Beneath the Opera House: The Nightingale & the Angel
Phantom of the Opera fanfiction
immo - immo@hamena.org
author's notes: Third installment. I'm really getting into the flow of this. Of course, that could be seen as bad,
since exams are right around the corner... shit...
For those who are curious, this story is taken mostly from the musical. It is present day. The book by Gaston Leroux
was never written in this reality. And so, the musical by Andrew Lloyd Webber was never created.
Review me, review me, you'll get another one coming soon if you do! :D Tell me if I'm doing a good job or not, tell
me if there are inconsistancies in the story, tell me, tell me, tell me! You want something done in the story? You
gotta tell me that too. I can't read your mind. ;)
~~~
Sean had walked her to the Paris Opera House. Sure, it was a long walk from her place, but they had several
hours. And Élise was early.
The dancers were going through their routines, it was their stage time. The next show was in a week, and
everyone worked hard.
Danielle had a big part in the ballet portion of the opera, she was extremely good. Her parents had started
her in ballet when she was really young, and now she was even good enough to give lessons on the side. The brunette
was working with the corps de ballet, all of them striving to move in unison, to compliment one another. Dipping
together, every movement, really, reminding Élise of a moving watercolor picture. The costumes dazzled her, and she
loved everything about the opera.
"Non, non!" The ballet mistress clapped her hands, drawing the corps' attention to her. "Arrêt! We shall
have a break. Danielle, I don't know what's wrong with you, but you're not putting in your full potential."
"I'm sorry, Mme Rousseau."
"Is anything wrong?"
"No." Danielle smiled a bit. "I'm okay. But... a rest would be welcome."
The corps de ballet flocked to her after the mistress pulled another ballerina aside to talk to her, asking
about her well-being, like a flock of sparrows over crumbs on the floor. Small, excitable, and always ready to pick
up a new topic to gossip over.
Élise didn't call out to Danielle, instead, found pleasure in just being an observer. Soon, Mme Rousseau
called the corps de ballet back to attention.
"Now, in your positions. We don't have all day..."
The ballerinas got back into position, sinking into a plié, hands held delicately, their bodies, posed and
ready.
"Now, follow my beat. We start on three. Prêt? Un, deux, trois, un, deux, trois..." As Mme Rousseau counted
slowly, the ballerinas came to life, striving for harmony and timing. All of them had to be in complete unison, and
Danielle performed flawlessly, the very picture of fluid beauty. Her face shone with a serenity Élise yearned for.
It was so... natural. That was how she wished to sing. Danielle merged with the sea of dancers, completely
disappearing, undefinable from the others. The beat quickened in a crescendo, patterns drawn out with their bodies,
collapsing, drawing other patterns... breathlessly, Élise watched. It was all so clever.
"Magnifique!" Mme Rousseau exclaimed, when they came to the final movements of their dance.
Someone else agreed too, as the sound of a pair of hands clapping, seemed to echo and reverberate throughout
the auditorium.
"Bravo, mesdames... bravo..."
Élise recognized that voice. She would recognize it anywhere. Only one voice, in all the years she lived,
had ever sounded like that. Mme Rousseau tried to look past the blinding stagelights, to the seats. The voice, she
was sure, came from higher up. Not being able to see anyone, she grinned anyways, and motioned to the dancers to
come forward.
"Someone thinks you girls won't do poorly this week! Say thank you, girls!"
"Merci, monsieur!" Their girlish voices echoed in the large space. There was no answer.
Élise looked up, towards the private boxes that were rented, or bought by the rich. In one box, box number
five, she was sure, the gleam of light off something that she was sure were opera-glasses...
The hair on the back of her neck stood on ends, like it did just yesterday when she was underground.
The opera-glasses, she was sure, were directed at her.
Getting up from her seat, she ran out of the auditorium, to the lobby. None of the ballerinas noticed she
left. Most of them didn't even know she had been here. She found the staircase she needed,
and bound up the steps, two at a time, despite the pain it caused her.
