Disclaimer: Okay, I don't own Alw's Version of Phantom, I don't own Susan Kay's or Leroux's. That much is obvious, since I have neither of their names. I do however have a shrine near my room to which I pay homage to the phantom gods. I hope that makes up for not having the creative genius that the three above mentioned people have. That said…on with the story!
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Christine wrote in her diary in the middle of their journey-the light of the kerosene lamp enough see with while Meg slumbered next to her, in their room's tiny cabin.
Luckily enough they had left America in one piece, for it was a difficult time getting loose from the managers since Christine had signed a contract. But here they were, traveling back to Paris, mostly keeping to themselves, and quite happy with the books they had brought to pass the time.
Dear Diary,
Why is it that everything seems so simple now? That there is no other direction to turn to other than going back to Paris? I sat up late thinking about how horrible my life has been, and then forgot the best lesson my father taught me, to live life for the living. And now, I must live. I must live for Meg, who needs a friend so very badly. Diary, you see, she has a father now as well. Not one that she wants. In fact I feel quite awful even mentioning my own, whom I loved so dearly. It's not fair to her, Meg wanted to know what it felt like to be loved by a father, and then to find out that he's alive and well and has been quite neglectful of her for years. I am in shock. I cannot imagine what it must be like for her to have to go through this terrible time. All I can do is be there for her, as she was for me.
As for myself returning to Paris, there is much fear, anxiety boiling with in me, so much so that no rest can find my eyes. It is true, that I want to make everything well understood with Erik. I loved Raoul and Erik in different ways, both ways confusing to myself. Erik was my mentor, my teacher, and his passion and love stirred desire, a thing that scared me out of my wits. Not because of his desire, but of mine.
You see, I could never forgive myself for my fear of his face. Yes, it was ugly, but it was for more ugly of me to expose him to the world. I have come to realize that for all the heartbreaking I did inside, nothing compares to the heartbreak I gave him, made him repeat. For I do not know much about his life, but how horrible his must have been! And to make his life even more miserable than to begin with…oh…how easily the tears come tonight!
Yet Erik knew me entirely from the beginning. He had called me a Pandora, a Viper, and maybe it was true- at least the label of Pandora.. I had heard of the Greek Tales of Pandora-she who was the star card in his tarot deck. I found the tarot quite amusing actually, but Erik always had more respect for them than I did. I saw them as pictures and nothing else. Erik was an excellent story teller, and one night he had told the tale to me as we sat together in his sitting room (I call it this because he gave it no name, and this would probably be the best name for it,, for there was a divan, and his pipe organ…things of a parlor nature) . Yes, I believe he did label me correctly.
But nothing stung more than the label 'child'. At first, when I thought he was an angel, it didn't offend me, but for him to tell the world on the stage that night that he desired me, and then call me a child, it started a horrible rage. I didn't think I was capable of rage, the cold kind which sets in your eyes. After all, I was a child then, though I didn't want to recognize it. So maybe he was right in that assumption. I tempted him to take me away when I ripped off his mask, seeing as how there was no option he could have come to other than lead me down the trap door in the stage floor. He couldn't stand there and be shot, and he couldn't let me go without an ultimatum. I was a horrible person. I still believe I am.
I am the monster! I am a Pandora as he says, part angel, part demon! Oh, how could he ever forgive me for the lies and treachery we both caused in each other!
And Raoul, I did love him, though if I could change things, it would all be different. Raoul, made me safe, a protector against myself. Raoul was a solider, a beautiful man who was more adult than little boy, which everyone failed to see. He hated political life, social class, and longed to get a way. He was happiest out of doors.
"I want to be a poor man, Christine, with some land, a place where I can farm…" He had once said to me, and I believe he would be the happiest there. Raoul was my best friend, and my affections towards him were gentle and kind. They in time could have been passionate, but…..
Oh… hang my mind and its thoughts! I shouldn't feel that way for someone I refused, and I will not deny that I did desire Erik. But to be trapped with in that desire, and what was in my heart, the buds of love? O, Torture!
And what right do I have to him once I return? He's probably full of a new life, his music overtaking him and his refurbished home. Hell's Bells!
