The unthinkable has happened.
I've updated this particular story of mine.
Let me tell you how this miracle came about. I was sitting around earlier this morning, avoiding homework and the likes, and then—my mind unblocked, and I thought of something to do with this which will, hopefully, add some more interest to the story…
PLEASE review! Especially after all this time. This phic feels so very alone.
Oh, and- I hereby dub this chapter & any further ones (until I say so) Part II, because 1) New beginnings, new happenings, you know, the mood changes etc. and 2) because, well, it seems fitting, since I haven't updated it in about a century.
10
Morning broke over Paris; a new day had begun. Sunlight glanced off the polished surface of a Barouche carriage, hood drawn up, rattling down the street, the only life in sight thus far so early in the morning.
It slowed and stopped directly in front of the Paris Opera house, and the driver jumped lightly off his seat at the front and moved to the door of the carriage. He opened it, and out stepped a fairly young, tall, handsome figure, dressed very well—clearly of high esteem. A nod to his driver, and he started up the stairs of the opera house, glancing about apprehensively as he strode through the open front door.
"Monsieur de Chagny!"
A cry resounded through the spacious marble foyer, and the man, the Vicomte de Chagny, turned towards its source.
"Monsieur Firmin, Monsieur André!" he said jovially, extending his hand to each in turn. "It has been quite a while!"
"Indeed! Shall we?"
The two managers led him up more steps and into a long corridor, informing him of the news as they went.
"Your daughter—"
"Quite something, yes—"
"—we expect great success—"
"—do quite well here, indeed—"
The Vicomte smiled, pleased to hear his daughter was taking so well after her mother—if she'd taken after him, she'd merely be squawking her songs. It was good that she'd inherited her mother's beautiful tone.
"Speaking of the family, then, gentlemen," he said, "where are the two songbirds?"
"Well, the first is just here, monsieur," André said, stopping at a polished wooden door off the corridor. "I doubt she's awake yet, though—"
"Never mind, I'll take the key."
With that, André handed him the room key, and he and Firmin were off with cheery waves, and the Vicomte de Chagny placed the key in the door and turned.
Christine wasn't sure what had woken her: the sunlight streaming through the gap in the curtains, the birdsong outside the window, or the man sitting beside her on the bed, gently entwining his fingers in her hair.
"Raoul!"
She sat up immediately and threw herself into his arms. She felt quite disoriented, having just woken up: she knew she was shaken from something, and afraid; but at the moment, she didn't care. She just knew she was glad to have her husband there beside her to hold her.
"Oh, my Christine…" he murmured. "I've missed you in these few days! Has it only been two or three? Days, that is…"
"You were gone for a while before I came here," Christine replied, finally able to relax in his arms. "Remember? You were away…for a week…"
"Ah, yes. That's right…"
There seemed to be no need for speech between them. Christine felt strangely soothed and calm at being with Raoul…he'd always been a source of comfort for her; ever since they'd met all that long time ago…and when her father died…and when the Phantom had—
She stiffened suddenly and pulled away. Erik! What to do? She had to meet him again…and find out what he wanted…otherwise he'd continue his attacks and scares at the Opéra Populaire…
Raoul noticed her sudden change in mood.
"What is it?"
"I…" Christine paused. She hated having secrets…after all, secrets were always the start of chaos…
But she couldn't tell him. How could she? He wouldn't believe her. And if he did, he'd take her and Lise away—which would only add to the danger.
"I'm fine. Just—we should go check on Lise."
Raoul agreed. Christine dressed, then they left the room.
Lise sat in her room, still contemplating the happenings of the previous night. The man in the mask…how he'd saved her…her mother, how she seemed to have known him…and what he'd said to her—no, what he'd called her: Little Lotte...
It was all too much to take in at once. It couldn't be real; it was too much like a fantastic tale one might hear in the dark of the night, told by the gossiping ballet rats. She had to have dreamt it…
She stood and walked to the mirror of the vanity table against the wall, and stared at her reflection—not out of vanity; merely to evaluate herself. A pale face with wide shimmering eyes stared back at her. Why her? Why was she the one this…this Phantom…was victimizing?
Then a thought occurred to her. Of course, it wasn't just her—it was her mother, too…
Something began to work itself out in the depths of her mind. She didn't know why, but this man had known her mother before—there was some sort of history between them—and now she, Christine Daaé's daughter, was here…perhaps, as the daughter, she had something her mother had had, too, that this Phantom wanted…
So lost in her thoughts was she that she hadn't realized just how pressingly silent the room was, broken by a knock on the door.
Lise went to the door and pulled it open to find both her mother and her father standing outside in the hallway.
"Papa!" she cried, throwing her arms around his neck. "What are you doing here? I thought you were still in Burgundy!"
Her father circled his arms about her in a hug.
"Well, I was due to stay longer, but it was too long to be away from the two loveliest ladies in Paris," he said smilingly, glancing at his wife over Lise's head and giving her a wink.
Lise saw her mother smile warmly back, but saw the troubled, distracted look in her eyes all the while, and knew what it was for.
The de Chagny family retired to a small library-sitting room, off the same corridor, and Lise and Christine half-listened to Raoul tell of his stay in Burgundy. They responded to his tale: laughing when he jested, 'ooh'ing or 'ahh'ing when he described something particularly awesome. But Lise couldn't completely concentrate his story; so many other questions and worries and doubts were consuming her mind. And, by the looks of it, her mother's mind, too.