Bursting through the first set, then the second set of drapes that seperated Box 5 from the hallway, she
stood there, breathing heavily, her chest burning from the exercise.
On the ledge, was a pair of old-fashioned opera glasses.
She picked it up, felt how utterly cold to the touch it was. And she looked around the box, knowing she
would see no-one.
"Hello?" Élise's voice was soft. "Monsieur?"
Licking her lips, she tried again, feeling utterly ridiculous at talking to... nothing. But in her heart,
she believed, whoever it was, could definitely hear her.
"Merci beaucoup, Monsieur." Élise placed the opera glasses back where she had found them. "For... helping me
that day--"
"Has anyone seen Élise?" One of the stagehands came on stage, interrupting the ballerinas.
"No, she wasn't here." Danielle cast a look around. "Maybe if you tried with the chorus...?"
"Up here!" Élise leaned over the railing and shouted, waving.
"Élise!" The stagehand--she recognized him now, it was John--called to her. "What are you doing up there?!
Anyways, the chorus needs you! They're in their usual spot!"
"Right away!" The small girl called down.
~~~
"Our star has arrived!"
The scene was a panic. People were running to and fro in the hallways, preparing, shooing out members of the
press that had managed to sneak in...
Bianca Castafiore! The Milanese nightingale! Here!
It seemed the soprano that would be the star of the show, in true prima donna fashion, had arrived
fashionably late. And she wanted to start rehearsing, right away.
"Why did she arrive so late?" Élise had to jog to keep up with John's quick steps.
"Something to do with the girl that follows her around everywhere. Got really sick. So after several days of
tending the girl, she finally had to leave without her." John glanced at his watch, and quickened his steps again.
"That's where you come in."
"What?!"
"The soprano states that she needs one girl to wait on her hand and foot. A lot of people are clamouring for
the job... but we really can't spare them." The excited buzz of the chorus girls could be heard, and voices climbing
scales and descending in a chaotic mix. Then, all was silent.
And she could feel goosebumps ripple up and down her back.
The highly trained voice of a prima donna, echoed up and down the passage.
"There she is."
Élise's heart was fluttering like a caged butterfly. Sure, she's heard soprano's sing before. But to serve
at one's feet? To listen to them? She wondered if she would faint. Quietly, they entered the room, so they wouldn't
interrupt the Soprano's song.
"Ah, my beauty past compare; these jewels bright I wear!"
There was complete silence, except for that voice. When the song came to an end, there was thunderous
applause, and the girls were squealing and asking questions.
"Powerful stuff, isn't it?" John shook his head briefly.
"Ah, please, please!" The smiling Castafiore looked around. "Questions, I will answer soon. But please, a
drink of water...?"
Élise was at the woman's side in a second, breathlessly offering a glass, and pouring her some water from a
pitcher of water that is always in the chorus room.
"Ah, you are fast." The soprano smiled, then frowned, and reached out a hand bejewelled with gemstones. "But
my dear, what happened to your face?"
"I--" Élise was aware of eyes, boring into the back of her head. "--I fell."
"Are you to be my assistant for the duration of my stay here?" The soprano looked behind her and regarded
John. "Is this the one?"
"Oui, Signora."
Bianca Castafiore smiled. "Well, you're a small one. But I guess you'll have to do, since my Irma is sick.
Come, we have much to do."
"Signora," A harried looking man walked in with a briefcase and several sheafs of score under his arm. "I
have the music, and they say the stage is ready for you."
"Ah, beautiful!" Bianca Castafiore motioned him forward, and placed a hand on Élise's shoulder. "Igor, meet
my new little helper... ah, where are my manners! What is your name, girl?"
"Élise Chagny, signora."
"Indeed," The Milanese Nightingale nodded. "Élise, this is my accompanist, Igor Wagner."
"It's a pleasure," Igor smiled.