For Megan's sake I go forth to Paris and it's past memories. As for myself, I cannot tell you what I wish, other than I wish for this all to be resolved. I know it will not be easy nor do I ever expect it to. I'm not welcome in Paris, and I'm not welcome certainly in Erik's home. After all, it was me who left it only to have a mob descend upon him. Hearing his acceptance of me, and what I've done to him, that he won't hate me, will lead me to fixing myself. I must sleep on this, many nights. I hope that everything will turn all right, that I will not end up causing more trouble than I ever meant to.
Forever yours,
Christine Daae.
Christine returned to her dreams, that were filled with confusing love and passion for a man she hardly knew, accompanied by her fear and longing for her friend's pain to be eased. Sleep never came easy to her, but now it was a precious thing. She intended to get a couple hours sleep before they docked, and then made their journey to Paris in the morning. Meg needed her, and she needed to become the strong woman now for Meg.
Erik slept on his divan in his restored home under the lake, Ayesha, his little lady, asleep on his stomach. His dreams were torture, a replay of this last two years of his life. Even though he knew he was dreaming, the fantasies played in his mind. He could feel himself touching her, kissing her, the smell of her rose perfume. But just as quickly as he had fallen asleep, his eyes had opened. Something unusual in his heart quickened, an alert in his mind. His intuition was screaming.. He just hoped that he could decode his heart's message and that it wouldn't end in his death.
Ayesha mewed at him, almost in question when he ruffled her fur with the back of his hand. She was his trusted and best friend, his only listener. After all, she rubbed against his face without his mask upon it, fell asleep under his neck with no wonder to why the hands that caressed her were freakish and cold. She cared for him unconditionally.
And for most of his life, that was how he preferred things, to be alone with the quiet. He preferred to have just music. But how Christine made him see that life went on around him in it's cruelest way! That there were much more beautiful ways than his way of existence, burying himself only in music, for his world was a tomb to him. Nothing but Christine had made him see what a horror he truly was to live like he had. She had brought him to life, made him yearn for love, family…the things he had laughed at so many years before.
She made his brain and heart trick him into thinking these things for him could be possible, when years ago he would have had the sense to tell himself the truth. It still baffled him that a woman child could stir this in him, after years of careful control not to let such a thing happen. But Christine was no ordinary woman...no ordinary child. She was a beautiful mixture of both, and only her intoxicating power could set such a fierce love from him.
He had taken notice of the female gender before. He had always had respect for them because they were the creatures that men loved to prey upon. Flowers that were torn about and scattered by tears, violence, and waste. Not respected or cherished… but abused.
Not that he didn't see the evil in those which freely exhibited it. He more than greatly resented the shah's mother, who put him through torturous hell by making him build trap after trap of death, when all he wanted was something pure, a building of love to show how much he had cared for the one master who had taught him love of architecture. He could never forget the slave harem girl who had been presented to him as a bride, a gift from the Khanum. He had let her go, only to have the child killed in a torture chamber the Khanum had made up herself. He was disgusted by such women.
Erik sighed and rose from his divan, trying to ignore the patient hope that waited like an alarm bell to ring…He slammed his fists down on the arm of the divan, making Ayesha scamper away with a startled growl. There was no use in pretending she would come back, he should have ended his life like the papers of Paris said he had. He couldn't force himself to commit suicide. Something told him to wait, something told him to hold out a glimmer of hope. He hated his persistent heart, and he hated his prison.
May it be a restored prison, it still a prison remained. He sighed and thought of why he had waited for the last two years. He was a proud being, seeing it unreasonable to call himself a man, even though he had the desires of one. He wouldn't beg for her love, if she did come back. No, he would not have the tragedy of before upon him.
"I see that you're deep in thought, Erik." A woman's deep voice answered to his thoughts, as she entered the room, casually. After all, she had helped him rebuild his home after the mob had destroyed it. She had no qualms about entering it, or asking for permission. She too had a quiet and mysterious presence that unnerved him.
"Yes, I am Mme.Giry. Is there anything you need?" Erik shared his hospitality openly with her. She and her daughter had protected him when everyone wanted him dead. Even protected him from Christine. He admired Mme.Giry's advice, her fear of him never obvious to himself. She and he had respect for each other, and it had kept both of their secrets safe.
"I come with relief, and good news." Mme.Giry said softly, her black dress swishing across the floor as she picked up the reluctant cat and stroked it. "And, Erik, I come with bad."
