Book Three: A Web Woven

Chapter Thirty- Two: Ageless love

Father once spoke
of an angel . . .
I used to dream (s)he'd
appear. .

1902

Danielle walked carefully through the cobwebs and corridors of the secret passages underneath the opera house. For as long as she could remember, this was her playground, her haven, and a place for her to roam and reminisce. She sometimes would journey as far as the corridors would let her, then turn and find her way back to her home. Rarely did she ever need this precious time alone, but as of late, her father had been composing, and the organ sang so loudly through out the house, it continually kept drowning her in sound and woe. Sometime she loved being in the presence of such divine harmony, when echoes of his soul invaded her thoughts and she was left in a euphoric state of music and feeling. Then there were times like this; times she needed to escape the melancholy chords that sprang from her father's lonely heart.

Tracing her fingers along the walls of the narrow passage she thought back on fond childhood memories. Smiling, she remembered her father taking her to the park in the dead of night so that she was the only one to play. She remembered how comfortable she felt in darkness and how even now, at her age, she still hated daylight.

She then sank deeper into the pool of memories and remembered when he taught her to sing. She knew that these were the times that he was most free, for although he had taken to not wearing that damnation of a mask years ago, he still had his mask of bravado and elegance that could only could be shattered when he reached a higher plateau through singing.

Then of course, there were the vacations to exotic countries outside of her dark sanctuary. Places like Spain, and Greece, sometimes, small trips to England even. He only took her because she begged and pleaded to see places outside Paris, and he could hardly deny her anything.

There also had been her studies and toys; his inventions to keep her happy and to rectify bouts of boredom she caught. Dolls would not suffice for her anymore and he was prone to spend long nights working on a new musical box or an original work. In fact, it wasn't until now she realized he took as much pride in those knick-knacks of hers as he did the opera's he wrote and sold.

And her music box collection was she insane? Deprived? What made her feel the need to collect as many different figurine's playing songs from various opera's? He had told her it was her mothers spirit peaking through.

Smiling at these small clips of memory she deeply tried to remember anything about her mother. Closing her eyes she began her attempts to picture a face, what her touch felt like, anything she could place. And yet, no matter how hard she tried, all that entered her head were foggy images of two women, one who chose to wear black and her hair was pulled back in a neat bun, the other a beautiful woman in white who's hair fell as far as her waist. The first had been Ann, her truest companion. She knew that even though Ann had loved her, the woman in white was her mother. She smiled sadly, knowing that the remembrance of her mother had not been of her own accord, but from the poster her father hid of her mother starring in his opera. Oh sure, her father kept her mother under a veil of secrecy, but she knew small things of their past. That was what Ann had been the best at, informing her. It wasn't till she died that Danielle realized she would never know the truth about her existence, and that her father wouldn't tell her even on his own deathbed. Yet, she yearned to know what her mother smelt like, if her own appearance was so close to her maman's, what had happened to her mother, and why did her father shut him and herself away from society to live underneath an opera house.

Again, she never asked him any of these hidden questions, for some of the answers she knew in her own heart. For instance, deep down, she knew that her face resembled her mothers very much, just by the way her father looked at her. When his eyes would haze over and he would sadly smile were the times she knew that he thought of her. He said she had the voice of an angel, and the heart of a goddess. When she would ask what she sounded like truly, he would look at her deeply and tell her "Why, she sounded exactly as you my little angel." Danielle throughout her childhood dreamt of that woman in white visiting and reassuring her uneasy thoughts.

She also knew deep down that her father really was not her father. He had been appointed that role by not only herself, but also by her mother. There might still be the man out there in the world that helped create her, but she did not know him as father, and would never consider him one after Erik's devotion to her upbringing.

Lastly, she knew why she was shunned from society, although she knew much about its customs and ideals. What was she to expect with a father who looked as he did? She had never seen him treated with callous or hate, but she knew that he would be, if anyone were ever given the opportunity. She let a tear slip at the thought of all her father had endured before her birth. Had this been how her mother lived? Had her mother been afraid of the face that Danielle considered the most loving one on earth? What had caused people to be so hurtful and mean? Slowly she created a daring romantic love story between Erik and her mother.

Had he been her forbidden lover? Had they secretly carried on a forbidden love affair right underneath her husband's nose? What relationship did they have, she thought dreamily. But, Erik was old enough to be her grandfather, she thought, and still old enough to be her mother's father. Not to mention, what of his face? How had they met? What was it like? Her Papa was so antisocial she couldn't even use her overactive imagination to create a spectacular scene.

