A/N: I would like to ask all of you who are interested in reading this story I've posted to read the Author Notes. They explain a lot, and I wouldn't want someone to just read the story part and totally ignore the author notes and ask a really stupid question that I've already answered. Not saying you guys are stupid! No way! It would just mean a lot to me if you could take the time to read them. It'll make reviews a lot more interesting! And I happen to enjoy reading personal reviews that aren't totally focused on the story, even though that's mainly what I'm aiming for!
Disclaimer:
Nope.
No way.
Nuh-uh.
Don't own it.
At all.
Wish I did, but, ah well.
A/N: Zoinks! I'm flustered at all the reviews I've gotten!
I have to thank Willoe profusely, because without her, I will never be able to make this fic truly realistic. So, my fellow Phantom phan, will you help me in my quest to make this fic surpass society's expectations? I hope you answer accordingly…I am well versed in the ways of pillow fighting, ya know.
So, in response to you review, I will tell you exactly what I had planned.
I pictured Annalee and her mom living in one of those city houses. You know, like in Hey Arnold. I know, it's a child's show, but that's what I pictured. I don't remember much from my stays in New Orleans, but I've seen pictures. So, I figure I'm basing the fic on some of those aspects. But please, feel free to point out anything that conflict with the real thing! I am quite versed in the history of New Orleans, product of my late great grandmother's incessant ramblings. Lol, no. It wasn't incessant, but I found out a lot from my mom and grandma. You are too lucky to live there! The only place I remember that even remotely resembles New Orleans is Charleston, South Carolina, because I lived in Sumter S.C for two looooooong years. Charleston's history fascinated me, and I got more interested in ghosts and the eras before and after the Civil War there.
Oh yeah, and Christine and her family live in a made up neighborhood outside the French Quarter. That's all I could think of at short notice. Teehee!
LiTTleLoTTe1391: Thank you, thank you, thank you so very, very much for your reviews! YOU ARE IN NEW ORLEANS, TOO! –pouts- OK, now I have TWO readers in the magnificent place I am writing about! Grrr much, you two.
ShadowFairy101: Oh yes, its fantastic writing fanfics when you're continuously slumping over the computer keys in exhaustion, without any tootsie rolls because your brother ate them all. I smell a cliffhanger...lol.
ElvinScarf: Glad you love it!
BobMcBobBob1: I KNOW! And about the pet name, maybe…Hahaha! I couldn't stand to make it Kitten, like Liam did. Could you picture the feisty redhead answering to Kitten? -shudders- Even if it was indeed cute for Alanna. And could you imagine Erik calling Christine Kitten? Nope, I couldn't either. Oh yes, I love dishing out updates, especially to those who ask politely! –grin—
SparrowSkywalker: Ummm…No, it wasn't a mistake. I purposely made it just 'Chagny'. Remember, in this fic after Christine and Raoul died, their sons went to the States. Times had changed, and they couldn't keep their titles. You couldn't very well stay a French noble if you planned on living the rest of your life on a whole different continent with no ties to your home country. So, they just left out the 'de' part of their names and Americanized themselves. So it would be Rupert Chagny, instead of le Vicomte Rupert de Chagny. Is that okay for you? Thank you so much for reviewing! I hope you will continue reading!
MagickAlianne: I have to thank myself for reviewing my own story. Without me, you guys would never have been able to read this brilliant work! LOL! I'm just kidding.
But seriously, you really never would have been able to read it. You would have had to wait until some other poor literary soul found the inspiration to write it, much less post it.
I astound myself at my well hidden conceited nature. I guess it's all because of my fantastic readers that I've been able to finally speak my mind in all its sarcastic glory-ness!
You guys shall never cease to amaze me with your lavish praise!
Oh, and one other thing—I'm changing Erik's place of residence. He now lives on the other side of Christine's neighborhood in an un-renovated mansion, okay? I know it sounds awkward, but hey, it is my story! LOL! I had to make them close, but making him live in the French Quarter would seem waaaaaaaaaaay too cliché. I seriously thought about making him live there, but I don't think there are any mansions in the awesome French Quarter of New Orleans. So, he lives in a mansion behind the forest behind Christine's high school.
Thank you so very much once more!