"What is it? The Opera in trouble, is it?"
Mme.Giry could not answer that question directly. As far as she knew, the opera most certainly could not handle one more passion play of Christine Daae's. Neither could her returned daughter, who had gave no explanation to her sudden trip to America . It troubled her aging heart. Whatever had disturbed her daughter so, it had done it enough to where she had to bring her best friend, Christine, into it. So it had to be something major, this was out of Meg's behavior. Meg was a strong girl, like her mother, she mused. To stir her into this sort of depression, flight, it had to have been something major.
And lord willing, she hoped to keep any stress from her daughter, so she had kept Erik's being alive a complete secret even from her Meg.
"Mme.Giry, you wouldn't be down here if it weren't important. So tell me the truth. I am a impatient being, as a whole. " He said, sorting music with a fury as he selected a piece to play on his restored pipe organ.
She watched his cloak swirl with his anger, his whispered frenzy over the perfect piece of music. "My daughter has returned without a real reason for her departure."
"I'm sure it was a joyous if somewhat baffled reunion. You were grateful to have her home and safe, after doing such a reckless thing." Erik softly commented, his jealousy for love from a mother , the kind that was undying like Mme.Giry had for Meg…making him turn away until he saw only the wall.
"She's hiding something from me, Erik. And she didn't return alone. I can't seem to put my finger on this mysterious return." She sat down in a chair and looked away to the carpet on the floor, watching the cat wink at her with its blue eyes.
"I've never been one to know about girls and their fancies, Madame. Do be direct in what you're getting at. Did she return with….a husband? A lover?" His mind was reeling. He didn't want to think…dare hope that Megan had found his dear Christine.. He had to grip the sides of the organ for balance, to clench his teeth. He had to stay grounded in reality.
She heard his breath hiss in and out, felt the energy coming from the enigma that was Erik, the phantom of the opera. Her mouth couldn't utter the truth. After all, her daughter had been avoiding her because of her companion who covered her face with a hooded cloak wherever she went. Only her voice, her melancholy nature, had given Christine Daae away. At least Christine had the sense to only reveal herself to Mme.Giry by accident, as she had found her in Megan's room, hiding from the world, when she had came home to find them both. Christine shied away, almost if Madame was ready to strike her. She sensed that the girl was truly afraid of her, which inside made her sad, and glad at the same time. She had put a lot of people's careers in jeopardy, and she had drove Megan to the point of paranoia. Made Megan grow up. Not that she ever entirely blamed Christine, for a mother's love was fierce. She had done everything in her power to protect her, even protected Megan from knowing that her father had watched her grow all these years. She might have loved Firmin, but not enough to put her daughter and herself through pain. She did herself a favor by taking the old family name and moving on with her life, making her daughter the beautiful ballerina she was. Yes, and the beautiful woman as well, she had to remind herself.
"Erik…I only tell you this because I am wary of something bad happening. Christine has returned with Meg. I don't know why. I only hope that she's here because she wants friendship with Megan and nothing else. Not to stir up things. " She sighed, aware that she had just signed away the peace of the last two years. But she herself had sent Christine updates of things, anonymously. It was her fault as much as Megan's.
"What?!?" His body flew up from it's sitting position, his eyes filled with anguish and hurt. He hated that his intuition had been right. He hated that he wanted her still. Hated that he still had love. He had no desire upon this earth to be hurt anymore. None. And yet, he wanted her to return to him, if for no other reason than love. His throat choked with tears, his body full of pent up emotion that had to be released before he went into a rage. He respected Madame far too much to let her see that.
"Leave! Leave me!" He said softly. "I must be alone…you have to understand how this is for me! Please leave me! Just GO!" He pleaded, unlike himself. Had he had the strength to, he would have ordered. But he could not, not when it was a person who had kept him safe for so long. He sat back down again, his face in his arms, aware of the vulnerable moment. He could not see anything except for his memories, the cold yet bitter two years lending to something sweeter, something fierce and beautiful.
Mme.Giry ushered herself out, aware that she hadn't done any good at all. But the truth had to be told, she couldn't have kept it in the dark, could she? After all, what if Christine had stumbled in here? She immediately began to hate herself. She could protect him from mobs, but she couldn't protect him from heartbreak, cruelty, and most of all the love for a certain young woman.