Groaning she finally sat leaning against the wall. Erik, her dear papa, what was she to do about him? What was she to say? Would he understand her wishes, would he know what she felt?

He was so busy in that damn opera he was writing called ängel ramla. He once said something about it being Swedish. She suspected that it wasn't so much fiction as an old story that he had held in secret deep within his heart.

She looked down at her hands, dainty and soft. She was twenty this year and still living like she were a child. True, she was to live with her father till a suitor asked for one of those hands in marriage like most proper ladies in society, yet, how was she to ever find anyone if her father still treated her like a child and did not like the thought of her leaving this prison, this heaven that was her home.

Things were so complicated these days, and she had not been sleeping like she use to. She normally slept soundly on her bed made of hundreds of blankets and cushions that she had taken up sleeping on when she was thirteen. She had refused her papa return to that dark foreboding coffin of his. But now she could not sleep for days on end until she grew so completely exhausted that she collapsed. Erik and She had been switching roles that way. He may have stayed up in the wee hours of the night, still at sixty-two but he did now need a fair amount of sleep.

She ran her hand through her dark curls. If she asked for this, would he be able to take care of himself? He always had been able too, what would be the difference now? He was an old man yes, but surprisingly determined to live, or incredibly healthy, she didn't know which. No she needed this, she needed it more then anything she had ever needed, and she knew that her father never denied her anything she needed. She would just simply tell him the truth, the truth that they both knew.

( ' ) '
-

What is it? What has happened?

"You bought him a automobile?" Meg asked infuriated. Faint creases appeared in her brow and around her mouth as it was set in a determined frown. Her blonde hair was half done up in a bun but she left the rest hanging down loosely.

"Oh come now Meg, you know that Adrienne wanted ever since they were invented, it wasn't so expensive, it's only last years model." Raoul, the Comte de Chagny chuckled as he took a step towards her.

Meg, dear sweet Meg was still looking out for her son. Would she ever learn that he wasn't a child any longer, now instead a man of eighteen years? He had grown quite tall and lanky, however was still extremely handsome. He knew that although he was destined to be the next Comte, that he was very modest, and loved his part time job as a stagehand at the opera.

"That Monsieur, is besides the point, I specifically told him they were dangerous! And yet again you manage to undermine my parenting and give him something I do not want him to have." She said furiously. Why did Raoul not understand her wishes? Fifteen years later, and he still angered her as well as stirred other emotions she could not describe, let alone name. She had been a "widow" for almost twenty years of her life and although she was no wanton before hand, she had never been as pure as those twenty, glorious and agonizing years.

"Meg..." Raoul began, hoping to quell the sea of anger that was washing over her.

"Oh today, to you, it is Mme Verrau dit Giry." She cut in angrily. She always made him refer to her with formality when he angered her. Curse him! Curse him and his ability to make her feel this way. Couldn't he see how she felt? Couldn't he tell? They almost lived like a real family anyways. Raoul would show up everyday to spend time with them have dinner, and use to retreat well after Adrienne was put to bed. Those days were that happiest of Meg's life. For in those brief hours she could close her eyes and imagine she had a real family, one that was complete. Suitor's stayed far away from her ever since Raoul came back from his adventure to America. Not that she could ever really remarry anyways; she wasn't really free of her bond from that pathetic excuse of a first husband. Only Etienne had remained a constant in her life. A sometimes annoying, but dear and sweet constant, he had stayed a confidant to her son as well as her. Raoul was not oblivious to Etienne's desires. In fact, Raoul didn't care much for the mild-mannered priest, and likewise for Etienne regarding Raoul. But, they got along, and bit their tongues, for Meg's sake.

"Mme Verrau dit Giry, You know that I cannot deny Adrienne anything, and as the Vicomte he must keep an aura of superiority."

"What if I don't want him to think he's superior to everyone else Raoul? What if I want him to be the innocent young boy he was before he got the notion in his head he one day would be the Comte de Chagny. Damn it Raoul, you want him to quit his job as a stagehand, something he loves dearly, and then you are a complete hypocrite and approve of his choice not to tell anyone he is the Vicomte." She said throwing herself down in her favourite chair by the fire.

"It is no notion my dear, It really isn't. He will one day be the Comte, and if that is the truth, then he will be known as a de Chagny. He must be treated as any other Comte would be treated, that is why I did it Meg, I would never undermine your authority purposely. As for his choices to work at the opera, as much as I disprove it, I could hardly deny him the opportunity to work with you. Besides it's good for him I suppose to have some work experience. I just don't want society to treat him as though he does not deserve their respect when it is time for him to take the step towards his fate." He said reaching for her hand.

