul said, you are still MY daughter remember that. Don't be as foolish as I was. I love you, my unique daughter, do not change.
Forgive me,
Mother
Marguerite sighed, she understood what her mother was asking her. Stay outspoken and brave, never become the doll that she had become. Marguerite sighed and started to unpack her things into the two dresser drawers and the small amount of closet space Meg had provided for her. Then she took up the opera again and watched as the magnificent tragedy played out before her eyes, the score ringing in her ears, drowning out everything else.
*
She stretched; it had been ages since she had moved. After eating the small lunch Meg had rushed in, she had taken to reading the current opera at the house, Aida, and then having a light nap. It was now promptly eight o'clock. After relieving herself (*) and checking her appearance in the mirror she snuck out of Meg's room to watch the rehearsal. She watched as Meg gracefully moved across the stage, like a swan. Her purple dress clung in the right places and swirled about her ankles as her legs danced across the stage. Her body flowed like water. She snuck closer. Going row by row until she was as close as she could get without being caught.
As she watched Meg, she took a moment to reflect. This was Meg's last year as a dancer. Her fiancée was going to take her away after this. But where would she go? Meg said that she was planning on adopting her. But she didn't want to leave Paris, she had only just gotten here. Meg was kind, her eyes still shone with a childish innocence that Marguerite still looked for in her own eyes. Meg had started to take to calling her Maggie, the only other person who had ever called her that was Jillian. And that was so long ago…
A light cough escaped from her mouth but she covered it quickly.
**Damn this cold! I have had it for ages and it seems not to want to leave me!**
A light whispering sound caught her attention from box five. "It was strange, Meg had told her that box five had stayed vacant since the "Phantom incident". A flash of white and a burning glimpse of golden eyes was all she could make out from the angle she was at, the shadows concealing the mans form. But in her persistence to see the man, she had lost her footing and landed up knocking over a table of refreshments. Her clumsiness had caused a mixture of cries and screaming of "The Phantom is back!". She heard the rustling from above and looked but he had fully concealed himself in the darkness, everything out of site but his glinting eyes, which were on her.
"It is not the Phantom, it is only a young girl!" rang a strong masculine voice. The form that the voice belonged to started to walk towards her. His brown hair was thinning in the middle, his hazel eyes were kind though frustrated. His mustache and goatee made him looked distinguished. The black suit and white gloves where neat and in place. One of these gloved hands was offered to her. She accepted carefully and stood up straight for the questioning sure to follow. "And who are you, mademoiselle?"
She looked to Meg. She hardly ever lied and she wasn't going to make a habit of it now. "I am Marguerite Daae." She said curtsying. She ignored the gasping, sneers, and glares the prying eyes of the stage. "And yes, I am- was, Christine Daae's daughter."
"Was, child?" he inquired.
"My father disowned me for playing music from "Don Juan Triumphant" and refusing to stop." She looked away. "He said it was demon music."
A few gasps and a snicker from the leading lady were heard but were silenced at the man's command, "Well, never mind that. I assure you none of us are perfect. What do you think of our opera?" He asked, making a gesture behind him to the stage.
"Hm… the movement and organization is good, the dancers are graceful. But the soprano is off key, the tenor doesn't know half the words, the pianist has lazy thumbs, and it appears one of the violinists is having some trouble with his bow." She said simply.
He looked shocked, "You know all of that by listening?"
She shrugged, "My mum always said I had an ear for music."
"So you are Christine Daae's daughter… that means you must be able to sing…?" He said suggestively.
"Oh no, I don't think so. I mean I have sung before but"
"Ah, rubbish. You're being modest. Come." He pulled Marguerite up the stairs to the stage.
"But…"
"No 'buts'. Sing!"
Marguerite knew she was defeated. She looked around. Meg looked nervous, the soprano, Carlotta, was smirking. Marguerite gathered her confidence as she hummed to get into key. Then she opened her mouth and let her voice ring out.
"On my own,
Pretending he's beside me.
All alone,
I walk with him 'till morning.
Without him,
I feel his arms around me.
And when I'd loose my way I'd close my eyes and he has found me."
The whispering was growing louder as her voice became more brilliant with each verse. The voice was unique, most were sure of it. The sound was as sweet as honey yet held the crispness of a dry leaf on an October morning. It flowed easily off her tongue and was indeed the voice of a woman beyond this child's years rising from her throat.
"In the rain,
The pavement shines like silver.
All the lights,
Look misty in the river.
In the darkness,
The trees are full of starlight.
And all I see is him and me forever and forever.
"And I know,
It's only in my mind,
That I'm talking to myself,
And not to him.
And although,
I know that he is blind,
Still I say,
There's a way for us."
Meg gasped, the young Daae definitely inherited her mothers talent. The voice of an angel rang out of that child's mouth. The voice was haunting to her and it was almost as if she could feel the misery in the air, drifting about her.