"Now, we shall start, shall we not? And I must say, I have a lot of work to catch up on." The Signora
chuckled to herself. "Come on, Igor, Élise; to work!"
~~~
"You ready to go yet?" Danielle winced, and held her cellphone away from her ear. Anna's voice could be
heard, furiously going a mile a minute. "Your sister's outside in a no park zone, and she's getting pissed."
"In a minute, she's almost done." Élise nodded in the direction of the Soprano. The prima donna had insisted
on staying an hour or so behind to rehearse. The chorus had left already, and Élise was the only one there besides
Castafiore's accompanist. Well, there was also Danielle.
"You go ahead first, just... distract her for a bit. I'll be right there." Élise pleaded. Danielle sighed,
and ruffled the girl's hair.
"Okay. But you get your ass out there soon, okay?" Picking up her duffel bag with her dancing gear in it,
Danielle left.
True to Élise's prediction, Bianca Castafiore stopped after ten minutes.
"Dio, my throat is parched!"
Right away, Élise was there with a glass of water.
"Ah, thank you, Élise." The soprano looked at her accompanist, who was sagging at the piano. They had just
arrived today, and the jetlag was wearing down the poor man. "I suppose we could call it a day. You will be here
tomorrow, Élise? At one o'clock sharp?"
"Oui, signora."
"Excellent, most excellent." The Milanese Nightingale clapped her hands in delight. "My purse, if you
please."
Élise ran backstage, and came back with a purse, handed it to the soprano. With a flourish, the singer
produced a twenty euro banknote and slipped it into Élise's hands.
"Signora, non, I cannot accept--"
"Hush! You have been very good today." The signora winked. "I will see you tomorrow."
Élise opened and closed her mouth, then nodded. "Merci, signora."
"Perhaps tomorrow, they will have a dressing room for me?"
"I will tell them, signora."
Bianca beamed. "Such a nice girl! Now, Mr Wagner, lets go~!"
The two exited the stage, and Élise was alone there. She felt so happy... and a bit sad. Would this be the
closest she'll get to her dream?
The lights were still on. And glancing around and up at the ceiling to make sure there was no-one there, she
walked slowly to the middle of the stage, and imagined a full house night. And she was the star of the show.
Slowly, she started singing one of the songs the Milanese Nightingale had been rehearsing, and imagined some
members of the audience, moved to tears at her performance.
"Child... your voice is sweet..."
Élise stopped and blushed.
"But... it lacks training." The voice paused, then continued again, soothingly. It was as if someone had
swooped down from the tops of the Opera House and stood in front of her. And her senses were blasted with that slow
music that had haunted her, bringing her down to her knees in tears. Everything she had thought was beautiful to
hear... proved a lie in the face of such a voice.
"Monsieur," Élise knew it was a male, from the tenor of the voice. She did not know if she spoke to a *man*,
though. No person alive could sound so angelic. "Monsieur, who are you?"
"I... am the Angel of Music." The Angel's voice quivered in laughter for a second. Then she could feel
fingers, lightly touching her throat, but saw no-one. "And I. I shall be your tutor, Élise. Your voice is worthy."
The presence left then, and she knew it was gone. The music had left the air, she felt like her entire body
tingled, the blows that she suffered on her body didn't hurt anymore.
"Hello?" She looked around the auditorium. But no-one was there. She knelt there in a stupor, for a few
seconds. Then she stood up, and exited, stage left.
Élise had never before felt such a feeling of wonder. When the angel had touched her throat, it felt like
warm molten gold had flowed from those invisible fingers and coated the insides of her larynx. And she believed with
the same blind trust and ferocity as she did when she was young, and her mother told her stories of how the Angel of
Music had come down and touched the life of her great-great grandmother.
She believed, she believed, oh God, she believed!
Élise stumbled outside, and only by Anna and Danielle's alarmed attitudes did she realize she had not
stopped weeping since the voice of the Angel had brought her to her knees.
