Fiend Angelical
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^hey, phantom-phans! What do I get to say here? The Phantom isn't mine; and I'm obviously not making money off of this, so don't sue! I only have seventy-three cents, anyway.The title I stole quite blatantly from Romeo and Juliet; it's from the scene when Juliet just finds out Romeo killed Tybalt. I just love the way it sounds! :P This story is about a young girl, Kristina, and everybody's favorite villain (..?) Erik! There is no romance (he and Christine were meant to be.) but lots of music and angst! There is also some small use of other languages (only a couple phrases) but I used on line translating sites, so if the grammar isn't good don't take offense! Please don't forget to review! Thanks so much for reading! And special thanks to SilverClawRose for editing this the whole way through. I love you, Osa-P!!! Go on, everybody, now read the story!*^*^*^*^*^*^*^
It was a dark and stormy night.
Young Kristina was scared, cold, and alone. She had with her only a carpetbag, more full of books than clothes, and a violin case. She clutched her coat, three sizes too big around her, as if it offered more than just cold wetness. A flash of lightening, closely followed by a resounding clap of thunder caused to her scream and run into the nearest building.
The sudden change in scenery took her breath away. Inside the Parisian Opera house; things were bright and cheery. The red carpet was welcoming, the vaulted ceiling beautiful. For a full minute, the girl stood there, staring at the artful glory. When she came back down to earth, several aristocrats were looking down their noses at her wet and plain self, wondering whom she belonged to and what she was doing here. Luckily, at that moment a few late members of the orchestra walked into the lobby (on their way to the stage, no doubt) and, brandishing her violin case, she followed them.
As soon she was out of sight of the patrons, she began asking questions of the violinists and flutists she had walked with. "Bitte könnten Herr, Sie mir erzählen, wo der Führer ist?" They looked at her strangely, as if they only now noticed she was with them. She was undoubtedly German, tall and large of frame, with long light hair and pretty blue eyes. Her lips were of a nice shape, but her nose was large and her looks were mostly plain. One of the violinists spoke a tad of German, and told her that they did not understand. She thought hard for a moment, and then spoke, brokenly, in French. "Please, Herr, tell me, where can I find the conductor?" They smiled amongst themselves, because what could such a young girl, for surely she couldn't be more than 15, want with the conductor of an orchestra as fine as themselves. However, they humored her and told he that although there was a performance very soon, she could wait and they would come fetch her afterwards. "Ach, danke schön! Thank you very much!" And she would have flung herself towards the musicians in a soggy embrace, had she not remembered at the last moment she was soaking wet. They quickly showed her to an old, unused dressing room and told her she could wait there, and that she should feel free to dry herself off, and use whatever clothes she could find in the closets.
After thanking the musicians profusely, Kristina stripped off her wet garments and laid them on the dresser. She wrung her oversized coat over the floor, ridding it of as much water as possible. She then looked through the dressers, in search of something to wear.
In the end she slipped on a beautiful white dress that she adored the moment she laid eyes on it. Twirling in front of the huge mirror; she giggled and the lines of worry erased from her face like magic, making her look much prettier. She sat down at the vanity and brushed her wet hair and made faces at herself when the tangles hurt. Suddenly she spoke, although it was not apparent to whom. "Signor, I simply must make myself presentable or else they might throw us right back out into the streets! Oh, how cold and hungry I am! Well, only hungry now, dear, not cold any longer thanks to those kind musicians. I wonder what it's like to play in such a large group. With luck we'll soon know, right Signor?" And then she got up and patted her violin case; and it becomes clear whom she was addressing. Friendless and alone in the world longer a time than was good for her, the young girl had attached great importance to her violin. Indeed, she called 'him' Signor out of respect for the good Italian neighbor who had made him for her. Strange, yes, but it perhaps she may have been driven quite mad by loneliness if it wasn't for the companionship of her instrument.
Giggling, Kristina stood up and announced that in this beautiful white dress she looked and felt like a princess. Then she opened the violin case, tightened the bow and began to play.
It was beautiful.
Behind the mirror, Erik shuddered in pain. He wanted to run, to flee from the memories threatening to overtake him but he stayed; stayed and listen to the music produced from the young girl's fingertips. She was much younger than Christine; and her face was plain where Christine's had been stunning. This young girl was taller and sturdier; her figure not even echoing his Angel's. But, she was wearing Christine's old dress and her hair.her hair was the same golden sheet spilling over her shoulders and reaching towards her waist. That was quite enough to make him remember.
He had had quite a shock when the girl had sat down at the mirror and started to speak to an unseen 'Signor'. He had been about to leave when she had caressed her violin with such gentle adoration that something panged in the monster's heart and caused him to stay where he was and observe.
Without warning she stopped playing and burst into tears. Her violin slipped into her lap; the bow to the floor but she was heedless of them both. Her wails were choked with tragedy and she made no move to soften the noise. It was quite infuriating to Erik; who rarely even left his rooms anymore and never touched his instruments at all. Before losing his infamous temper at the girl, he turned to leave; and stopped. Perhaps.but then he shook his head and sang a soft, angry song "It's over now.the music of the night." Her wails doubled in volume. "STOP CRYING!!!"