"I love him,
But when the night is over,
He is gone.
The river's just a river.
Without him,
The world around me changes.
The trees are bare and everywhere the streets are full of strangers.
"I love him,
But everyday I'm learning,
All my life,
I've only been pretending.
Without me,
His world will go on turning.
A world that's full of happiness that I have never known…
"I love him…
I love him…
I love him…
…But only on my own."
She took her eyes off the far wall when she heard clapping coming from one set of hands and then moving, spreading like fire, to each set of hands until every person was clapping except Carlotta. Marguerite blushed and looked down, curling her dark hair in-between her fingers.
Finally, the man walked forth again, "How old are you child? You must be at least sixteen…"
"Actually, sir, I am but thirteen."
"Thirteen? That young? Remarkable, a mere child with the voice of a woman. Where have you been staying, child?"
Marguerite looked nervously at Meg who merely nodded. "I am staying with Meg Giry."
"Well that wont do. You should have your own room if you are to be working with us."
The girl peered at this man, not believing what he just said, "Sir?"
"By the way my name is André." He took her hand and kissed it lightly. "You do want to work here, don't you?"
"Well, I believe… yes?"
"Wonderful! Can you dance child?"
"Yes."
He looked immensely pleased, "Child, you were built for the opera! I believe your mother's dressing room is still empty. You would like to stay there, no?"
"Why that would be wonderful, but sir- why waste your generosity on me…"
"Because you do need the money and we need your voice- do say yes child."
"I agree."
"Wonderful! Now I'll just have to go over this with my business associate and will get out some papers for you to sign. In the mean time- Meg, darling, show the young woman to her room. As for the rest of you, continue with the rehearsal." He walked out, happily adding up the dollar signs in his head.
The young girl seemed quite shocked at the fast pace, Meg pulling her gently out of the curious gazes. And helped the young girl move her few valuables, all the while unsure and scared about Marguerites room. The Phantom took Christine from that room, she hoped Marguerite didn't suffer from the same fate.
***
Erik had been bored. He had roused himself from his home to watch the current production being rehearsed. As he was watching, something had caught his attention, a light cough and a flash of a white dress among the red seats of the audience. He looked down among the rows and saw a young girl, crouched in-between the tenth and eleventh row of seating. She looked like… no, he couldn't bear to think…
She saw him… but it wasn't her- it wasn't Christine. But the eyes, which had locked unto his, were his own staring back at him. They reflected wonder and suspicion but she had forgotten where she was walking and had crashed into a table, sending both the table and herself tumbling, breaking the eye contact.
He listened in on the conversation and was shocked at what he heard. Each word coming out of the young girl's mouth sent a new wave of surprise crashing through his mind. This girl, Marguerite, was Christine's daughter. And she had been disowned for playing the music he had written. For playing music, how absurd. He seemed to damn the people he loved even in memory.
She obviously had a talent for music to be able to pick things out as such. But his Christine had a daughter… And oh god- it was with that insolent boy! His heart squeezed with the forgotten pain. But all coherent thought left his head as he heard the child's voice ring out. Like her mother's, her voice entranced him. It was lower in key than her mothers, but beautiful non-the-less. The song she had sung had touched him. It was as if she had sung his love life from a different point of view. And it seemed as if she contained the pain as well.
It's true, though, her voice was not perfect. Nothing a little teaching couldn't change. And when he heard the room that Marguerite was taking up he could have laughed. He knew then and there that the Angel of Music was back in business.
~*~
And that my kiddies is the end of this chapter. Oh by the way the song is from Les Mis (duh) called On My Own. I've loved that song for all time and I couldn't help but make that the song she sang. Anyway- review please while I sort out the mess that is my brain.
Oh by the way (*) was for the fact that I noticed no characters ever seem to go to the bathroom- maybe they don't drink anything?
Disclaimer: Which I forgot last time- oops- as if you all didn't know. I DO NOT Own ERIK…
…yet.
Chapter Two: Sing for me!
Excerpt from the diary of Marguerite Daae-
I had hidden in my room all of that day for neither Meg nor I thought it wise to show my face. Some had a grudge against my mother, for her bringing of the Phantom. Though Meg has told me he had always been there, the notes from the dear "Opera ghost" had many mentionings to my mother. Many believed it was she who motivated him. Indeed I had heard the tale of this Phantom, but had never actually believed it. But when I crept out that night to watch the rehearsals, my beliefs were changed drastically.
