I reiterate: the plot and Diana are mine. Everything else.. Yah.
~Ch. 1~ (many years later)
Dear Christine: I .certainly hope you're happy (crossed out) miss you (crossed out) .wish you all the happiness in your new life. I hope you recall your poor. love (crossed out) teacher (crossed out) ..Angel, and I would like you to know that you no longer need to worry about me coming after. that fop (crossed out) your useless (crossed out) man (crossed out) talentless (crossed out) cretin.(crossed out, crossed out)
Erik sighed and crumpled up the letter. He couldn't bring himself to write "husband". And now he was out of ink, too. He tossed the letter across the room to the wastebasket and muttered when it didn't even make it a meter. His larder had been empty for days. He didn't bother replenishing it after the mob had attacked, and hadn't really seen much point since he was just going to die anyway. Shuffling through his desk, he sighed. The blinding, gut-clenching pain and anger had faded along with his hunger after the first few days. Instead there was just a leaden ball in his stomach, pulling his heart down with puppet strings. there was a song in that. no! Gritting his teeth, he reminded himself of his promise-his music was over. He was never going to write again. Except this last letter. Which was impossible, because he didn't have any more ink. In the entire room. Erik rose unsteadily and went to go steal some from the managers.
Working his way through the hidden passageways of the opera house, he passed the dressing rooms of the performers. He pressed his hands against his ears so he would not have to listen to any of the mediocre, inferior.! Unfortunately, on the way back, carrying a bottle of ink quickly snatched from "Artless" Andre's desk, he couldn't do that. As he passed Carlotta's room, he heard her complaining again, loudly. Big surprise. But then another voice, a soft, murmured mezzo-soprano returned.
"You called, I came as soon as I could," said the younger woman.
"Ubaldo is dead! You should have been here sooner!" Carlotta screeched.
"My condolences, senora," the woman said, but her voice was calm and unapologetic. "If there is nothing else."
"There is!" Carlotta pounced. "I am sure the monster is not dead. Use your skills to find him. I want his head!!" Her voice, as always, was overly loud and melodramatic.
The other woman's voice was cold, controlled steel. "You helped my clan out once. We owe you a favor. Not a life. A favor. I will try to help you for that, but if you insist again, we shall withdraw our support."
Erik laughed silently, pausing to listen. He could almost feel Carlotta's surprise and barely reined anger. He felt approval for the younger woman with the soft voice, and would have peered into the room had a wave of vertigo not washed over him. He gripped the wall, and his stomach, momentarily reminded, let out a growl so loud it echoed in the walls. The ink in his hand, he wove his way quickly and silently through the passageways to his chambers. This would all be over soon.
~
Diana tilted her head at the strange sound in the walls, but did not dismiss it as pipes groaning as Carlotta did. Concluding her bargain with the large obnoxious singer, she left the dressing room wondering how her cousins could have ever needed the woman's help. But family was family, and the Herreras rroma were more protective than most. Carlotta had sent for the family's most talented member, and Diana arrived, dressed in gadjo clothes, her hair in a strict bun. She could blend in with most any group of people, after a lifetime of learning the trade at her father's knee. The Herreras were gypsies with special skills, many involving the darker aspects of life, and Diana was no exception.
The first person she went to was the respected Mme.Giry, an older woman who was said to know much of the 'monster's history. She found Giry leaving the stage, chasing all the ballet girls in front of her with her walking stick. Diana watched as the girls, in "gypsy" dress, scampered away in the wings, like so much flitting butterflies. With about as much brains in their heads. Giry's sharp eyes darted up at Diana. "Here to try out, mademoiselle?" the woman asked, taking in Diana's short, lithe form.
Huh. Not likely. Measuring the woman up, Diana decided to try an unusual tactic: directness. "Mme, I would like to know if you have any information about the Opera Ghost that was said to have so recently haunted these halls. I am writing a book, and I heard that you would be the best informed person on both sides of this story to consult."
Directness, not honesty.
Giry tilted her small head up at Diana, who was perhaps only a little taller. "So, you've come to ask me about the Angel of Music?" she purred, proving once again that no one was immune to flattery.