She looked down at her weathered scarred hands. She had not lived a day over 40 and those hands looked older then time itself. There were the scars from cooking, from sewing, from minor clumsy accidents. Those hands showed how she felt deep down inside. She was an older, wiser Meg, who did not put up with many anymore. She had no time for people's games.

"I know you wouldn't... it's just, he's growing up so fast..." She said as their hands met and she finally had swallowed the tears that had threatened to fall.

( ' ) '
-
In this, the Phantom's opera...

Erik looked over the scored deep in thought. No, no, NO! This is ALLLL wrong, he thought sadly.

This does not portray Christine at all! It's more fitted for that dead toad Carlotta!

He was writing her opera, their opera. It was a story of a passionate man who falls in love with an angel in disguise, while he claimed to be one himself. Before he could tell her the truth she is madly in love with him till the higher forces find out about their forbidden love affair, and spilt them apart. She begs with the higher power to be mortal so she can be with the man and they give her one ultimatum. If she is to be mortal, she can never return to heaven. She returns to earth to seek out her forbidden, dark lover, and finds him dead. Overtaken with sorrow and grief she kills herself.

True, it did not follow their life exactly; however the emotions they felt for those two, almost three brief years was overflowing through the entire thing. He couldn't write what really happened, not yet at least. That blasted Raoul was still alive. He couldn't fight him now, for he was not as swift as he was at forty. He didn't want to ruffle the feathers of the only man capable of making his world collapse.

Erik was just an old man in his sixties trying to make something out of his last days. He loved his daughter more then life itself and continued to devote all himself to making sure she would be well provided for if he were to leave her suddenly. Nonetheless, although he prepared himself for this, he sincerely believed he still had a few good years left in him. After all, for someone with his impeccable health, who should not believe they would live beyond their age of sixty-two?

"Papa?" He heard her voice call out to him. He bit his tongue hardly before he could call out to her.

"Christine..." He thought torn inside. Bringing his hand up violently to what was left of his hair, he ran it through and past his head before turning around to look his daughter in the eye.

"Yes my dearest..." He asked her gently, knowing she had seen the reaction to her words. Why couldn't he get over her? It had been twenty years! Drinking in his daughter's loveliness, he sighed happily. She was his pride, his joy, and his reason for living as long as he did. Her brown curls were not as dark as her mothers, but more of a rich medium brown. Her emerald green eyes shone with love and devotion to him, but a certain sadness and intelligence far beyond her years. Other then coloring she had her mothers face, a bit thinner, but still as lovely as ever. She fondly wore her mother's dresses he had kept over the years, and although they were entirely out of date she enjoyed them. She had a closet full of new ones, from when they went traveling, but inside their small kingdom, no one knew any difference. He still had a man from the outside bring them things he needed, and she had a bureau full of new clothes as well, but chose the dresses that still smelt of her mother, still after all these years.

"Papa I need to talk to you..." She said to him with a determination he recognized.

( ' ) '
-

These things do happen.

"Oh Adrienne!" A young girl giggled and turned the corner of the long dark hall. Adrienne cringed at the sound of her voice and proceeded to hide deeper in the safety of the column that cloaked him with shadow. He closed his eyes trying to cease his heavy breathing. Sure she would find him if she was smart enough to look, however the idea never would pop into her vacant head, he could tell.

"Adrienne darling, where did you go?" She said looking down the long passage that ended in darkness. After a moment or two, the ballerina sighed and left quietly only the pitter patter of her feat breaking the deafening cacophony of silence. Adrienne deliberated whether or not he should leave the comfort of his hiding place or not just yet and decided on staying for a few more moments. He remembered a time when he used to be happy here at the opera, working along side his mother. It had been the perfect set up for him to meet the talented beautiful women of the ballet de corpse, since his mother was had once been a ballerina herself, the head mistress indeed like her mother before her.

He had taken comfort in the arms of those young ladies many times, much to his mother's dismay, and for a long time it had been amusing. But after awhile, after he had girl after girl he realized there was no challenge to them. The girls didn't even know he was the Vicomte de Chagny and they still clung to him like wet clothing. He yearned for an intelligent woman, someone who was modest and interesting. Someone to bring life to his dull surroundings, before he would forever become like his uncle Raoul, too scared to love, to proud to admit it.

Thinking about Raoul more, he took a breath and decided it was time to go see if his mother was ready to leave for home.