Phantom of the Opera fanfiction
immo - immo@hamena.org
author's notes: Third installment. I'm really getting into the flow of this. Of course, that could be seen as bad,
since exams are right around the corner... shit...
For those who are curious, this story is taken mostly from the musical. It is present day. The book by Gaston Leroux
was never written in this reality. And so, the musical by Andrew Lloyd Webber was never created.
Review me, review me, you'll get another one coming soon if you do! :D Tell me if I'm doing a good job or not, tell
me if there are inconsistancies in the story, tell me, tell me, tell me! You want something done in the story? You
gotta tell me that too. I can't read your mind. ;)
~~~
Sean had walked her to the Paris Opera House. Sure, it was a long walk from her place, but they had several
hours. And Élise was early.
The dancers were going through their routines, it was their stage time. The next show was in a week, and
everyone worked hard.
Danielle had a big part in the ballet portion of the opera, she was extremely good. Her parents had started
her in ballet when she was really young, and now she was even good enough to give lessons on the side. The brunette
was working with the corps de ballet, all of them striving to move in unison, to compliment one another. Dipping
together, every movement, really, reminding Élise of a moving watercolor picture. The costumes dazzled her, and she
loved everything about the opera.
"Non, non!" The ballet mistress clapped her hands, drawing the corps' attention to her. "Arrêt! We shall
have a break. Danielle, I don't know what's wrong with you, but you're not putting in your full potential."
"I'm sorry, Mme Rousseau."
"Is anything wrong?"
"No." Danielle smiled a bit. "I'm okay. But... a rest would be welcome."
The corps de ballet flocked to her after the mistress pulled another ballerina aside to talk to her, asking
about her well-being, like a flock of sparrows over crumbs on the floor. Small, excitable, and always ready to pick
up a new topic to gossip over.
Élise didn't call out to Danielle, instead, found pleasure in just being an observer. Soon, Mme Rousseau
called the corps de ballet back to attention.
"Now, in your positions. We don't have all day..."
The ballerinas got back into position, sinking into a plié, hands held delicately, their bodies, posed and
ready.
"Now, follow my beat. We start on three. Prêt? Un, deux, trois, un, deux, trois..." As Mme Rousseau counted
slowly, the ballerinas came to life, striving for harmony and timing. All of them had to be in complete unison, and
Danielle performed flawlessly, the very picture of fluid beauty. Her face shone with a serenity Élise yearned for.
It was so... natural. That was how she wished to sing. Danielle merged with the sea of dancers, completely
disappearing, undefinable from the others. The beat quickened in a crescendo, patterns drawn out with their bodies,
collapsing, drawing other patterns... breathlessly, Élise watched. It was all so clever.
"Magnifique!" Mme Rousseau exclaimed, when they came to the final movements of their dance.
Someone else agreed too, as the sound of a pair of hands clapping, seemed to echo and reverberate throughout
the auditorium.
"Bravo, mesdames... bravo..."
Élise recognized that voice. She would recognize it anywhere. Only one voice, in all the years she lived,
had ever sounded like that. Mme Rousseau tried to look past the blinding stagelights, to the seats. The voice, she
was sure, came from higher up. Not being able to see anyone, she grinned anyways, and motioned to the dancers to
come forward.
"Someone thinks you girls won't do poorly this week! Say thank you, girls!"
"Merci, monsieur!" Their girlish voices echoed in the large space. There was no answer.
Élise looked up, towards the private boxes that were rented, or bought by the rich. In one box, box number
five, she was sure, the gleam of light off something that she was sure were opera-glasses...
The hair on the back of her neck stood on ends, like it did just yesterday when she was underground.
The opera-glasses, she was sure, were directed at her.
Getting up from her seat, she ran out of the auditorium, to the lobby. None of the ballerinas noticed she
left. Most of them didn't even know she had been here. She found the staircase she needed,
and bound up the steps, two at a time, despite the pain it caused her.
