The Soprano's Love Story

Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera and related materials used in this work are property of Gaston Leroux, Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber, and so forth. I claim nothing in this story beyond my own tale-weaving style. :)

A/N: Well, first of all, hello! This is my first attempt at phanfiction, and also keep in mind that this is unbeta'd. If anyone is interested in becoming my beta, please do contact me. Considering that this is only the first chapter and I'm an insane perfectionist, my writing is always subject to being completely rewritten if it is not found suitable. Anything to please the fans. ;) Anyhow, this will eventually become an EC story. Notice how I did not include Raoul, and I did so for a specific reason. Gotta love those alternate universe situations! However, I struggled on the beginning of the story, considering there were endless possibilities; finally, I decided to describe Christine's childhood, considering it has been a neglectedpiece of the Phantom universe. For the basis of events and characters, I used a little bit of my favorite versions (Leroux, Kay, Webber, and even a little 1925 POTO). Feedback, reviews and criticism are all welcome!

Movement 1 Are you my angel of music?

Christine Daaé was orphaned at the young age of seven. Her father, Gustave Daaé, passed on due simply to old age; Lis Daaé, her mother, died soon after her birth. Yes, little Christine was certainly not the only orphaned child in the nineteenth century—but no orphanage could contain the child of Gustave and Lis Daaé!

In the remaining years of his life, Gustave took his precious child and together they traveled the western continent. Europe was their playground. Gustave would play his violin for hours, until his fingers began to throb unbearably; meanwhile, his beloved daughter would accompany his tune vocally. Her voice resonated—clear as a porcelain bell, mind you!—and pealed through the crisp, clear air of the countryside. Although they had little money and lacked flashy tricks, the musical family unit attracted several enraptured listeners. For most of her life, this was the only life that little Christine Daaé knew; in addition, she loved her carefree days at her father's side. As far as she was concerned, these happy days would last for all eternity.

However, while visiting France, a young Christine soon learned a lesson of death and loss. One fated evening, her father collapsed aside the dirt path they had been performing upon not even an hour ago.

"Father!"

Christine was horror-stricken as she slumped to the ground next to her father. She shook his shoulder, timidly at first; when he did not reply, she shook him harder. Harder still! Finally, he released an exasperated gasp.

"C—Christine, my… darling songbird…!" Gustave struggled for breath. He managed to prop himself up, using his right elbow.

"Oh Father! You are not well!"

"Come now… p—please, we must—get to Mamma Valerius… as soon as we can…!" Now, using his daughter, he was able to stand; however, his legs were still trembling and his face was drained of all color.

"Yes Father!" the little Christine replied, helping to steady her beloved father. Walking as slowly and as awkwardly as a child's toy, the pair set off for the small village adjacent to the path.

Mamma Valerius was a kindly old widow, roughly the same age as Gustave. She had passed the father-daughter recital and was touched by their bond; the vigor of their music also stirred her heart. After hearing their song and seeing their friendship, she insisted upon them staying in her home as guests. For several nights now, the Daaé family had taken lodgings in the Valerius household.

The frenzied duo arrived at the door to be greeted by Mamma herself.

"Gustave! Oh no, oh no, oh my goodness! Christine—Christine darling!—what happened!" the old woman could barely speak through her disbelief.

"Father is ill!" cried little Christine, her voice tremulous with emotion. "Please, Mamma Valerius, help him!"

The old widow rushed to Gustave, relieving the petite Christine of his weight. Slowly, she led him to the spare bedroom—where the Daaé family had been staying—and pulled back the sheets, lying the man on his back. She replaced the covers atop his body, and fetched a cold washcloth from the basin and spread it across his forehead. Then, she sent for Christine.

"Yes Mamma Valerius?"

"Send for Doctor Fontenelle, and please, make haste," the widow announced, her tone grave.

"Yes!"

Christine scampered through the doorway; Mamma soon heard the front door slam. Her gaze lingered to the waning man in her guest bed and a ghastly thought suddenly entered her mind: Christine was…!

"Christine—oh, that poor, darling child! She will be all alone in this world, thousands of miles away from her birthplace…" Mamma Valerius lamented, she too knowing the pain of being alone. However, she had known a happy life prior to her husband's death—this angelic girl knew nothing but her father, and music.

…

"Music! Yes, if Christine must lose her dear papa, she can still live vicariously through her music. I must send for the National Academy right away!" She proclaimed, her face brimming with excitement. All of a sudden, Gustave coughed violently.

"Mamma… it is a wonderful g—gesture for you to consider my daughter—but the academy will… never accept a p—poor Swedish girl like Christine…"

"Oh, Gustave," she whispered, feeling despair once again.

"There is—only one thing you can do, Mamma… the… Paris Opera House, send her—there…" His voice trailed off as he gasped for breath a few times. "T—They can train her… and someday…" Gustave could not continue, as he once again was struggling to catch his breath. The old widow lowered her head for a moment.

"Yes, Gustave. I will send for someone right away, to come for Christine," she announced in a low whisper.

Fifteen minutes later, Christine returned with Doctor Fontenelle. The two came hurrying through the doorway, especially little Christine.

"Mamma Valerius! I have returned with the doctor, just as you desired!" she shouted, slightly out of breath from her alacrity. Meanwhile, Doctor Fontenelle had already assumed his place at Gustave's bedside. He performed a routine check of the fading man's vital signs, his expression growing more somber with each passing minute. Finally, after the examination was complete, he leaned close to the bed.