-Alianne
It's a Beautiful Day
Last time:
She crawled under the covers, reaching over to turn off the lamp. Christine fell asleep fairly quickly and Erik could stand it no longer. He swiftly climbed the magnolia tree and stepped onto the balcony. He walked over to the sleeping girl's form and his heart tightened as he gazed at her peaceful, smiling face. From somewhere in his coat pocket, he dug out an untouched rose that he had never remembered putting there, so dark red it seemed almost black in the moonlight. He set it down on her nightstand and brushed the curls from her forehead. He silently exited the girl's room, taking care to close the French doors before climbing back down the huge magnolia tree and walking back to his mansion in the outskirts of the other side of the French Quarter.
He would be seeing this girl again, make no mistake.
Christine awoke to the sound of sparrows twittering outside her windows, the sun shining through the sheer curtains framing the French doors. She reached over to grab her glasses and her forearm brushed against something velvety soft. Christine blinked, adjusting her eyes to the new clarity of sight. Standing up, she stepped over to the bathroom doorway to a quick shower. When she came out her glasses were off, in their place were a pair of contacts. She walked over to her closet door and picked out a pair of denim Bermuda shorts, a plain orange tank top and a pair of running shoes. Once she was changed, she grabbed a loose pale blue Oxford blouse and donned it, keeping it unbuttoned, as it was a fairly hot day outside.
Christine decided to keep her hair down so it would flow nicely down her back. She felt safer somehow with it like that. She felt too vulnerable, exposed, with her hair tied in a pony tail.
Morning ritual finished, Christine finally noticed the rose lying innocently on the carpet next to her nightstand. She uttered a small gasp and raced over to it.
The rose was such a dark red; it seemed almost a black hue. She felt a slight prickling sensation on her fingertips, and a drop of blood trickled down her palm from a single thorn buried in the flower petals. She sucked on her finger and toyed with the silk black ribbon.
Christine walked over to her bathroom mirror and tucked the rose behind her ear. Satisfied with her look, she ran downstairs to breakfast.
"Christine, you're awake. It's about time, girl. You'll be late for school if you don't hurry up," John Chagny said gruffly over his morning newspaper and coffee. Renee bustled about making sure her children's school lunch was ready to go. The kitchen was not too small, just large enough for a table for four, a bar with two stools, a refrigerator, and the countertops, stove, and dishwasher. It had a slightly antique feel, the dark rosewood accenting the crème and black stone tiles.
Christine opened a cabinet door and proceeded to prepare her bowl of cereal. "I'm down here, aren't I?"
Her father grunted, still not looking up from the paper. Christine pulled up a chair and sat across the table from her father. She idly stirred the contents of her bowl and John Chagny finally looked up at his daughter.
"Christine," he said sharply.
"Yeah, Dad?" the redhead looked up, her eyes questioning.
"Where did you get that from?" her father asked, staring pointedly at the rose nestled behind her ear.
"Oh this? Umm…I just found it under my bed. It must have… I dunno. But it does look very nice, doesn't it, Daddy?" Honestly, Christine didn't know where exactly the rose came from. It was indeed a beautiful flower, and she intended to wear it for the rest of the day.
Mr. Chagny seemed satisfied with her answer, although he snuck a few suspicious glances at his daughter while she happily finished the rest of her breakfast.
A young boy with sandy blond hair came rushing down the stairs, skidding to a halt before the toaster, impatiently waiting for the bread to pop out.
"Brent Chagny, what have I told you about running in the house?" Christine's mother reprimanded her son.
"Sorry mom, but I'm gonna be late for school if this stupid toast doesn't come out soon!" Brent replied.
He was answered with a loud crack from the electrical appliance and he grabbed the bread and sack lunch swiftly before shouldering his backpack and running out the door.
"You'd better hurry up too, Christine. Class starts in half an hour, and you'd best go now if you want to make it to school on time," Renee Chagny told her daughter.
"Yeah, I'm going! Bye Mom, Dad! See you later!" Christine hugged her mom and kissed her father's cheek before running back upstairs to retrieve her backpack. Instead of running downstairs again, she smiled an impish grin and jumped onto the thick branch of the flowering magnolia tree that descended right to her balcony. She clambered down the other thick branches and began her walk to the high school.
In the kitchen of the newly restored Victorian house, Renee and John Chagny exchanged worried glances.
Their only daughter was growing up.
The only female blood-Chagny in two hundred years would no longer be a child anymore by December. In the Chagny family, a girl became a woman on her sixteenth birthday, leaving adolescence behind, taking their first steps into adulthood.