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^hey, phantom-phans! What do I get to say here? The Phantom isn't mine; and I'm obviously not making money off of this, so don't sue! I only have seventy-three cents, anyway.The title I stole quite blatantly from Romeo and Juliet; it's from the scene when Juliet just finds out Romeo killed Tybalt. I just love the way it sounds! :P This story is about a young girl, Kristina, and everybody's favorite villain (..?) Erik! There is no romance (he and Christine were meant to be.) but lots of music and angst! There is also some small use of other languages (only a couple phrases) but I used on line translating sites, so if the grammar isn't good don't take offense! Please don't forget to review! Thanks so much for reading! And special thanks to SilverClawRose for editing this the whole way through. I love you, Osa-P!!! Go on, everybody, now read the story!*^*^*^*^*^*^*^
It was a dark and stormy night.
Young Kristina was scared, cold, and alone. She had with her only a carpetbag, more full of books than clothes, and a violin case. She clutched her coat, three sizes too big around her, as if it offered more than just cold wetness. A flash of lightening, closely followed by a resounding clap of thunder caused to her scream and run into the nearest building.
The sudden change in scenery took her breath away. Inside the Parisian Opera house; things were bright and cheery. The red carpet was welcoming, the vaulted ceiling beautiful. For a full minute, the girl stood there, staring at the artful glory. When she came back down to earth, several aristocrats were looking down their noses at her wet and plain self, wondering whom she belonged to and what she was doing here. Luckily, at that moment a few late members of the orchestra walked into the lobby (on their way to the stage, no doubt) and, brandishing her violin case, she followed them.
As soon she was out of sight of the patrons, she began asking questions of the violinists and flutists she had walked with. "Bitte könnten Herr, Sie mir erzählen, wo der Führer ist?" They looked at her strangely, as if they only now noticed she was with them. She was undoubtedly German, tall and large of frame, with long light hair and pretty blue eyes. Her lips were of a nice shape, but her nose was large and her looks were mostly plain. One of the violinists spoke a tad of German, and told her that they did not understand. She thought hard for a moment, and then spoke, brokenly, in French. "Please, Herr, tell me, where can I find the conductor?" They smiled amongst themselves, because what could such a young girl, for surely she couldn't be more than 15, want with the conductor of an orchestra as fine as themselves. However, they humored her and told he that although there was a performance very soon, she could wait and they would come fetch her afterwards. "Ach, danke schön! Thank you very much!" And she would have flung herself towards the musicians in a soggy embrace, had she not remembered at the last moment she was soaking wet. They quickly showed her to an old, unused dressing room and told her she could wait there, and that she should feel free to dry herself off, and use whatever clothes she could find in the closets.
After thanking the musicians profusely, Kristina stripped off her wet garments and laid them on the dresser. She wrung her oversized coat over the floor, ridding it of as much water as possible. She then looked through the dressers, in search of something to wear.
In the end she slipped on a beautiful white dress that she adored the moment she laid eyes on it. Twirling in front of the huge mirror; she giggled and the lines of worry erased from her face like magic, making her look much prettier. She sat down at the vanity and brushed her wet hair and made faces at herself when the tangles hurt. Suddenly she spoke, although it was not apparent to whom. "Signor, I simply must make myself presentable or else they might throw us right back out into the streets! Oh, how cold and hungry I am! Well, only hungry now, dear, not cold any longer thanks to those kind musicians. I wonder what it's like to play in such a large group. With luck we'll soon know, right Signor?" And then she got up and patted her violin case; and it becomes clear whom she was addressing. Friendless and alone in the world longer a time than was good for her, the young girl had attached great importance to her violin. Indeed, she called 'him' Signor out of respect for the good Italian neighbor who had made him for her. Strange, yes, but it perhaps she may have been driven quite mad by loneliness if it wasn't for the companionship of her instrument.
Giggling, Kristina stood up and announced that in this beautiful white dress she looked and felt like a princess. Then she opened the violin case, tightened the bow and began to play.
It was beautiful.
Behind the mirror, Erik shuddered in pain. He wanted to run, to flee from the memories threatening to overtake him but he stayed; stayed and listen to the music produced from the young girl's fingertips. She was much younger than Christine; and her face was plain where Christine's had been stunning. This young girl was taller and sturdier; her figure not even echoing his Angel's. But, she was wearing Christine's old dress and her hair.her hair was the same golden sheet spilling over her shoulders and reaching towards her waist. That was quite enough to make him remember.
He had had quite a shock when the girl had sat down at the mirror and started to speak to an unseen 'Signor'. He had been about to leave when she had caressed her violin with such gentle adoration that something panged in the monster's heart and caused him to stay where he was and observe.
Without warning she stopped playing and burst into tears. Her violin slipped into her lap; the bow to the floor but she was heedless of them both. Her wails were choked with tragedy and she made no move to soften the noise. It was quite infuriating to Erik; who rarely even left his rooms anymore and never touched his instruments at all. Before losing his infamous temper at the girl, he turned to leave; and stopped. Perhaps.but then he shook his head and sang a soft, angry song "It's over now.the music of the night." Her wails doubled in volume. "STOP CRYING!!!"