Just like she couldn't protect herself. She had failed everyone.
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Christine wrote in her diary in the middle of their journey-the light of the kerosene lamp enough see with while Meg slumbered next to her, in their room's tiny cabin.
Luckily enough they had left America in one piece, for it was a difficult time getting loose from the managers since Christine had signed a contract. But here they were, traveling back to Paris, mostly keeping to themselves, and quite happy with the books they had brought to pass the time.
Dear Diary,
Why is it that everything seems so simple now? That there is no other direction to turn to other than going back to Paris? I sat up late thinking about how horrible my life has been, and then forgot the best lesson my father taught me, to live life for the living. And now, I must live. I must live for Meg, who needs a friend so very badly. Diary, you see, she has a father now as well. Not one that she wants. In fact I feel quite awful even mentioning my own, whom I loved so dearly. It's not fair to her, Meg wanted to know what it felt like to be loved by a father, and then to find out that he's alive and well and has been quite neglectful of her for years. I am in shock. I cannot imagine what it must be like for her to have to go through this terrible time. All I can do is be there for her, as she was for me.
As for myself returning to Paris, there is much fear, anxiety boiling with in me, so much so that no rest can find my eyes. It is true, that I want to make everything well understood with Erik. I loved Raoul and Erik in different ways, both ways confusing to myself. Erik was my mentor, my teacher, and his passion and love stirred desire, a thing that scared me out of my wits. Not because of his desire, but of mine.
You see, I could never forgive myself for my fear of his face. Yes, it was ugly, but it was for more ugly of me to expose him to the world. I have come to realize that for all the heartbreaking I did inside, nothing compares to the heartbreak I gave him, made him repeat. For I do not know much about his life, but how horrible his must have been! And to make his life even more miserable than to begin with…oh…how easily the tears come tonight!
Yet Erik knew me entirely from the beginning. He had called me a Pandora, a Viper, and maybe it was true- at least the label of Pandora.. I had heard of the Greek Tales of Pandora-she who was the star card in his tarot deck. I found the tarot quite amusing actually, but Erik always had more respect for them than I did. I saw them as pictures and nothing else. Erik was an excellent story teller, and one night he had told the tale to me as we sat together in his sitting room (I call it this because he gave it no name, and this would probably be the best name for it,, for there was a divan, and his pipe organ…things of a parlor nature) . Yes, I believe he did label me correctly.
But nothing stung more than the label 'child'. At first, when I thought he was an angel, it didn't offend me, but for him to tell the world on the stage that night that he desired me, and then call me a child, it started a horrible rage. I didn't think I was capable of rage, the cold kind which sets in your eyes. After all, I was a child then, though I didn't want to recognize it. So maybe he was right in that assumption. I tempted him to take me away when I ripped off his mask, seeing as how there was no option he could have come to other than lead me down the trap door in the stage floor. He couldn't stand there and be shot, and he couldn't let me go without an ultimatum. I was a horrible person. I still believe I am.
I am the monster! I am a Pandora as he says, part angel, part demon! Oh, how could he ever forgive me for the lies and treachery we both caused in each other!
And Raoul, I did love him, though if I could change things, it would all be different. Raoul, made me safe, a protector against myself. Raoul was a solider, a beautiful man who was more adult than little boy, which everyone failed to see. He hated political life, social class, and longed to get a way. He was happiest out of doors.
"I want to be a poor man, Christine, with some land, a place where I can farm…" He had once said to me, and I believe he would be the happiest there. Raoul was my best friend, and my affections towards him were gentle and kind. They in time could have been passionate, but…..
Oh… hang my mind and its thoughts! I shouldn't feel that way for someone I refused, and I will not deny that I did desire Erik. But to be trapped with in that desire, and what was in my heart, the buds of love? O, Torture!
And what right do I have to him once I return? He's probably full of a new life, his music overtaking him and his refurbished home. Hell's Bells!
For Megan's sake I go forth to Paris and it's past memories. As for myself, I cannot tell you what I wish, other than I wish for this all to be resolved. I know it will not be easy nor do I ever expect it to. I'm not welcome in Paris, and I'm not welcome certainly in Erik's home. After all, it was me who left it only to have a mob descend upon him. Hearing his acceptance of me, and what I've done to him, that he won't hate me, will lead me to fixing myself. I must sleep on this, many nights. I hope that everything will turn all right, that I will not end up causing more trouble than I ever meant to.