Unfortunately for the Chagny line, no female child had been sired for centuries. Christine Daae bore no daughters, only sons, as did her sons' wives, her grandchildren's wives, and so on.
So, it came as a great shock to the couple of ten years when their baby girl was born. They thought nothing strange of it at the time-they were overjoyed in the fact that after ten long years, a miracle had happened! Brent Chagny came three years later after Christine, and life continued to be normal.
That is, until John's mother paid the family a visit. Old Jeanette Chagny almost fainted when she heard that her daughter-in-law had given birth to a girl. Christine couldn't fathom why her grandmother was so upset, but John and Renee finally remembered what had been drilled into their minds since they day they were wed.
Do not expect a daughter. We Chagny's have not sired any females for the past two hundred years. Do not expect one now. It is the curse. Should the unthinkable happen, and you do, keep her away from the music! Nothing good will come out of it. Remember, keep her away…
Erik found himself at the window of his study, overlooking the street of a quaint neighborhood of newly restored Victorian houses. His mansion, however, had been untouched. No one seemed to want to enter it, thinking it was haunted by vengeful spirits.
And in a way it is, he mused as he poured a glass of rich red wine in a glass of fine crystal on a fine wooden tray. His study contained an ornate mahogany grand piano of the finest quality, and bookshelves surrounded the entire room; everything from philosophy to anatomy, books of history and music theory lined the bookcases. He wore a finely made form-fitting sweater and dark grey dress slacks. (A/N: I can't see our precious Phantom in JEANS, can you?) Erik lounged in an overstuffed armchair, looking out over all the different houses, until a figure of a girl slipped into his vision.
She was walking down the street hurriedly, obviously in a rush to get somewhere. The girl had a large backpack, so he assumed she went to the high school behind the mansion.
Of course. Brat.
The sun shone upon her hair, sending glints of copper into his vision. Erik did a double take, staring at the redhead keenly behind his white half-mask.
Christine didn't spare a glance at the houses she passed by, and turning a corner, she looked up as an enormous mansion captured her attention.
It looked old, very old. Majestic was the only word she could think of to describe the place. The mansion looked like it hadn't been touched for centuries. Although, the front yard was neatly mowed, so she decided someone must live there, maybe. Or maybe the neighborhood gardeners decided to keep the lawn in shape for appearances?
It intrigued her to no end, but she knew she mustn't dawdle. She still had classes to go to, remember?
Christine tore her gaze from the ancient building and sprinted the rest of the way to the high school.
For some inane reason, Erik felt compelled to follow the redhead. He donned a lightweight black jacket and black fedora and silently trailed behind the girl.
They turned another corner, and the grounds of an enormous high school came into view.
"Christine! Hey! Christine!" Another girl who had been walking along another street, presumably a close friend of the fiery redhead, ran to his unwary prey.
"Oh my God, CHRISTINE! That rose! It's amazing! Where'd ya get it?" the brunette asked.
"Hey Annalee! Umm…No clue where it came from. It was just on the floor next to my bed, and it was so pretty that I decided to wear it today," Christine replied, taking the rose out from her hair and tenderly stroking the petals, oblivious to the man following behind her. She tucked it back behind her ear, smiling softly.
The three entered the gates, two of them chatting happily while the last stayed silent, keeping to the rows of trees lining the path winding to the entrance of the school.
It was still twenty minutes before the bell, and students from every year milled around the front granite steps. The school itself was a magnificent affair of red brick and limestone. It was newly built, but it elicited an air of history about it.
"Christine, Annalee! Hey!" A tall girl with long black hair and tight-fitting jeans and a black halter ran down the steps towards the two girls. She had black plastic glasses, and lime green flip flops, and an air of superiority about her. With a nicely shaped figure, she was constantly attracting the stares of boys wherever she went.
"Meganne," the two girls grumbled and plastered fake smiles on their faces.
"Oh my goodness Christine! What are you wearing? You need some other more fashionable things, dear. I love your rose! You must come sit with us at lunch today, sweetie!" Meganne jumped from one subject to another so quickly, it startled Christine and Annalee.
