Father Once Spoke of an Angel

By: Stealiana

A/N: I must confess I know close to nothing about Opera. I know general music stuff, but that's it. SO because I know nothing about Opera, I had to write my own song for them to sing because I don't KNOW any that they could sing. I made up my own Opera, okay, so don't flame me for being a moron and enjoy. Also, you better like this song cuz they're gonna sing it in the next chapter too. Okay. Now you can enjoy.

Chapter 14: Damage That Cannot Be Undone

She made her way to the end of the dressing rooms, until she reached the "haunted" one. The little dancers believed it to be terrible luck to any who stepped foot inside Christine Daaé's old dressing room, but upon the Opera Ghost's request, this was where she was to stay while she performed at the Paris Opera House.

Christine closed the door to her dressing room, unnerved by the silence. She had hoped he would be there, to greet her and then reprimand her. But he was not.

"Papa?" She whispered. No voice spoke out from behind the mirror to allay her trembling. She cleared a spot on the dressing table and put the pastry down, promising herself she would come back to it later. The mirror glimmered in the dimly lit room, and she stood directly in front of it, asking again.

"Papa… are you here?" She felt despair welling inside of her when there was no reply. Her fingers carefully felt around the mirror edge until she triggered the mechanism. If he wasn't going to speak to her, then she was going to go speak to him. She grabbed a candle and began to make her way through the passages.

When she reached the lake, she could hear music drifting across the relatively still water. As she carefully poled her way to the opposite shore, she tried to decipher what the music was. She had never heard it before, which meant he was composing. Yet, he had finished Don Juan Triumphant so long ago… what could he possibly be writing now?

She carefully disembarked, attempting to keep the hem of her dress out of the murky water. As she approached the door, she could hear his voice, powerful and commanding, a pure force of emotion and perfection.

"Close your eyes, and let music set you free!" He cried, before there was a quiet scratching on paper. This would be as good a time as any to knock, and so she did.

"What do you want." The masculine voice on the other side demanded, irritated.

"Papa, it's me… Christine." A moment of silence on the other side of the door, then,

"Come in." The door swung open silently at the pressure from her fingertips.

"You missed our appointment." He said sullenly, refusing to look away from the piano where he sat.

"I know, Papa, and I'm sorry."

"Are you really? What an interesting concept. As if apologizing for gallivanting across the city with a young man when your career is at stake will somehow remedy the damage that has been done." He shook his head.

"Papa, my career is not at stake! You said you were proud of me! I have the lead role!" She cried indignantly.

"Do you know how you got there, child? You have yet to prove yourself. The managers only placed you there because I demanded it of them. If I had not, you would be lucky to have a principle role at all!" He stood up from the piano bench and turned, his mask ominously black. "You ungrateful women! After all I do for you, and you still spurn my efforts! The human race would be better off without your petty ingratitude."

"Papa!" She cried, her soul crushed. "Papa, how can you say that? I thought… I thought I was doing well… You said so yourself!" The tears began to flow; she could not keep her emotions under control any longer. They had weathered such a whirlwind of sensations that they burst like a flooded dam. "And I AM grateful, Papa, I am! I know that without you I would be in some godforsaken factory or dead, I KNOW that!"

"You say you know and then you run off with that damned fool instead of singing!" He roared. "Women are all the same! They won't stay with poor Erik; no, they want their handsome young man in all his rich finery. Well, I tire of you foolish women and your useless prattling. If it weren't for the singing lessons, you wouldn't come to see me at all, would you?" Christine wiped back her tears. "Damn it, woman, ANSWER ME!"

"If you treat me like this, of course I wouldn't!" She screamed in despair. He began to advance upon her, his eyes glowing beneath his mask and his rage swirling about him like winds of a hurricane.

"Get out of my house." She took a step back as he drew near with all his furious anger. "Get out! Until you appreciate everything I've done for you, I don't want to see your face! GO!" She turned and ran from the room, slamming the door on her way out. The quiet water listened to her sobs and the steady lapping slowly comforted her. Her hands were shaking so that she could not muster enough strength to push off from the shore and begin her journey to the other side. She tried to calm herself, and somewhat succeeded. As she boarded the boat to cross the lake, she could hear Erik's voice shouting at the piano, his uncontrollable rage getting the better of him once again.

