I don't do much writing before stories, but...Okay, yes I do. Here we go! OK: first of all...THANK YOU ALL for the reviews!!! I love getting some feedback on my writing—especially when people say they like my stuff!! Woohoo, I like this fanfic biz! Teehee. Anyways- I want to thank the following peoples for the reviews: AngelCeleste85, erikorlando'sgirl (btw- thx for the big long reviews, I'm a wacky person too- and hey, is that Orlando as in Orlando Bloom?! Sorry he's mine! LOL), the Khanum of Persia, gryffingirl77, Ashley, and BlackRoseGirl. Oh- and in a couple of reviews, y'all didn't like how Christine described Erik- but hey, give it time...! And admit it—while you all love Erik NOW since he's been described flatteringly (is that a word?!) in other stories etc, you know you'd be pretty darn scared if it were you down there, knowing this random stranger was in complete control of all the people in the opera house, and he was gonna take you away and all. Come on, you know if you were in Christine's place you wouldn't exactly be singing & dancing...! (P.S. BlackRoseGirl- yeah I know that period thing is annoying, but I had it up on another site too, and that site didn't let me do ... . So no worries. I'm fixin' it! :P)
Lise crouched down on the raft, her skirts trailing on the muddy boards, and squinted to try to see through the fog. The two wooden planks, which she was using to propel herself onwards in the water, rubbed roughly against her palms, and gave her several severe splinters- but Lise didn't even notice. This was too exciting an event to back down from.
Although, she had to admit it was a little creepy down here, and it was a rather foolish thing to do- to go after the unknown, all alone, when no-one knew she was there. The darkness ahead and behind gave her a feeling of foreboding, and she shivered involuntarily.
What was she expecting to find beyond the lake, anyways? For all she knew, it was simply a sewer, and she was merely taking a trip around for fun. Suddenly she felt embarrassed- it really was probably just a sewer. She, Lise, a respectable girl from a well-off family, was floating around aimlessly on a raft in an underground lake, which was not actually water but remains of-
BAM! Without warning, the raft scraped up onto land. Lise was jolted off the raft, and for a moment she sat dazedly on the muddy ground, wondering what had just happened.
Finally she came to her senses, stood up, brushed herself off- then turned around to see what lay ahead.
The first thing she saw, straight in front of her, was a wide, tall iron gate. She followed it along for some while until she came to the far left side of it, where it ended against a wall.
The fog was thick and distorting, but it didn't prevent her from seeing the lower part of the gate.
It was open.
Hesitantly, ever so carefully, glancing guiltily behind her shoulder, she crouched down and crept under the gate.
Sofie sat, petrified, in the Phantom's lair; on a narrow, uncomfortable bench in the corner. Don't be thinking about comfort at a time like this! Sofie scolded herself, almost laughing. Your life is at stake! At least...it feels as though it should be.
After all, Sofie still remembered seeing the limp, pale body of the stage hand hanging from the beams above the stage, in the middle of the performance 'Il Muto' in which the managers had disobeyed the Phantom. And so that was the price they had had to pay: it cost a life. And then just after the disaster of 'Don Juan Triumphant', the curtain of a little room onstage had been pulled back, and the dead body of Piangi, the man who was supposed to be playing the lead male part, was revealed.
And they all saw, as Christine tore off his mask, that the Phantom of the Opera had taken his place- and then finally, with reluctance, all of them realized that Christine was the only thing he was after at all. Not fame in the opera, not success as a playwright- he wanted Christine for his own. That was all.
Suddenly the Phantom's voice cut into her thoughts.
"I shall not harm you," he said calmly, twirling a knife between his fingers. (Is that so? thought Sofie, eyeing the weapon.) "But only if you tell me...what I need to know."
Sofie, not knowing what else to do, nodded fearfully. Anything to get out of there, alive.
"It seems...it seems that we have visitors," the Phantom began, but his calm voice was shaking slightly. "I know one of them to be Christine Daaé." His voice cracked as he spoke the name, then he drew a shaky breath, regained his composure, and went on. "But there- there is another one. Give me the great pleasure...of knowing who she might be."