"Angel?"
~Ch. 1~ (many years later)
Dear Christine: I .certainly hope you're happy (crossed out) miss you (crossed out) .wish you all the happiness in your new life. I hope you recall your poor. love (crossed out) teacher (crossed out) ..Angel, and I would like you to know that you no longer need to worry about me coming after. that fop (crossed out) your useless (crossed out) man (crossed out) talentless (crossed out) cretin.(crossed out, crossed out)
Erik sighed and crumpled up the letter. He couldn't bring himself to write "husband". And now he was out of ink, too. He tossed the letter across the room to the wastebasket and muttered when it didn't even make it a meter. His larder had been empty for days. He didn't bother replenishing it after the mob had attacked, and hadn't really seen much point since he was just going to die anyway. Shuffling through his desk, he sighed. The blinding, gut-clenching pain and anger had faded along with his hunger after the first few days. Instead there was just a leaden ball in his stomach, pulling his heart down with puppet strings. there was a song in that. no! Gritting his teeth, he reminded himself of his promise-his music was over. He was never going to write again. Except this last letter. Which was impossible, because he didn't have any more ink. In the entire room. Erik rose unsteadily and went to go steal some from the managers.
Working his way through the hidden passageways of the opera house, he passed the dressing rooms of the performers. He pressed his hands against his ears so he would not have to listen to any of the mediocre, inferior.! Unfortunately, on the way back, carrying a bottle of ink quickly snatched from "Artless" Andre's desk, he couldn't do that. As he passed Carlotta's room, he heard her complaining again, loudly. Big surprise. But then another voice, a soft, murmured mezzo-soprano returned.
"You called, I came as soon as I could," said the younger woman.
"Ubaldo is dead! You should have been here sooner!" Carlotta screeched.
"My condolences, senora," the woman said, but her voice was calm and unapologetic. "If there is nothing else."
"There is!" Carlotta pounced. "I am sure the monster is not dead. Use your skills to find him. I want his head!!" Her voice, as always, was overly loud and melodramatic.
The other woman's voice was cold, controlled steel. "You helped my clan out once. We owe you a favor. Not a life. A favor. I will try to help you for that, but if you insist again, we shall withdraw our support."
Erik laughed silently, pausing to listen. He could almost feel Carlotta's surprise and barely reined anger. He felt approval for the younger woman with the soft voice, and would have peered into the room had a wave of vertigo not washed over him. He gripped the wall, and his stomach, momentarily reminded, let out a growl so loud it echoed in the walls. The ink in his hand, he wove his way quickly and silently through the passageways to his chambers. This would all be over soon.
~
Diana tilted her head at the strange sound in the walls, but did not dismiss it as pipes groaning as Carlotta did. Concluding her bargain with the large obnoxious singer, she left the dressing room wondering how her cousins could have ever needed the woman's help. But family was family, and the Herreras rroma were more protective than most. Carlotta had sent for the family's most talented member, and Diana arrived, dressed in gadjo clothes, her hair in a strict bun. She could blend in with most any group of people, after a lifetime of learning the trade at her father's knee. The Herreras were gypsies with special skills, many involving the darker aspects of life, and Diana was no exception.
The first person she went to was the respected Mme.Giry, an older woman who was said to know much of the 'monster's history. She found Giry leaving the stage, chasing all the ballet girls in front of her with her walking stick. Diana watched as the girls, in "gypsy" dress, scampered away in the wings, like so much flitting butterflies. With about as much brains in their heads. Giry's sharp eyes darted up at Diana. "Here to try out, mademoiselle?" the woman asked, taking in Diana's short, lithe form.
Huh. Not likely. Measuring the woman up, Diana decided to try an unusual tactic: directness. "Mme, I would like to know if you have any information about the Opera Ghost that was said to have so recently haunted these halls. I am writing a book, and I heard that you would be the best informed person on both sides of this story to consult."
Directness, not honesty.
Giry tilted her small head up at Diana, who was perhaps only a little taller. "So, you've come to ask me about the Angel of Music?" she purred, proving once again that no one was immune to flattery.
"Angel?"