***
Marguerite was quietly opening her suitcase. It was barely noon, but Meg had told her to stay in her room. She had thought that it wasn't safe to venture out just yet. It hadn't discouraged the girl, she had known that it would probably come to that. As she popped open the suitcase, she gazed once again at the booklet of music laying on top. "Don Juan Triumphant" gleamed in gold letters on the red cover. She sighed, this is what had gotten her disowned in the first place. Her mother had given it to her for her twelfth birthday. This was "demon music" according to Raoul, her once loving and caring father. But she hadn't packed the music- she wanted to leave it on the piano so mother would remember her after she left for good. But when she had opened her suitcase at the train station, she had discovered a sack of money, fruit, the opera, and a note lying neatly on top.
Marguerite read the note again as her fingers lightly and lovingly traced her mother's perfect cursive.
Marguerite my love,
I know money and food will not make up for the wrong I have done you but I cannot leave your father. I have notified your godmother, Meg, of your coming. Yes, you are going to Paris the place you have dreamed of. Perhaps you will take up where I left off and become the Prima Donna that I never was. You have the heart that I have lost ages ago. Whatever you do, remember I love you. Perhaps when you are famous, my darling, I will be able to convince Raoul to come to a show of yours. But I'm afraid that that probably will not occur until you are older, at least five years from now. I want you to know, no matter what Raoul said, you are still MY daughter remember that. Don't be as foolish as I was. I love you, my unique daughter, do not change.
Forgive me,
Mother
Marguerite sighed, she understood what her mother was asking her. Stay outspoken and brave, never become the doll that she had become. Marguerite sighed and started to unpack her things into the two dresser drawers and the small amount of closet space Meg had provided for her. Then she took up the opera again and watched as the magnificent tragedy played out before her eyes, the score ringing in her ears, drowning out everything else.
*
She stretched; it had been ages since she had moved. After eating the small lunch Meg had rushed in, she had taken to reading the current opera at the house, Aida, and then having a light nap. It was now promptly eight o'clock. After relieving herself (*) and checking her appearance in the mirror she snuck out of Meg's room to watch the rehearsal. She watched as Meg gracefully moved across the stage, like a swan. Her purple dress clung in the right places and swirled about her ankles as her legs danced across the stage. Her body flowed like water. She snuck closer. Going row by row until she was as close as she could get without being caught.
As she watched Meg, she took a moment to reflect. This was Meg's last year as a dancer. Her fiancée was going to take her away after this. But where would she go? Meg said that she was planning on adopting her. But she didn't want to leave Paris, she had only just gotten here. Meg was kind, her eyes still shone with a childish innocence that Marguerite still looked for in her own eyes. Meg had started to take to calling her Maggie, the only other person who had ever called her that was Jillian. And that was so long ago…
A light cough escaped from her mouth but she covered it quickly.
**Damn this cold! I have had it for ages and it seems not to want to leave me!**
A light whispering sound caught her attention from box five. "It was strange, Meg had told her that box five had stayed vacant since the "Phantom incident". A flash of white and a burning glimpse of golden eyes was all she could make out from the angle she was at, the shadows concealing the mans form. But in her persistence to see the man, she had lost her footing and landed up knocking over a table of refreshments. Her clumsiness had caused a mixture of cries and screaming of "The Phantom is back!". She heard the rustling from above and looked but he had fully concealed himself in the darkness, everything out of site but his glinting eyes, which were on her.
"It is not the Phantom, it is only a young girl!" rang a strong masculine voice. The form that the voice belonged to started to walk towards her. His brown hair was thinning in the middle, his hazel eyes were kind though frustrated. His mustache and goatee made him looked distinguished. The black suit and white gloves where neat and in place. One of these gloved hands was offered to her. She accepted carefully and stood up straight for the questioning sure to follow. "And who are you, mademoiselle?"
She looked to Meg. She hardly ever lied and she wasn't going to make a habit of it now. "I am Marguerite Daae." She said curtsying. She ignored the gasping, sneers, and glares the prying eyes of the stage. "And yes, I am- was, Christine Daae's daughter."
"Was, child?" he inquired.
"My father disowned me for playing music from "Don Juan Triumphant" and refusing to stop." She looked away. "He said it was demon music."
A few gasps and a snicker from the leading lady were heard but were silenced at the man's command, "Well, never mind that. I assure you none of us are perfect. What do you think of our opera?" He asked, making a gesture behind him to the stage.
"Hm… the movement and organization is good, the dancers are graceful. But the soprano is off key, the tenor doesn't know half the words, the pianist has lazy thumbs, and it appears one of the violinists is having some trouble with his bow." She said simply.
He looked shocked, "You know all of that by listening?"
She shrugged, "My mum always said I had an ear for music."
"So you are Christine Daae's daughter… that means you must be able to sing…?" He said suggestively.
"Oh no, I don't think so. I mean I have sung before but"
"Ah, rubbish. You're being modest. Come." He pulled Marguerite up the stairs to the stage.
"But…"
"No 'buts'. Sing!"
Marguerite knew she was defeated. She looked around. Meg looked nervous, the soprano, Carlotta, was smirking. Marguerite gathered her confidence as she hummed to get into key. Then she opened her mouth and let her voice ring out.