He didn't place it as a question: it was a command. Tell him, Sofie told her frozen tongue. "It is- her daughter."
The Phantom's face then contorted into an expression Sofie did not recognize. Was it fear? relief? anger? She was dying to know what was going on inside the Phantom's head, but at the same time was horrified at herself for wanting to concern herself in that kind of business.
"And is she to take her- her mother's place in the opera?" Somehow, Sofie noticed, he said the word 'mother' with a different tone. But of course, she realized. He loved- possibly still loves- Christine, and here she is, with proof that she loves Raoul.
"And Mademoiselle Daaé? What of her?" he asked, studying the knife in an overly-casual manner. It said a lot that he tried to hard to look as though he didn't care: clearly he must care a great deal.
"She- she's staying at the opera house," Sofie stammered. "She will remain in the city until her daughter turns eighteen- when she is old enough to be on her own in the opera."
"What is her daughter's name?"
"Lise." It felt strange referring to someone superior to her in such an informal way: she mustn't use the young Mademoiselle's first name to address her, since she was but a maid.
The Phantom suddenly swooped down on Sofie, leaning so far in that his face was only inches from hers. Sofie noticed, in the far back of her mind, that the Phantom wasn't so terrible-looking after all—if it weren't for the repelling features behind the mask. He actually looked rather—
"If you so much as mention to a single living soul that you've come here, or discovered this place," he hissed menacingly, "matters will get complicated. Surely you don't want to be the one to revive the Phantom of the Opera and his little tricks, do you now?"
Sofie shut her eyes tight and prayed in her head. Of course she didn't want to bring him back to haunt the opera. People would die. She would be blamed. They-
"Come on now."
But just as he took her arm and started towards the gate, he saw, at the far end of the gate, a figure silently slip under and venture deeper into his lair.
"You left it open?" he breathed to Sofie, his grip on her arm tightening painfully. She winced, then nodded reluctantly. He was referring to the mirror in the dressing room.
The Phantom lead her back to the bench and sat her down- then, as if they were possessed, tight ropes began to wind around her waist and wrists and anchored her to the bench. She couldn't move a muscle.
Then, standing up tall and proud, and looking more intimidating than ever, the Phantom drifted slowly towards the dusty, dark piano that sat on the side of his underground chamber. Keeping his eyes on the person in the distance, he reached under the piano, and pulled back- he had pulled some sort of lever.
With a hiss of air, a piece of the wall slid back near to where the girl was standing nervously. She jumped back in surprise- then, as if stepping willingly into the Phantom's little trap, she curiously ventured through the archway and into another dark tunnel beyond.
Without a word, the Phantom, black cape flowing after him, feet gliding soundlessly, he reached the opening into which the girl had disappeared- and then, turning back for a last warning glance at Sofie, slipped into the tunnel- and the wall slid back into place behind him.
"Lise! Lise, dear, are you in here?"
Christine knocked softly against the door of Lise's bedroom, in their suite at the opera. No reply came. She knocked again, harder this time. Still nothing.
Opening the door hesitantly, Christine looked in. No-one was there. Well, what had she expected, after having knocked with no answer? She shut the door, somewhat perturbed. Something didn't feel quite right- she had looked almost everywhere for Lise, and had seen no sign of her. Perhaps she's also looking for me, and we've not crossed paths, thought Christine. Still, it felt odd. There was something hanging heavily in the air, like the feeling you get when you dread something terribly. But Christine was past listening to instinct. After all, look where it had led her, in the grand scheme of things.
She slowly started back to her own room- but then a quick, hard rapping came at the front door of the little apartment.
Christine hurried to the door and wrenched it open. "Yes?"
"Madame Daaé," André panted. It was clear he had been running to reach her. "I hope I am not disturbing you?"
"No, not at all- what is it? What's the matter?"
André paused. He didn't want to cause the poor woman grief, after all she had been through in the past... But there was no point trying to show her the truth through a rose-tint.