A few hours and a large breakfast later, Raoul stood.
"Who's ready for a tour of Paris? After all, we never get into this part of the city much…shall we?"
Lise and her mother exchanged a glance, and Christine hesitated for a split-second before nodding and forcing a smile onto her face.
"Sounds wonderful. Lise?"
Before Lise had a chance to respond, the door opened, and Meg Giry walked in. The girl glanced at Christine and Lise, a relieved yet still somewhat worried and inquisitive expression on her face. She looked as though she were about to speak to Christine, but then she saw Raoul.
"Oh! They told me you were here, but—" she said cheerily, and went to him. Their greeting was awkward, but they finally settled on shaking hands, both laughing a little.
"Well, Meg—another to take after her mother," he said, partly for Lise's benefit, smiling at her.
Meg laughed.
"Yes…it did take quite a while to talk her out of the position, even when she kept forgetting to show up for rehearsals," she remarked, chatty as always. "But, here I am. And—" she turned to Lise— "the reason I'm here now is because Messrs. Firmin and André sent me to get you. You're to begin rehearsal today!"
Lise's fears and worries and questions evaporated at once at the prospect of a wonderful day of singing; simply singing the whole time. Well, she knew it would be work, of course—but she was willing to do it, since that was her passion.
The others saw Lise's face light up, and laughed.
"Well, run along then," Raoul said with a loving smile. "We know you'll be fine. Christine? Shall we go just us, then?" He extended his arm to her, and she took it, resolving to put all other matters out of her mind for the day. After all, she did feel guilty about questioning her feelings for Raoul (even if her questioning was indeed accurate)—even if she didn't love him the way she'd vowed when they were wed, he was still so dear to her, and a source of great comfort. And they were married, after all.
The four of them left the room and went their separate ways, Christine kissing Lise good-bye briefly and whispering swiftly into her ear, "We'll speak later."
Then they were gone.
By the time Lise was dismissed, she was almost dreading the following day's rehearsal. Singing had been wonderful, but she hadn't thought it would be so much work! She had sung for about six hours straight, and had completely worn herself out—but at least she knew she'd improved; it was apparent. She had more control of her voice now, even in just that one day. And the performance would be in only a matter of weeks—the managers had chosen Otello, the opera of the Shakespearean story Othello. She'd been informed that without a doubt, she'd be cast as Desdemona.
She reentered the library, where she found her mother and father sitting on opposite armchairs, her father reading and her mother writing a letter.
They both looked up when they saw their daughter enter the room.
"Lise, darling, how was it?" Christine asked, with a knowing smile—the first time Lise had seen a sincerely jovial expression on her face since they'd arrived. Her father listened intently as she spoke.
"Oh, it was so long, and hard! I'd never have expected anything like it. But—it was fun," she remarked as an afterthought. She plopped down next to her mother, and noted that Christine subtly but swiftly pushed the letter into her correspondence folder, out of sight.
Christine and Raoul recounted their day to Lise in turn, telling her about all the sights in Paris.
"We'll take you another time, I promise," Raoul said. "Now—as for dinner, we saw a restaurant just down the street from here. What do you say?"
"Perfect," Lise said distractedly, dreaming of the opening night of Otello, when she'd sing professionally, in public for the first time. She could hardly wait…although, there was something else nudging at the back of her mind, trying to remind her of something. She was too tired to pay attention to it, though, and thought only of the plan to go down to dinner.
"We'll meet in half and hour in the foyer, and go out," Christine said, and they each went to their rooms.
Lise entered her room, closing the door behind her, and went to her closet to pick out something to wear. The dresses she'd brought weren't very fancy or elaborate—she hadn't known quite what to bring—but Meg had lent her several dresses of her own, since Meg was a fairly small size, about the same as Lise.
She picked out a forest-green, silky dress, and examined her reflection in the mirror. Not the most flattering thing on earth, but it would do. She then went to the vanity table, picked up her brush, and put half of her hair up, leaving some to curl softly down over her shoulders, partially visible in that particular dress..
After critically examining her reflection a moment longer, she sat down on the end of her bed and sighed. She still had about fifteen minutes until she was to meet her parents for dinner. She glanced around the dimly lit room—at her wardrobe, her vanity, her desk—sighed, then fell onto her back on the bed.
Then, the sight she'd seen just before she'd lain back finally processing, she sat right back up, and looked back to her desk. Upon the surface lay a deep red, velvety booklet.
Lise stood slowly and made her way to the desk. Coming closer, she picked it up, and opened the cover.
On the very first page of the thick book, Lise read,
Don Juan Triumphant.
Guess what, guys- I actually have a CHAPTER PLAN now! And I'm getting all excited about it...which means I'll update soon.
Oh, and also- up there I wrote 'awesome'- and so No, it isn't 'awesome' in the sense of 'Dude thats freakin awesome'- even though people (myself included, I admit) use the word carelessly and as slang today, it's actually a pretty useful, sophisticated-ish word. Well, it was. Meh. Point is, that wasn't an accident because I couldn't think of anything better to put. I had to use it.
