Disclaimer: "The Phantom of the Opera" was written by Gaston Leroux.
Based on the musical "The Phantom of the Opera" by Andrew Lloyd Webber and
the book "Phantom" by Susan Kay this fan story is. (Ah, Yoda speak!) I
have no permission to use the characters and I am making no money out of
Leroux/ALW/Kay's work. Rightly or wrongly, I decided to give Carlotta a
past and let the Prima Donna have centre stage. Anything that appears in
'' is remembered dialogue by Carlotta.
Note: I have decided from here on to follow the events as they happen in Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical and not the events of Leroux. In addition, my writing is getting a bit weird; at least I think it is. I think the problem may lie in my tenses. Finally, I am trying to give Carlotta more reason to dig her heels in over her position than simple pride.
+ Carlotta: The Story of Her Life +
Il Muto finished in grand style with a disaster beyond imagination. The chandelier fell. Fortunately, there were no fatalities though many of the patrons received minor injuries from the shards of glass. My mind does not doubt that his intention was to kill. Who, I am not sure. Perhaps he was trying to kill Christine. He may not have even had any specific person in mind, just killing whoever happened to be in his way.
Fate, who rarely blessed us with her presence, seemed to smile on us that night, thankfully.
As for myself, I did not see it fall for I had decided to stay safely locked in my dressing room. In that room, I lost myself in a little fantasy where no one could harm me and there I remained until the crash. When it happened, I rushed out to the stage. Christine stood a few inches from the wrecked chandelier crying into the shoulder of her precious Vicomte. The managers looked down from the vantage point of their box, a look of sheer horror etched on their worn faces. They looked as though they had aged a hundred years, the stress of the last few months clearly visible. As for the ballet rats, they huddled together crying. For the first time, there was a feeling of utter dread among all the staff of opera. Madame Giry, as always, had disappeared no doubt to report to him. Maybe it was for the best. I wrapped my arms around myself as I surveyed the stage. This opera house would never be the same again.
Piangi, who I had not noticed until he grabbed my arm as a small child does when finding its mother, looked at me with a face drained of all colour.
'Cara, you are well!'
His arms circled my shoulders in an embrace as though he had expected to find me ill or worse.
'Yes, yes of course I am.' I said gruffly, my attention turning back to the scene of such wilful destruction.
'This opera house is cursed. Buquet! The chandelier!'
Buquet?
'What about Buquet?' My voice was a little unsure, still sore from that horrible noise that it had emitted earlier.
'The ghost, he killed Buquet.'
Meg Giry stood behind Ubaldo nodding her head, confirming that everything said was true. My heart sank. All this tragedy and suffering for what? A chorus girl! Yes, it was all for her, all for Daaé. There was no plot by the Vicomte to remove me from the opera it was Erik. He had fallen in love with a pretty girl who obviously did not return his feelings. Poor Erik, poor foolish Erik.
***
Everyone left the opera house quickly and quietly. The managers had been the first to leave with a police escort. There were questions that only they could answer. Meg Giry and the ballet rats all left together under the watchful eye of Madame Giry. Only Piangi and I remained in the building.
I locked myself back in my dressing room unable to summon the courage to leave what now seemed like my prison. If I stayed at the opera, I would die by the ghost's hand but I would die without it. When I was a child, my life had been that of a swallow. I was free to go wherever my heart called me. Now I was a caged bird. My time in Paris had made me too reliant. The thought of the world outside scared me. What would become of me if pressed to leave? Where would I go? I was not young, not as strong as I had been when I first went to Venice. It was not as simple as it used to be to just pack up and leave.
There was a gentle tap on my door rousing me from my self-pity. Piangi wanted to accompany me home, make sure I was safe. He worried more about my health than his own. I shouting and screaming for him to leave me in peace.
'Go away. I wish to be left alone.'
'Cara, please, I only wish to help.'
I looked up from my hands that lay feebly on my lap. In the mirror was the image of a girl. I knew her well, of course. She was the girl who once lost the man she loved through her own folly. History was preparing to repeat itself and I would be an idle spectator unable to change its course. My head turned away from the mirror not wishing to look upon that horrible reflection.
'I will be fine, I assure you.' I tried to sound positive, tried to deceive even myself that everything was well.
'If you are sure then I will go.'
'I am. Good night, Ubaldo.'
'Si. Good night.'
When I was sure that he had left I turned back to the mirror. Thirty years ago, I was Christine Daaé - my hair long and dark, my voice as clear as the clearest crystal and a face that belonged to an angel. I wonder if he asked her to love him the same way he asked me. Perhaps his bitter experience with me showed him that women are not to be trusted.
My mind was in a state of disarray, torn between feelings of insecurity and sheer terror. Of course, my primary concern was myself but I could not help but think of the suffering Erik was enduring. Christine did not love him, not in the way he wanted at any rate. She wrapped up in her affection for the Vicomte de Changy.
Erik had never asked anything of anyone. His pride and belief in self- reliance made sure of that. Yet he always made sure that those he cared for never wanted for anything. He must really love Daaé to go to the extremes he has.
'It needs to be cared for. I am the only family it has.'
'Yes, Erik, you have cared for it. Under you this little bird has flourished. Without you it would have died. Now it is time to let go. You cannot keep it locked away forever. I know you only wish to protect it from a cruel world but it needs freedom like any other creature. You understand that, don't you?'
'Yes, I understand. It does not make it any easier to accept, though.'
That day in Venice, all those years ago, I watched as he finally let the little bird that he had cared for from birth fly from our home. He had been a father unable to see that his child had grown, prepared to face the world outside. There is no difference between that little bird and Christine. She will leave him, I know, and go with her precious Raoul. La Esmeralda, I think jokingly, in love with her sun, he shining knight. What a tragic ending! God help us all.