Forever yours,
Christine Daae.
Christine returned to her dreams, that were filled with confusing love and passion for a man she hardly knew, accompanied by her fear and longing for her friend's pain to be eased. Sleep never came easy to her, but now it was a precious thing. She intended to get a couple hours sleep before they docked, and then made their journey to Paris in the morning. Meg needed her, and she needed to become the strong woman now for Meg.
Erik slept on his divan in his restored home under the lake, Ayesha, his little lady, asleep on his stomach. His dreams were torture, a replay of this last two years of his life. Even though he knew he was dreaming, the fantasies played in his mind. He could feel himself touching her, kissing her, the smell of her rose perfume. But just as quickly as he had fallen asleep, his eyes had opened. Something unusual in his heart quickened, an alert in his mind. His intuition was screaming.. He just hoped that he could decode his heart's message and that it wouldn't end in his death.
Ayesha mewed at him, almost in question when he ruffled her fur with the back of his hand. She was his trusted and best friend, his only listener. After all, she rubbed against his face without his mask upon it, fell asleep under his neck with no wonder to why the hands that caressed her were freakish and cold. She cared for him unconditionally.
And for most of his life, that was how he preferred things, to be alone with the quiet. He preferred to have just music. But how Christine made him see that life went on around him in it's cruelest way! That there were much more beautiful ways than his way of existence, burying himself only in music, for his world was a tomb to him. Nothing but Christine had made him see what a horror he truly was to live like he had. She had brought him to life, made him yearn for love, family…the things he had laughed at so many years before.
She made his brain and heart trick him into thinking these things for him could be possible, when years ago he would have had the sense to tell himself the truth. It still baffled him that a woman child could stir this in him, after years of careful control not to let such a thing happen. But Christine was no ordinary woman...no ordinary child. She was a beautiful mixture of both, and only her intoxicating power could set such a fierce love from him.
He had taken notice of the female gender before. He had always had respect for them because they were the creatures that men loved to prey upon. Flowers that were torn about and scattered by tears, violence, and waste. Not respected or cherished… but abused.
Not that he didn't see the evil in those which freely exhibited it. He more than greatly resented the shah's mother, who put him through torturous hell by making him build trap after trap of death, when all he wanted was something pure, a building of love to show how much he had cared for the one master who had taught him love of architecture. He could never forget the slave harem girl who had been presented to him as a bride, a gift from the Khanum. He had let her go, only to have the child killed in a torture chamber the Khanum had made up herself. He was disgusted by such women.
Erik sighed and rose from his divan, trying to ignore the patient hope that waited like an alarm bell to ring…He slammed his fists down on the arm of the divan, making Ayesha scamper away with a startled growl. There was no use in pretending she would come back, he should have ended his life like the papers of Paris said he had. He couldn't force himself to commit suicide. Something told him to wait, something told him to hold out a glimmer of hope. He hated his persistent heart, and he hated his prison.
May it be a restored prison, it still a prison remained. He sighed and thought of why he had waited for the last two years. He was a proud being, seeing it unreasonable to call himself a man, even though he had the desires of one. He wouldn't beg for her love, if she did come back. No, he would not have the tragedy of before upon him.
"I see that you're deep in thought, Erik." A woman's deep voice answered to his thoughts, as she entered the room, casually. After all, she had helped him rebuild his home after the mob had destroyed it. She had no qualms about entering it, or asking for permission. She too had a quiet and mysterious presence that unnerved him.
"Yes, I am Mme.Giry. Is there anything you need?" Erik shared his hospitality openly with her. She and her daughter had protected him when everyone wanted him dead. Even protected him from Christine. He admired Mme.Giry's advice, her fear of him never obvious to himself. She and he had respect for each other, and it had kept both of their secrets safe.
"I come with relief, and good news." Mme.Giry said softly, her black dress swishing across the floor as she picked up the reluctant cat and stroked it. "And, Erik, I come with bad."
"What is it? The Opera in trouble, is it?"