Irritation growing in her chest, Christine replied, honey sweet sarcasm dripping from her voice, "If you must know, dear, sweet Meganne, I am wearing an orange tank top, Bermuda shorts, blue over shirt, and tennis shoes. No, I'm quite fine the way I am, and yes, my rose is absolutely extraordinary. And I must decline to your offer for lunch, because I'm quite busy then. Is there anything else you would like to know"
"Oh please, don't call me Meganne! It makes me sound like an old maid, don't you think? Me and the girls would just love it if you could spend lunch with us, but, I guess your previous arrangements are obviously more important than your friends. Sorry to have bothered you again, dear," Meganne sounded slightly miffed, but she covered it up quickly. "But if you do happen to change your mind, I'll be with the seniors!" And Meganne flounced off to join her own clique.
"My God, she's annoying," Christine muttered under her breath. Annalee nodded her head before bursting into giggles.
"You should have seen her face when you said those things! It was hilarious!" the brunette gasped out between laughs.
"My dear Annalee, I fail to see what is so amusing," Christine retorted dryly.
"You would, wouldn't you?" This time, it wasn't Annalee speaking-it was a plump girl with horn rimmed glasses and braces. Her mousy blonde hair was in one short braid, her jeans fitting badly around her figure.
The girl's eyes widened considerably behind her spectacles.
"Christine! You've got a Phantom rose!" she looked at the redhead suspiciously, as did the rest of the Thespian Society who had silently come up behind their 'leader'. It seemed like ever since Christine had come to Briar Hills High School, the theater group had looked strangely at her, as soon as they learned her name.
"What are you talking about, Constance?" Christine asked, more than annoyed.
"Ahem. Your rose, Christine Chagny. It is the exact same as the one the Phantom of the Opera gave to Christine," Constance said matter-of-factly, stressing the girl's name.
Christine rolled her eyes.
"Come on Anna, we'll be late for class."
"But the bell hasn't even rung yet!" the brunette protested.
"So? Just come on!" Christine desperately wanted to get away from the disconcerting stares from the theatre club.
"Christine, the doors are always locked before the bell rings, you know that," the president of the Thespian Society said.
The redhead groaned.
Ring!
Christine breathed an enormous sigh of relief and bolted through the now open wooden doors. Erik moved to the side of the building, catching glimpses of the girl through the windows as she listened to her teachers' boring lectures. She seemed preoccupied, occasionally bringing her hand up to the rose behind her ear and smiling dazedly as she thought about something entirely irrelevant to her class.
A resounding bell tolled marking the lunch hour, and Christine slowly stepped out of the classroom, still reliving the events of the night before.
She didn't go to the cafeteria like the rest of her classmates; instead, she walked outside to another building that looked like a smaller version of the school.
It seemed like the music halls were deserted, and Christine took full advantage of her time alone, however short it would be. The door to the recital hall opened silently, and Christine walked over to the polished ebony grand piano as if in a trance. Erik followed, waiting in the doorway and watched the redhead with great interest.
She sat down at the piano bench and her fingers gently met the keys, the soft tinkling of a Debussy prelude filling every corner of the great room. She finished playing with a small smile playing at her lips, and poured everything she had into a robust Scherzo by Mendelssohn.
Erik was in awe, she played with so much feeling, it awakened something in him, and he was confused at the emotions coursing through his veins.
The Scherzo came to an end, trailing off into nothing as she breathed heavily, perspiration shining on her forehead and trickling down her temple. Christine ran a hand through her slightly damp bangs and grinned stupidly, impressed with herself.
"I guess I didn't lose much since the move. After all, it has been almost five months since I last played the piano."
She giggled and sighed contentedly, closing her eyes.
"Brava, brava, bravissima…" a voice whispered all around her.
WOO HOO! That took me a long time to finish! I couldn't write much of it yesterday, because I did have to do my schoolwork. I finished most of it this afternoon, because I had piano lessons with my professor at SAC State in Sacramento. Ya. I'm totally wiped—it was an intense session, most trying. But it was so awesome! I'm working on a Scherzo by Mendelssohn right now for a competition in April (teehee, see where it comes in?) And I'm in love with it!
My inspiration comes from listening to Sarah Brightman's Harem World Tour CD and talking to myself. Yes, full conversations. Very productive. I get lots of ideas (OMG, DON'T GET YOUR MIND IN THE GUTTER YOU PERVS!) for my stories.
I can't believe I'm turning 15 in….5 Months, 1 Week, and 6 Days. WOOT! Lol!
Now if you could please, REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!
-Alianne