Bursting through the first set, then the second set of drapes that seperated Box 5 from the hallway, she
stood there, breathing heavily, her chest burning from the exercise.
On the ledge, was a pair of old-fashioned opera glasses.
She picked it up, felt how utterly cold to the touch it was. And she looked around the box, knowing she
would see no-one.
"Hello?" Élise's voice was soft. "Monsieur?"
Licking her lips, she tried again, feeling utterly ridiculous at talking to... nothing. But in her heart,
she believed, whoever it was, could definitely hear her.
"Merci beaucoup, Monsieur." Élise placed the opera glasses back where she had found them. "For... helping me
that day--"
"Has anyone seen Élise?" One of the stagehands came on stage, interrupting the ballerinas.
"No, she wasn't here." Danielle cast a look around. "Maybe if you tried with the chorus...?"
"Up here!" Élise leaned over the railing and shouted, waving.
"Élise!" The stagehand--she recognized him now, it was John--called to her. "What are you doing up there?!
Anyways, the chorus needs you! They're in their usual spot!"
"Right away!" The small girl called down.
~~~
"Our star has arrived!"
The scene was a panic. People were running to and fro in the hallways, preparing, shooing out members of the
press that had managed to sneak in...
Bianca Castafiore! The Milanese nightingale! Here!
It seemed the soprano that would be the star of the show, in true prima donna fashion, had arrived
fashionably late. And she wanted to start rehearsing, right away.
"Why did she arrive so late?" Élise had to jog to keep up with John's quick steps.
"Something to do with the girl that follows her around everywhere. Got really sick. So after several days of
tending the girl, she finally had to leave without her." John glanced at his watch, and quickened his steps again.
"That's where you come in."
"What?!"
"The soprano states that she needs one girl to wait on her hand and foot. A lot of people are clamouring for
the job... but we really can't spare them." The excited buzz of the chorus girls could be heard, and voices climbing
scales and descending in a chaotic mix. Then, all was silent.
And she could feel goosebumps ripple up and down her back.
The highly trained voice of a prima donna, echoed up and down the passage.
"There she is."
Élise's heart was fluttering like a caged butterfly. Sure, she's heard soprano's sing before. But to serve
at one's feet? To listen to them? She wondered if she would faint. Quietly, they entered the room, so they wouldn't
interrupt the Soprano's song.
"Ah, my beauty past compare; these jewels bright I wear!"
There was complete silence, except for that voice. When the song came to an end, there was thunderous
applause, and the girls were squealing and asking questions.
"Powerful stuff, isn't it?" John shook his head briefly.
"Ah, please, please!" The smiling Castafiore looked around. "Questions, I will answer soon. But please, a
drink of water...?"
Élise was at the woman's side in a second, breathlessly offering a glass, and pouring her some water from a
pitcher of water that is always in the chorus room.
"Ah, you are fast." The soprano smiled, then frowned, and reached out a hand bejewelled with gemstones. "But
my dear, what happened to your face?"
"I--" Élise was aware of eyes, boring into the back of her head. "--I fell."
"Are you to be my assistant for the duration of my stay here?" The soprano looked behind her and regarded
John. "Is this the one?"
"Oui, Signora."
Bianca Castafiore smiled. "Well, you're a small one. But I guess you'll have to do, since my Irma is sick.
Come, we have much to do."
"Signora," A harried looking man walked in with a briefcase and several sheafs of score under his arm. "I
have the music, and they say the stage is ready for you."
"Ah, beautiful!" Bianca Castafiore motioned him forward, and placed a hand on Élise's shoulder. "Igor, meet
my new little helper... ah, where are my manners! What is your name, girl?"
"Élise Chagny, signora."
"Indeed," The Milanese Nightingale nodded. "Élise, this is my accompanist, Igor Wagner."
"It's a pleasure," Igor smiled.