As he walked away from his hiding spot, he thought about the two and their weird, but obvious devotion to each other. Neither would touch, almost to a fault, no social kisses or arm offering, no gentlemanly gestures or lady-like reciprocations. He knew why, he had seen them once. His mother had drank too much wine, something she did not do often. Raoul was not supposed to be there, he wasn't supposed to know. Meg had not been telling him about how far gone the opera was these days, that she had been told two days ago, depending on the outcome of this new opera, that her job may be gone. Fleur had opened the door to him; after all, Meg had never refused him once in the last thirteen years.

"Raoul!" his mother squealed as he walked into the parlor. Adrienne wasn't suppose to be up, he had told his mother he was heading off to bed hours ago. He had been watching her, he did not know why, but most likely to make sure she didn't hurt herself, and at the same time he didn't want to leave her alone while she drowned herself in sorrows. But now his uncle was here, he would take care of her.

"What are you doing here so late!" she giggled her face relaxed, her eyes slightly droopy.

No, he now knew he had never seen his mother this bad, she usually despised drunkenness, she thought it abhorred.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He asked gravely, standing above her as she sat in the comfortable arm chair.

"Tell you what dear?" She said to him, still with that perfect smile on her face.

"Tell me about the opera house! Tell me that you were going to have no job! Tell me that my heir may not have a roof over his head if this continued!" he said to her, loudly, but not to the point of yelling.

"Oh Raoul… what difference would it make," she started, "You would have found out eventually and rode in on your high horse, making sure that everything was in order… why must it be me to tell you these things? Why must it always be me who needs saving?" She asked him with tears in her eyes.

His anger melted off his face, and he kneeled in front of Meg, "Darling… I worry about you night and day. Please, why won't you let me move you and Adrienne to a better flat?"

"No," Meg refused gently, stroking his face.

"But Meg, you never need to work…"

"No Raoul, I refuse to be your whore… and you know that would be all it is." She said to him still lazily stroking the side of his face. He leaned into her palm and they both knew, as well as Adrienne in the hall, that it would be viewed just like that.

"For Adrienne's sake, no." She whispered, her face becoming serious, even in her intoxicated state. Raoul nodded, understanding what it would mean to everyone. He lifted himself from in front of her, and looked to the fire. Slowly he raked his hands through his hair.

"I'll go to the opera house tomorrow. I'll become patron once more if that's what it takes." He said, turning back to her and extending his hand. She took it, and he hoisted her to her feet, while saying "Come, let's get you to bed."

But he had been to fast, and she had fallen into his arms. It was almost instantaneous; Adrienne could see the fire between them. Raoul's breathing had tensed, and it became rather heavy. His mother, she looked at the Comte desperately, as though she begged him to do something, and yet, not do anything at all. The arm around the small of her back, held her tightly against the Raoul, and his other hand held her face and neck. Meg's arms were pressed against his chest, her hands flat against them. Adrienne didn't know what he wanted, there stood what he had always thought an uncle, and his mother, locked in a heated embrace, one that had been created so innocently. He found himself urging his uncle to kiss his mother, to finally just give into what he was feeling.

"Meg…" was all Raoul could hoarsely whisper.

"Hmmm…?" Her eyes began to droop more, half her senses were gone, she barely could tell they were still in that position, and it was then that Adrienne knew Raoul wouldn't do anything, that he cared far too deeply to allow anything to happen in that position.

He watched as Raoul's thumb traced her bottom lip in anguish, as he licked his own, most likely in desire. Suddenly, the Comte shook his head and hoisted Meg to one side of him.

"Fleur!" Raoul screamed, Meg finally past out on his shoulder. Fleur came into the room, surprised to see the scene before her, but before she could speak, Raoul did.

"Help me get your mistress to bed."

Since that day Adrienne could not call Raoul 'uncle'. It was a farce, and it had to stop. Knowing that the Comte truly loved his mother put him in a difficult position. Part of him wanted Raoul just to marry her and get it over with, both would be exceedingly happy if they just admitted to it, part of him wanted to run away from the entire situation all together. He was never consulted and asked beforehand if he wanted to be the Vicomte, no one ever told him what was involved, for he was just a boy. A small black hole of resentment filled him, thoughts like "Mother only did it to stay close to the Comte." flooded that part of his soul. And although he regretted such thoughts, they only grew.

( ' ) '
-

Who scorn his word, beware to those . . .