Mme.Giry could not answer that question directly. As far as she knew, the opera most certainly could not handle one more passion play of Christine Daae's. Neither could her returned daughter, who had gave no explanation to her sudden trip to America . It troubled her aging heart. Whatever had disturbed her daughter so, it had done it enough to where she had to bring her best friend, Christine, into it. So it had to be something major, this was out of Meg's behavior. Meg was a strong girl, like her mother, she mused. To stir her into this sort of depression, flight, it had to have been something major.
And lord willing, she hoped to keep any stress from her daughter, so she had kept Erik's being alive a complete secret even from her Meg.
"Mme.Giry, you wouldn't be down here if it weren't important. So tell me the truth. I am a impatient being, as a whole. " He said, sorting music with a fury as he selected a piece to play on his restored pipe organ.
She watched his cloak swirl with his anger, his whispered frenzy over the perfect piece of music. "My daughter has returned without a real reason for her departure."
"I'm sure it was a joyous if somewhat baffled reunion. You were grateful to have her home and safe, after doing such a reckless thing." Erik softly commented, his jealousy for love from a mother , the kind that was undying like Mme.Giry had for Meg…making him turn away until he saw only the wall.
"She's hiding something from me, Erik. And she didn't return alone. I can't seem to put my finger on this mysterious return." She sat down in a chair and looked away to the carpet on the floor, watching the cat wink at her with its blue eyes.
"I've never been one to know about girls and their fancies, Madame. Do be direct in what you're getting at. Did she return with….a husband? A lover?" His mind was reeling. He didn't want to think…dare hope that Megan had found his dear Christine.. He had to grip the sides of the organ for balance, to clench his teeth. He had to stay grounded in reality.
She heard his breath hiss in and out, felt the energy coming from the enigma that was Erik, the phantom of the opera. Her mouth couldn't utter the truth. After all, her daughter had been avoiding her because of her companion who covered her face with a hooded cloak wherever she went. Only her voice, her melancholy nature, had given Christine Daae away. At least Christine had the sense to only reveal herself to Mme.Giry by accident, as she had found her in Megan's room, hiding from the world, when she had came home to find them both. Christine shied away, almost if Madame was ready to strike her. She sensed that the girl was truly afraid of her, which inside made her sad, and glad at the same time. She had put a lot of people's careers in jeopardy, and she had drove Megan to the point of paranoia. Made Megan grow up. Not that she ever entirely blamed Christine, for a mother's love was fierce. She had done everything in her power to protect her, even protected Megan from knowing that her father had watched her grow all these years. She might have loved Firmin, but not enough to put her daughter and herself through pain. She did herself a favor by taking the old family name and moving on with her life, making her daughter the beautiful ballerina she was. Yes, and the beautiful woman as well, she had to remind herself.
"Erik…I only tell you this because I am wary of something bad happening. Christine has returned with Meg. I don't know why. I only hope that she's here because she wants friendship with Megan and nothing else. Not to stir up things. " She sighed, aware that she had just signed away the peace of the last two years. But she herself had sent Christine updates of things, anonymously. It was her fault as much as Megan's.
"What?!?" His body flew up from it's sitting position, his eyes filled with anguish and hurt. He hated that his intuition had been right. He hated that he wanted her still. Hated that he still had love. He had no desire upon this earth to be hurt anymore. None. And yet, he wanted her to return to him, if for no other reason than love. His throat choked with tears, his body full of pent up emotion that had to be released before he went into a rage. He respected Madame far too much to let her see that.
"Leave! Leave me!" He said softly. "I must be alone…you have to understand how this is for me! Please leave me! Just GO!" He pleaded, unlike himself. Had he had the strength to, he would have ordered. But he could not, not when it was a person who had kept him safe for so long. He sat back down again, his face in his arms, aware of the vulnerable moment. He could not see anything except for his memories, the cold yet bitter two years lending to something sweeter, something fierce and beautiful.
Mme.Giry ushered herself out, aware that she hadn't done any good at all. But the truth had to be told, she couldn't have kept it in the dark, could she? After all, what if Christine had stumbled in here? She immediately began to hate herself. She could protect him from mobs, but she couldn't protect him from heartbreak, cruelty, and most of all the love for a certain young woman.
Just like she couldn't protect herself. She had failed everyone.