"Foolish women! Or is it I who is the fool? Daaé, you'd be so proud of her. She broke me just like you did. But even after all these years… After everything you've done to me… Is a man weak when he cannot help but love the woman who has tormented him? It doesn't matter; I must finish this… for my love, my love of music…"

He continued to compose, the rest of the world dissolving into mere nothingness. Without a sound, Christine pulled herself onto the tiny boat and began to pole her way back across the dark water.

* * *

"You're late."

The choral master looked at Christine reproachfully.

"I'm terribly sorry." Eric could not help but glance at her; she said each word with such despair and heaviness. He really did not want to look upon her face, not after he knew where she had been. Out again, with Adrian. Perhaps there had been a fight? The thought was somewhat amusing, and he found himself cheered by the prospect. Her eyes were dark, as if she had not slept very well. He looked away, knowing that soon enough he would have to face her, no matter the pain it put him through. The duet was becoming a problem for him; how could he sing to a woman who he hated and loved at the same time? Questions, questions. He was full of them. But the choral master did not want questions; he wanted results. Otherwise the managers would shove him out onto the street.

Eric knew Firmin and Andrés were nervous. Their apprehension fairly emanated through the air of the Opera House, and it was no small wonder. This was a widely anticipated show, and the two leads were younger than the little Meg Giry! Any manager in their right mind would be biting their nails to the quick with anxiety. But the demands of the Opera Ghost could not be ignored.

"Shall we begin then?" The choral master seated himself at the piano, flipping his coattails in one curt motion. Eric nodded, and he turned to face Christine.

Her skin was pale, her lips a deep red in contrast to her white complexion. Her shoulders sagged, despite her attempt to look dignified and aristocratic as the daughter of the baron. Eric stood tall as well, retaining the posture of a military officer who was about to leave for war. He nodded at her, and she painted a coquettish smile on her face. But there was no meaning behind it.

"And what, pray tell, is the occasion for such finery?"

"I leave tomorrow morning."

"You're… leaving?"

"We received the order today. All the preparations have been made. Now, there is just to wait."

"How easy for you to say. You do not have to stay behind."

You can't stop the world from aging

I can't stop the days from passing

How can I forget everything that has been?

Maybe where you look is not the answer

Why shouldn't we find another way?

Please don't think me selfish when I say

I want you to wait for my return

Leave the candle in the window to burn

Just wait for me as I will wait for you.

A noble promise from a true gentleman

But what if you arrive upon Death's Door?

Who then will I have cherished my heart for?

I could wait forever and more

If I knew my heart secure

An eternal promise for all the world to see

I will wait forever and more

If I may keep your heart secure

So I ask you now if you will marry me?

Just wait for me, as I will wait for you.

"End scene." Eric muttered, relieved that it was over. His relaxation was shattered when he heard the choral master slam his fists onto the piano keys.

"Horrid! Those notes are not naturals, mademoiselle, yet that is how you insist on singing them. And you, monsieur, are slowing this down to a funeral procession! Lord above! Grant me patience, for I have no time for this foolishness! This song would be more romantic if there were two dead fish on the stage. Come back to me when it sounds like music, or your understudies will take the part!" He stormed out of the room in a huff, cursing about the incompetence of children.

"A funeral procession, is it." Eric scowled darkly, as he watched the choral master depart. "The procession will be for him if he does not watch himself." Christine pretended not to hear him, although her frustration was evident in her facial expression.

"The performance is in a week, is it not?" She asked.

"Exactly seven days," was the reply.

"That does not give us much time." Eric did not dignify the conversation with a response.

"Perhaps," Christine ventured into the silence, mustering enough energy to make the effort. "We should practice a little more."

"Is there anything else you'd like to point out that's already blatantly obvious?" He snapped. Despite her usual sensitive attitude towards such remarks, she ignored the acidic comment.

"Can you meet me on the stage after dinner?"

"Why not? My time is none but my own."

"We can practice then." She turned and walked out of the room, leaving Eric to wonder, against his will, why she was so distraught. In the future, he decided it would be prudent if he showed a little more sympathy to whatever situation she had found herself in.