A/N: I swear, yesterday was the slowest day on ever, I had one review, and I posted the only story to update yesterday! there were six on thursday! yeah, anyway, I'm figuring out format today, so I plan on re-loading chappie one, this one is a bit longer, I hope my single reviewer (The awsome Keri) will like this chapter. And to the rest of you... Review!!
Lessons, (for lack of a better name(yes I still need input))
chapter two:
The parlor at the Changy estate, the day following the placement of the advertisement...
"I still cannot believe you posted an add in the papers!" stormed Raoul, "I was under the
impression that this was a decision we had not yet made! Christine dearest, do you recall your
years at the Opera?! What can music possibly give her that she does not already have?"
For the life of him, the exalted Vicomte could not understand why his wife would wish their
daughter to sing, as song held so many horrors in her own past. So many in fact that Christine
had not sung since their escape from the labyrinth where she had been given her own ethereal
lessons.
"Raoul don't you see? Just because I myself can no longer bring myself to sing, does not justify
my denying my, our daughter the chance to enjoy it as I once did?" Christine's plaintive appeal
was obviously straight from her heart. A heart that had many scars upon it, a heart that no longer
had a reason to sing...
Though Christine loved Raoul, and knew she had had no other choice that night in the lair. She
had lost all desire to sing. For her there was no longer any reason, her father was gone, as well
as her "angel" what was there to sing for? Though she was content to allow Raoul to believe it
was the horror of her past that stopped her singing, it was truly the lack of a person who
appreciated every aspect of her voice, her demeanor, in short, a person like Erik.
She wanted a person like that to teach her daughter, so that Erik's music could live again.
Secretly she hoped to one day perform Erik's masterpiece, "Don Juan Triumphant" to honor
the memory of its composer. But she was content with the life she had chosen, and loved her
husband. He just didn't see...
"I'll withdraw the add. If you won't consent Raoul," she conceded, "but I will certainly replace it
with one that does not include your name. It shall read: "Mme. Christine de Changy (neé Daaé)
seeks vocal tutor for her daughter..." And that is exactly what she did.
Upon the morning of the twelfth of May, Christine seated herself in the parlor, thoroughly
determined to find a teacher nearly equal to her angel, the angel she told daddy Daae's stories of
to her daughter at bedtime. She began by sifting through the calling cards sent to her by
applicants; her eyes played across them and saw several names of her past. M. Reyer, who was
by now quite old and retired from the Opera, as well as several others.
Christine closed her eyes and thought back to her days as a chorus girl, where they sat for
hours, listening to Reyer become exasperated, while drilling Carlotta or the late Piangi in their
lines. So many memories, she thought, absentmindedly placing her ands in her lap, where they
suddenly encountered a thorn. The prick of the thorn made her nearly jump out of her chair, and
when she looked down at the object that the thorn belonged to, she was reminded of a darker
part of that same past.
The dark red rose was tied with a simple black ribbon, no card or name, merely a rose. The
rose was nearly identical to the rose Erik had given her, on a snowy night so long ago. The night
she had thought about so much over the last ten years, and Erik, the tortured genius that had
declared his love for her, that he was willing to kill for her, only to be left alone in that labyrinth,
with his music.
But it couldn't be from him.
Could it?
Christine dropped the rose as if it were aflame.
"What is it mommy?" asked Aurora, for her mother rarely lost her composure in such a way.
"Nothing darling, I merely pricked my finger on the lovely rose." Christine replied.
Aurora seemed to think for a moment, then, upon finding a proper response she said, "Maman,
it is wise to remember that even the most beautiful rose has its thorns." Let it be assumed that
she did not know how closely her mother's thoughts ran to that statement. For indeed, Christine
was thinking of many things, many wishes, and so many disappointments of the last ten years,
and of the angel who wore a mask...
More A/N: Like it? hate it? please tell me! I need review input to motivate me to finish the story! and to those of you who read chapter one yesterday, please look it over again, cause I fixed it up and re-formatted But review this time (except for Keri)
Review replies: (only one)
Keri Thanks for reviewing my story! and glad to hear you love Erik. That makes two of us!. Keep up the good review work, and please feel free to tell me if you find something amiss
Your Obedient friend (and lovely authoress)
Nomi (and her Erik muse)