"On my own,
Pretending he's beside me.
All alone,
I walk with him 'till morning.
Without him,
I feel his arms around me.
And when I'd loose my way I'd close my eyes and he has found me."
The whispering was growing louder as her voice became more brilliant with each verse. The voice was unique, most were sure of it. The sound was as sweet as honey yet held the crispness of a dry leaf on an October morning. It flowed easily off her tongue and was indeed the voice of a woman beyond this child's years rising from her throat.
"In the rain,
The pavement shines like silver.
All the lights,
Look misty in the river.
In the darkness,
The trees are full of starlight.
And all I see is him and me forever and forever.
"And I know,
It's only in my mind,
That I'm talking to myself,
And not to him.
And although,
I know that he is blind,
Still I say,
There's a way for us."
Meg gasped, the young Daae definitely inherited her mothers talent. The voice of an angel rang out of that child's mouth. The voice was haunting to her and it was almost as if she could feel the misery in the air, drifting about her.
"I love him,
But when the night is over,
He is gone.
The river's just a river.
Without him,
The world around me changes.
The trees are bare and everywhere the streets are full of strangers.
"I love him,
But everyday I'm learning,
All my life,
I've only been pretending.
Without me,
His world will go on turning.
A world that's full of happiness that I have never known…
"I love him…
I love him…
I love him…
…But only on my own."
She took her eyes off the far wall when she heard clapping coming from one set of hands and then moving, spreading like fire, to each set of hands until every person was clapping except Carlotta. Marguerite blushed and looked down, curling her dark hair in-between her fingers.
Finally, the man walked forth again, "How old are you child? You must be at least sixteen…"
"Actually, sir, I am but thirteen."
"Thirteen? That young? Remarkable, a mere child with the voice of a woman. Where have you been staying, child?"
Marguerite looked nervously at Meg who merely nodded. "I am staying with Meg Giry."
"Well that wont do. You should have your own room if you are to be working with us."
The girl peered at this man, not believing what he just said, "Sir?"
"By the way my name is André." He took her hand and kissed it lightly. "You do want to work here, don't you?"
"Well, I believe… yes?"
"Wonderful! Can you dance child?"
"Yes."
He looked immensely pleased, "Child, you were built for the opera! I believe your mother's dressing room is still empty. You would like to stay there, no?"
"Why that would be wonderful, but sir- why waste your generosity on me…"
"Because you do need the money and we need your voice- do say yes child."
"I agree."
"Wonderful! Now I'll just have to go over this with my business associate and will get out some papers for you to sign. In the mean time- Meg, darling, show the young woman to her room. As for the rest of you, continue with the rehearsal." He walked out, happily adding up the dollar signs in his head.
The young girl seemed quite shocked at the fast pace, Meg pulling her gently out of the curious gazes. And helped the young girl move her few valuables, all the while unsure and scared about Marguerites room. The Phantom took Christine from that room, she hoped Marguerite didn't suffer from the same fate.
***
Erik had been bored. He had roused himself from his home to watch the current production being rehearsed. As he was watching, something had caught his attention, a light cough and a flash of a white dress among the red seats of the audience. He looked down among the rows and saw a young girl, crouched in-between the tenth and eleventh row of seating. She looked like… no, he couldn't bear to think…
She saw him… but it wasn't her- it wasn't Christine. But the eyes, which had locked unto his, were his own staring back at him. They reflected wonder and suspicion but she had forgotten where she was walking and had crashed into a table, sending both the table and herself tumbling, breaking the eye contact.
He listened in on the conversation and was shocked at what he heard. Each word coming out of the young girl's mouth sent a new wave of surprise crashing through his mind. This girl, Marguerite, was Christine's daughter. And she had been disowned for playing the music he had written. For playing music, how absurd. He seemed to damn the people he loved even in memory.
She obviously had a talent for music to be able to pick things out as such. But his Christine had a daughter… And oh god- it was with that insolent boy! His heart squeezed with the forgotten pain. But all coherent thought left his head as he heard the child's voice ring out. Like her mother's, her voice entranced him. It was lower in key than her mothers, but beautiful non-the-less. The song she had sung had touched him. It was as if she had sung his love life from a different point of view. And it seemed as if she contained the pain as well.
It's true, though, her voice was not perfect. Nothing a little teaching couldn't change. And when he heard the room that Marguerite was taking up he could have laughed. He knew then and there that the Angel of Music was back in business.
~*~
And that my kiddies is the end of this chapter. Oh by the way the song is from Les Mis (duh) called On My Own. I've loved that song for all time and I couldn't help but make that the song she sang. Anyway- review please while I sort out the mess that is my brain.
Oh by the way (*) was for the fact that I noticed no characters ever seem to go to the bathroom- maybe they don't drink anything?