"Well...Firmin and I have just entered our office, and-" he faltered. Christine regarded him with concern and care.
"We've received messages again."
Christine stared, not sure how to translate it- until-
"You mean to say-"she began in horror.
André nodded. "He is back."
Christine didn't know why it shocked her. She had known all along- ever since she had entered the opera house she had felt his presence. But still...the plain truth laid out like that in the open, that the Phantom of the Opera- that Erik, dear, poor Erik- was back. Back to- to do what? Haunt them all again?
She felt suddenly very protective of her daughter. Erik wouldn't- he wouldn't put Lise through what Christine herself had been through, would he? Then she shook herself. Of course not. She's his own daughter, whether he admits it or not. And no matter how scary he may seem with his little acts and those messages, all that he does that induces so much fear- he's really sensitive deep down inside. He hides behind his mask, but also behind the facade in which he pretends he really is a horrible, cruel, vicious monster.
But I know better! Christine's heart cried. He's not a monster, he's a man- and a true, good one at that! Although she hated to say it to herself, after all these years...she was somehow glad Erik was back. Despite the terrors he would surely bring. She still felt about him the way she had when she had fled the opera, all those many years ago. It was true that she had fled in fear: but it was fear of the power of her feelings. She couldn't stay with him and face what the world would think- and Erik. He didn't even know how she felt. Or at least...she didn't think so.
How Christine wished she could just abandon life and go off with him! She needed nothing else but his music, his company- and his love, which gripped her heart like fear- but she hadn't mistaken it for fear. She had seen the passion in his eyes as he sang 'The Point of No Return'.
Suddenly Christine tuned back into the real world. She was following André down the hall, and was now entering his and Firmin's study.
Firmin stood at the window, holding his head with one hand and in the other was a small piece of paper, which he held with trembling, light fingers, as though it would jump up and bite him. He turned as he heard André enter and when Christine followed, he slowly trudged across the room to her and pushed an envelope into her hand.
Christine looked down at the her own name on the envelope, and as she held it, a tingling feeling traveled from the fingers clutching the envelope up her arm and to her heart. She slowly turned it over, lifted the flap and pulled out a much larger piece of paper.
The managers watched her read it, with dread and also profound curiosity. What did the Phantom want this time? Was he still after Christine?
Christine read it in silence, and then, without looking up, she rushed out of the room.
André and Firmin looked at each other, each trying to hide their fear. Yes, the Phantom was back...and with him came all the feelings of panic they had tried so hard to suppress.
Yes, the Phantom was truly back.
Lise crouched down on the raft, her skirts trailing on the muddy boards, and squinted to try to see through the fog. The two wooden planks, which she was using to propel herself onwards in the water, rubbed roughly against her palms, and gave her several severe splinters- but Lise didn't even notice. This was too exciting an event to back down from.
Although, she had to admit it was a little creepy down here, and it was a rather foolish thing to do- to go after the unknown, all alone, when no-one knew she was there. The darkness ahead and behind gave her a feeling of foreboding, and she shivered involuntarily.
What was she expecting to find beyond the lake, anyways? For all she knew, it was simply a sewer, and she was merely taking a trip around for fun. Suddenly she felt embarrassed- it really was probably just a sewer. She, Lise, a respectable girl from a well-off family, was floating around aimlessly on a raft in an underground lake, which was not actually water but remains of-
BAM! Without warning, the raft scraped up onto land. Lise was jolted off the raft, and for a moment she sat dazedly on the muddy ground, wondering what had just happened.
Finally she came to her senses, stood up, brushed herself off- then turned around to see what lay ahead.
The first thing she saw, straight in front of her, was a wide, tall iron gate. She followed it along for some while until she came to the far left side of it, where it ended against a wall.
The fog was thick and distorting, but it didn't prevent her from seeing the lower part of the gate.
It was open.
Hesitantly, ever so carefully, glancing guiltily behind her shoulder, she crouched down and crept under the gate.