My eyes drifted up to the window. Outside, the stars filled the blackened sky. Soon the sun would rise bringing a new day. I do not eagerly wish to greet the day but I knew I would return to this building, to this life, for I have no other choice.
Note: I have decided from here on to follow the events as they happen in Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical and not the events of Leroux. In addition, my writing is getting a bit weird; at least I think it is. I think the problem may lie in my tenses. Finally, I am trying to give Carlotta more reason to dig her heels in over her position than simple pride.
+ Carlotta: The Story of Her Life +
Il Muto finished in grand style with a disaster beyond imagination. The chandelier fell. Fortunately, there were no fatalities though many of the patrons received minor injuries from the shards of glass. My mind does not doubt that his intention was to kill. Who, I am not sure. Perhaps he was trying to kill Christine. He may not have even had any specific person in mind, just killing whoever happened to be in his way.
Fate, who rarely blessed us with her presence, seemed to smile on us that night, thankfully.
As for myself, I did not see it fall for I had decided to stay safely locked in my dressing room. In that room, I lost myself in a little fantasy where no one could harm me and there I remained until the crash. When it happened, I rushed out to the stage. Christine stood a few inches from the wrecked chandelier crying into the shoulder of her precious Vicomte. The managers looked down from the vantage point of their box, a look of sheer horror etched on their worn faces. They looked as though they had aged a hundred years, the stress of the last few months clearly visible. As for the ballet rats, they huddled together crying. For the first time, there was a feeling of utter dread among all the staff of opera. Madame Giry, as always, had disappeared no doubt to report to him. Maybe it was for the best. I wrapped my arms around myself as I surveyed the stage. This opera house would never be the same again.
Piangi, who I had not noticed until he grabbed my arm as a small child does when finding its mother, looked at me with a face drained of all colour.
'Cara, you are well!'
His arms circled my shoulders in an embrace as though he had expected to find me ill or worse.
'Yes, yes of course I am.' I said gruffly, my attention turning back to the scene of such wilful destruction.
'This opera house is cursed. Buquet! The chandelier!'
Buquet?
'What about Buquet?' My voice was a little unsure, still sore from that horrible noise that it had emitted earlier.
'The ghost, he killed Buquet.'
Meg Giry stood behind Ubaldo nodding her head, confirming that everything said was true. My heart sank. All this tragedy and suffering for what? A chorus girl! Yes, it was all for her, all for Daaé. There was no plot by the Vicomte to remove me from the opera it was Erik. He had fallen in love with a pretty girl who obviously did not return his feelings. Poor Erik, poor foolish Erik.
***
Everyone left the opera house quickly and quietly. The managers had been the first to leave with a police escort. There were questions that only they could answer. Meg Giry and the ballet rats all left together under the watchful eye of Madame Giry. Only Piangi and I remained in the building.
I locked myself back in my dressing room unable to summon the courage to leave what now seemed like my prison. If I stayed at the opera, I would die by the ghost's hand but I would die without it. When I was a child, my life had been that of a swallow. I was free to go wherever my heart called me. Now I was a caged bird. My time in Paris had made me too reliant. The thought of the world outside scared me. What would become of me if pressed to leave? Where would I go? I was not young, not as strong as I had been when I first went to Venice. It was not as simple as it used to be to just pack up and leave.
There was a gentle tap on my door rousing me from my self-pity. Piangi wanted to accompany me home, make sure I was safe. He worried more about my health than his own. I shouting and screaming for him to leave me in peace.
'Go away. I wish to be left alone.'
'Cara, please, I only wish to help.'
I looked up from my hands that lay feebly on my lap. In the mirror was the image of a girl. I knew her well, of course. She was the girl who once lost the man she loved through her own folly. History was preparing to repeat itself and I would be an idle spectator unable to change its course. My head turned away from the mirror not wishing to look upon that horrible reflection.
'I will be fine, I assure you.' I tried to sound positive, tried to deceive even myself that everything was well.
'If you are sure then I will go.'
'I am. Good night, Ubaldo.'
'Si. Good night.'
When I was sure that he had left I turned back to the mirror. Thirty years ago, I was Christine Daaé - my hair long and dark, my voice as clear as the clearest crystal and a face that belonged to an angel. I wonder if he asked her to love him the same way he asked me. Perhaps his bitter experience with me showed him that women are not to be trusted.
My mind was in a state of disarray, torn between feelings of insecurity and sheer terror. Of course, my primary concern was myself but I could not help but think of the suffering Erik was enduring. Christine did not love him, not in the way he wanted at any rate. She wrapped up in her affection for the Vicomte de Changy.
Erik had never asked anything of anyone. His pride and belief in self- reliance made sure of that. Yet he always made sure that those he cared for never wanted for anything. He must really love Daaé to go to the extremes he has.
'It needs to be cared for. I am the only family it has.'
'Yes, Erik, you have cared for it. Under you this little bird has flourished. Without you it would have died. Now it is time to let go. You cannot keep it locked away forever. I know you only wish to protect it from a cruel world but it needs freedom like any other creature. You understand that, don't you?'
'Yes, I understand. It does not make it any easier to accept, though.'
That day in Venice, all those years ago, I watched as he finally let the little bird that he had cared for from birth fly from our home. He had been a father unable to see that his child had grown, prepared to face the world outside. There is no difference between that little bird and Christine. She will leave him, I know, and go with her precious Raoul. La Esmeralda, I think jokingly, in love with her sun, he shining knight. What a tragic ending! God help us all.
My eyes drifted up to the window. Outside, the stars filled the blackened sky. Soon the sun would rise bringing a new day. I do not eagerly wish to greet the day but I knew I would return to this building, to this life, for I have no other choice.