"Absolutely not! We have talked about this numerous times, and the answer remains no!" Erik fumed and frantically began sorting through papers so he didn't have to look her in the eye, why must she ask him such things? Didn't she know the world outside his protection was filled with hate and dangers that she would drown in? If he had it his way, she wouldn't be able to leave the lair ever, to be kept within his sight and reach so that he could make sure nothing ever harm her except for the rare time he may accidentally hurt her feelings. But those were the times he could hate and loathe himself for any damage she may still be feeling; his own contempt was punishment enough. But if someone else ever hurt her, he didn't know if he had the power to control himself. True he was much older then he was in his days with Christine, however he was sure that in full rage he could still inflict serious injury.

"But papa, what did you expect? You taught me to sing my whole life, you didn't expect me to want to do it for the rest of my life, maybe even earn a living from it?" Danielle asked him in a half angered voice.

He had heard that tone before, many times from her when she was not to get what she wanted. When she was younger it was her way of arguing with him and now in her adult years she still used it to her advantage. And yet there was something new in that voice, something new that she acquired through her years alive. Something that sounded like wisdom resonated from within her. She sounded to him as though she was being stretched thin and no matter what he did she would soon fade away. Shaking the notion from his mind he remembered he had to be firm with her, she had no idea how dangerous her request was.

"If I had known you would be so foolish to try to exploit your talents for money, I never would of taught you how to..."

"It's not about the money papa!" she pleaded with him, yet she felt he already knew that anyways. She wondered what he could possibly be trying to protect her from, what was out there that he was so afraid of? She watched as his shoulders sagged and he held onto the mantle piece.

"It's not like I am moving out, or even trying to bring home money, I just need contact Papa. I need to spend time with someone other then my mind and you. I love you Father, more then life itself but in this case, I seriously feel myself slowly withering away. I have no friends, only my books and fantasies. I have my voice, and through my voice I can make friends, maybe even a life for myself above." She said to him in one last dire effort to change his mind.

Slowly he exhaled his breath, he knew deep down no matter what he said she wouldn't listen to his reasoning nevertheless he felt he needed to state one last time his opposition.

"You cannot take that job Danielle, that is finale." He said and walked out of the room, leaving her the rest of the house to cry in.

( ' ) '
-

Who is this angel? This . . .

Meg watched as a beautiful young woman walked continuously toward her. The older woman's heart skipped a beat at the beauty of this girl, no older then twenty dressed in a gown with a heavily decorated bodice and matching skirt. The detailing on the bodice was extraordinary, with its high neckline decorated. It was a very soft blue with ecru appliqué and lace trim. Meg had fancied beautiful clothes in her time, therefore appreciating the effort and time that went into the creation of the dress. Flowers of delicate yellow, white and pink decorated the yoke of the bodice. The rest of the dress was sporadically decorated with these flowers until it ended with an elaborate floral accent.

As the woman came closer, Meg took a step closer examining the beauty of the girl, her fine porcelain face shone with anxiety, as if she had no idea what she was doing.

"Excuse me?" The woman asked her waking Meg out of her appreciative half daze. The dress was a year out of style, yes, however she had not seen a commoner where one as elegant as the one she was wearing now.

"Yes?" Meg asked clearing her through and looking the girl in the eye. Those eyes, she had seen them somewhere before; so kind, and yet so very sad. They were a deep green, a green that she had seen somewhere before but could not place.

"Can you please direct me to where the auditions for chorus are being held?" She asked with a slight smile.

That smile! She swore, she had seen it too somewhere before, everything about her was all too familiar: her tan brown curly hair, her slight, almost alluring smile, and her eyes of deep green.

"Take the next right, follow the hall down all the way then turn left, and right again. That shall lead you to the manager's office where the auditions are being held. Trust me, follow the cacophony of shrill notes and baritone's warming up, you cannot miss it." Meg said tipping her head a slight in realization this woman could not be socially elite if she were looking for a job at the opera

How strange, the ballet mistress thought. I could have sworn she was someone of higher status, for her clothing is exquisite.

"Thank you." The woman replied and passed the Madame to continue on her mission. Meg watched her as the skirt, which was as nicely detailed as the bodice, swished away.

Christine, just admit, she looks like Christine…. You knew it all along, but then again you can never admit it when someone looks like her, there have been a few, she finally deducted as the girl rounded and looked at her again.

Pointing down the corridor with a gloved hand, she looked for an acknowledging nod from Meg before continuing out of sight.

Sighing Meg continued on her mission to find Adrienne before it was time to go home. She smiled to herself in thought about the woman for the last time that night.