Sofie sat, petrified, in the Phantom's lair; on a narrow, uncomfortable bench in the corner. Don't be thinking about comfort at a time like this! Sofie scolded herself, almost laughing. Your life is at stake! At least...it feels as though it should be.
After all, Sofie still remembered seeing the limp, pale body of the stage hand hanging from the beams above the stage, in the middle of the performance 'Il Muto' in which the managers had disobeyed the Phantom. And so that was the price they had had to pay: it cost a life. And then just after the disaster of 'Don Juan Triumphant', the curtain of a little room onstage had been pulled back, and the dead body of Piangi, the man who was supposed to be playing the lead male part, was revealed.
And they all saw, as Christine tore off his mask, that the Phantom of the Opera had taken his place- and then finally, with reluctance, all of them realized that Christine was the only thing he was after at all. Not fame in the opera, not success as a playwright- he wanted Christine for his own. That was all.
Suddenly the Phantom's voice cut into her thoughts.
"I shall not harm you," he said calmly, twirling a knife between his fingers. (Is that so? thought Sofie, eyeing the weapon.) "But only if you tell me...what I need to know."
Sofie, not knowing what else to do, nodded fearfully. Anything to get out of there, alive.
"It seems...it seems that we have visitors," the Phantom began, but his calm voice was shaking slightly. "I know one of them to be Christine Daaé." His voice cracked as he spoke the name, then he drew a shaky breath, regained his composure, and went on. "But there- there is another one. Give me the great pleasure...of knowing who she might be."
He didn't place it as a question: it was a command. Tell him, Sofie told her frozen tongue. "It is- her daughter."
The Phantom's face then contorted into an expression Sofie did not recognize. Was it fear? relief? anger? She was dying to know what was going on inside the Phantom's head, but at the same time was horrified at herself for wanting to concern herself in that kind of business.
"And is she to take her- her mother's place in the opera?" Somehow, Sofie noticed, he said the word 'mother' with a different tone. But of course, she realized. He loved- possibly still loves- Christine, and here she is, with proof that she loves Raoul.
"And Mademoiselle Daaé? What of her?" he asked, studying the knife in an overly-casual manner. It said a lot that he tried to hard to look as though he didn't care: clearly he must care a great deal.
"She- she's staying at the opera house," Sofie stammered. "She will remain in the city until her daughter turns eighteen- when she is old enough to be on her own in the opera."
"What is her daughter's name?"
"Lise." It felt strange referring to someone superior to her in such an informal way: she mustn't use the young Mademoiselle's first name to address her, since she was but a maid.
The Phantom suddenly swooped down on Sofie, leaning so far in that his face was only inches from hers. Sofie noticed, in the far back of her mind, that the Phantom wasn't so terrible-looking after all—if it weren't for the repelling features behind the mask. He actually looked rather—
"If you so much as mention to a single living soul that you've come here, or discovered this place," he hissed menacingly, "matters will get complicated. Surely you don't want to be the one to revive the Phantom of the Opera and his little tricks, do you now?"
Sofie shut her eyes tight and prayed in her head. Of course she didn't want to bring him back to haunt the opera. People would die. She would be blamed. They-
"Come on now."
But just as he took her arm and started towards the gate, he saw, at the far end of the gate, a figure silently slip under and venture deeper into his lair.
"You left it open?" he breathed to Sofie, his grip on her arm tightening painfully. She winced, then nodded reluctantly. He was referring to the mirror in the dressing room.
The Phantom lead her back to the bench and sat her down- then, as if they were possessed, tight ropes began to wind around her waist and wrists and anchored her to the bench. She couldn't move a muscle.
Then, standing up tall and proud, and looking more intimidating than ever, the Phantom drifted slowly towards the dusty, dark piano that sat on the side of his underground chamber. Keeping his eyes on the person in the distance, he reached under the piano, and pulled back- he had pulled some sort of lever.