"Now, we shall start, shall we not? And I must say, I have a lot of work to catch up on." The Signora
chuckled to herself. "Come on, Igor, Élise; to work!"
~~~
"You ready to go yet?" Danielle winced, and held her cellphone away from her ear. Anna's voice could be
heard, furiously going a mile a minute. "Your sister's outside in a no park zone, and she's getting pissed."
"In a minute, she's almost done." Élise nodded in the direction of the Soprano. The prima donna had insisted
on staying an hour or so behind to rehearse. The chorus had left already, and Élise was the only one there besides
Castafiore's accompanist. Well, there was also Danielle.
"You go ahead first, just... distract her for a bit. I'll be right there." Élise pleaded. Danielle sighed,
and ruffled the girl's hair.
"Okay. But you get your ass out there soon, okay?" Picking up her duffel bag with her dancing gear in it,
Danielle left.
True to Élise's prediction, Bianca Castafiore stopped after ten minutes.
"Dio, my throat is parched!"
Right away, Élise was there with a glass of water.
"Ah, thank you, Élise." The soprano looked at her accompanist, who was sagging at the piano. They had just
arrived today, and the jetlag was wearing down the poor man. "I suppose we could call it a day. You will be here
tomorrow, Élise? At one o'clock sharp?"
"Oui, signora."
"Excellent, most excellent." The Milanese Nightingale clapped her hands in delight. "My purse, if you
please."
Élise ran backstage, and came back with a purse, handed it to the soprano. With a flourish, the singer
produced a twenty euro banknote and slipped it into Élise's hands.
"Signora, non, I cannot accept--"
"Hush! You have been very good today." The signora winked. "I will see you tomorrow."
Élise opened and closed her mouth, then nodded. "Merci, signora."
"Perhaps tomorrow, they will have a dressing room for me?"
"I will tell them, signora."
Bianca beamed. "Such a nice girl! Now, Mr Wagner, lets go~!"
The two exited the stage, and Élise was alone there. She felt so happy... and a bit sad. Would this be the
closest she'll get to her dream?
The lights were still on. And glancing around and up at the ceiling to make sure there was no-one there, she
walked slowly to the middle of the stage, and imagined a full house night. And she was the star of the show.
Slowly, she started singing one of the songs the Milanese Nightingale had been rehearsing, and imagined some
members of the audience, moved to tears at her performance.
"Child... your voice is sweet..."
Élise stopped and blushed.
"But... it lacks training." The voice paused, then continued again, soothingly. It was as if someone had
swooped down from the tops of the Opera House and stood in front of her. And her senses were blasted with that slow
music that had haunted her, bringing her down to her knees in tears. Everything she had thought was beautiful to
hear... proved a lie in the face of such a voice.
"Monsieur," Élise knew it was a male, from the tenor of the voice. She did not know if she spoke to a *man*,
though. No person alive could sound so angelic. "Monsieur, who are you?"
"I... am the Angel of Music." The Angel's voice quivered in laughter for a second. Then she could feel
fingers, lightly touching her throat, but saw no-one. "And I. I shall be your tutor, Élise. Your voice is worthy."
The presence left then, and she knew it was gone. The music had left the air, she felt like her entire body
tingled, the blows that she suffered on her body didn't hurt anymore.
"Hello?" She looked around the auditorium. But no-one was there. She knelt there in a stupor, for a few
seconds. Then she stood up, and exited, stage left.
Élise had never before felt such a feeling of wonder. When the angel had touched her throat, it felt like
warm molten gold had flowed from those invisible fingers and coated the insides of her larynx. And she believed with
the same blind trust and ferocity as she did when she was young, and her mother told her stories of how the Angel of
Music had come down and touched the life of her great-great grandmother.
She believed, she believed, oh God, she believed!
Élise stumbled outside, and only by Anna and Danielle's alarmed attitudes did she realize she had not
stopped weeping since the voice of the Angel had brought her to her knees.