With a hiss of air, a piece of the wall slid back near to where the girl was standing nervously. She jumped back in surprise- then, as if stepping willingly into the Phantom's little trap, she curiously ventured through the archway and into another dark tunnel beyond.
Without a word, the Phantom, black cape flowing after him, feet gliding soundlessly, he reached the opening into which the girl had disappeared- and then, turning back for a last warning glance at Sofie, slipped into the tunnel- and the wall slid back into place behind him.
"Lise! Lise, dear, are you in here?"
Christine knocked softly against the door of Lise's bedroom, in their suite at the opera. No reply came. She knocked again, harder this time. Still nothing.
Opening the door hesitantly, Christine looked in. No-one was there. Well, what had she expected, after having knocked with no answer? She shut the door, somewhat perturbed. Something didn't feel quite right- she had looked almost everywhere for Lise, and had seen no sign of her. Perhaps she's also looking for me, and we've not crossed paths, thought Christine. Still, it felt odd. There was something hanging heavily in the air, like the feeling you get when you dread something terribly. But Christine was past listening to instinct. After all, look where it had led her, in the grand scheme of things.
She slowly started back to her own room- but then a quick, hard rapping came at the front door of the little apartment.
Christine hurried to the door and wrenched it open. "Yes?"
"Madame Daaé," André panted. It was clear he had been running to reach her. "I hope I am not disturbing you?"
"No, not at all- what is it? What's the matter?"
André paused. He didn't want to cause the poor woman grief, after all she had been through in the past... But there was no point trying to show her the truth through a rose-tint.
"Well...Firmin and I have just entered our office, and-" he faltered. Christine regarded him with concern and care.
"We've received messages again."
Christine stared, not sure how to translate it- until-
"You mean to say-"she began in horror.
André nodded. "He is back."
Christine didn't know why it shocked her. She had known all along- ever since she had entered the opera house she had felt his presence. But still...the plain truth laid out like that in the open, that the Phantom of the Opera- that Erik, dear, poor Erik- was back. Back to- to do what? Haunt them all again?
She felt suddenly very protective of her daughter. Erik wouldn't- he wouldn't put Lise through what Christine herself had been through, would he? Then she shook herself. Of course not. She's his own daughter, whether he admits it or not. And no matter how scary he may seem with his little acts and those messages, all that he does that induces so much fear- he's really sensitive deep down inside. He hides behind his mask, but also behind the facade in which he pretends he really is a horrible, cruel, vicious monster.
But I know better! Christine's heart cried. He's not a monster, he's a man- and a true, good one at that! Although she hated to say it to herself, after all these years...she was somehow glad Erik was back. Despite the terrors he would surely bring. She still felt about him the way she had when she had fled the opera, all those many years ago. It was true that she had fled in fear: but it was fear of the power of her feelings. She couldn't stay with him and face what the world would think- and Erik. He didn't even know how she felt. Or at least...she didn't think so.
How Christine wished she could just abandon life and go off with him! She needed nothing else but his music, his company- and his love, which gripped her heart like fear- but she hadn't mistaken it for fear. She had seen the passion in his eyes as he sang 'The Point of No Return'.
Suddenly Christine tuned back into the real world. She was following André down the hall, and was now entering his and Firmin's study.
Firmin stood at the window, holding his head with one hand and in the other was a small piece of paper, which he held with trembling, light fingers, as though it would jump up and bite him. He turned as he heard André enter and when Christine followed, he slowly trudged across the room to her and pushed an envelope into her hand.
Christine looked down at the her own name on the envelope, and as she held it, a tingling feeling traveled from the fingers clutching the envelope up her arm and to her heart. She slowly turned it over, lifted the flap and pulled out a much larger piece of paper.
The managers watched her read it, with dread and also profound curiosity. What did the Phantom want this time? Was he still after Christine?
Christine read it in silence, and then, without looking up, she rushed out of the room.
André and Firmin looked at each other, each trying to hide their fear. Yes, the Phantom was back...and with him came all the feelings of panic they had tried so hard to suppress.
Yes, the Phantom was truly back.