"Sir, not to state the obvious, but your lungs are failing. You do not have much longer—maybe only 24 hours."

Gustave opened his tired eyes and gave the doctor an achingly long stare. With a gentle sigh, he closed his eyes once more.

"…Thank you, Doctor."

Now, the doctor nodded in reply. After a moment of lingering, he rose from the bedside and pulled Mamma Valerius aside.

"This man is dying," he announced in a whisper. "He doesn't have much longer to live, I would say one day at the most."

Mamma Valerius' face showed no shock or surprise—only grief for the terrified child waiting in the parlor. Doctor Fontenelle sighed now, too.

"What about the girl, his daughter?" he asked gently. Mamma nodded.

"She is going to the Paris Opera House, to train as a vocalist. I just sent a pageboy with the letter regarding the situation. It should only be a few days until they arrive."

"Well that's a relief, at least she won't become a homeless wretch," he replied thoughtfully.

Mamma and Fontenelle, both engrossed in their worries, were suddenly startled by a soft cry from Gustave.

"Please… let me see my Christine…"

The two exited the room, and sent Christine in to visit with her dear father. In the midst of all this confusion, Christine had no idea of her father's condition. Her naïve young mind was incapable of grasping the fact that her most important person was going to be departing soon. The perplexed little girl climbed upon the bed, next to her father, and watched him intently.

"Christine, my only daughter… my beloved daughter… I shall make you a promise," he stammered, having trouble articulating his words. Her eyes perked up at his declaration. "When I am in heaven, child… I will send you… the angel of music… to protect you… guide you… teach you…"

"Oh, Father!" Christine wailed, wrapping her arms around his frail neck. "I will wait for my angel of music, I promise!" The small child began weeping inconsolably, unable to understand the wrenching in her heart. And though Christine did not notice, her father was weeping, too.

Ten hours later, Doctor Fontenelle exited the Valerius residence. Gustave Daaé passed away on May 23, 1861 at 8:41am. Thankfully, little Christine was sleeping at the time. But Mamma Valerius was well aware that when Christine awoke, an entirely new world of pain and anguish was waiting to descend.

Pain and anguish barely began to describe what Christine Daaé suffered.

The small girl rose from Mamma Valerius' bed, anxious to see her father, to check on his condition. Before she could make it to the guest room, Mamma stopped her and placed a hand on her trembling shoulder. Christine looked into Mamma's eyes and with one slim glance, the weight of the world came crashing down.

"Christine, dear child—"

"Stop, please…" she begged weakly, bowing her head so that her face could not be seen.

"Oh, but Christine—"

"Father is dead."

The iciness of little Christine's voice sent a chill running through Mamma Valerius. Christine pulled away from her gentle grip, silently traversing to her father's bedside. Or rather now, his deathbed. Again, Mamma was flabbergasted. Who was the detached little girl who roamed her home? One thing was for certain, it was no longer the dear, little songbird...

Mamma Valerius soon understood when she heard the most superhuman cries of grief coming from the guest bedroom. The sheer pain in those cries told stories—so many memories of loving adoration, childish innocence, and other heartbreaking reminiscences! It was nearly too much for Mamma to handle; her eyes brimmed with tears and she forced herself to withhold sobs. She could not bear to ask Christine to stop—it would only be causing the lost little child more pain!

The excruciating sobs continued for what felt like an eternity…

Gustave Daaé's funeral was hardly a flashy occasion. Christine, Mamma Valerius and Doctor Fontenelle were the only people who attended. After all, it was difficult for a traveling musician to acquire anything more than loose acquaintances. Due to their lack of funds, Gustave was buried in a coarse pine box with a simple headstone that read:

GUSTAVE DAAE

Wife: Lis Daughter: Christine

Born: 1801 Died: 1861

Two days later, the little Christine had exhausted her tears. She could no longer bring herself to cry for her father; however, that would not stop her from grieving. All she could do now was grieve. All she had left of her father, now, was her grief…

By now, Mamma Valerius was concerned about Christine's fate. It had been three days since she had sent her request to the Paris Opera House, and she had received no response. Despite how much she loved the girl, she could not manage a daughter, even if it was not her own! Surely, if the Opera House does not come, Christine could find a home in a neighboring village. Yes, with two loving parents who would adore the beautiful, talented little songbird…

Suddenly, as if an intervention from the Heavens, there was a knock on the door! Mamma Valerius hurried to receive her caller. She opened the door to behold a middle-aged woman, clad in a formal black dress; her long, gray hair was braided and placed quaintly in front of her left shoulder. Her face, although weathered with experience, was soft and womanly, and Mamma could tell she was a kind person.

"Hello, Giselle Valerius?" the woman inquired. Mamma nodded. "Hello, I am Francine Giry, the ballet mistress at the Paris Opera House. Our manager, Monsieur Le Fevre, received your request and by means of approval of our musical instructor, Miss Christine Daaé is welcome to join the company at the Opera House."

All that Mamma Valerius could feel was relief. Relief that Christine would not have to fend for herself—relief that she could continue her music and find happiness as she once did at her father's side! She smiled softly at Madame Giry.

"Thank you so very much, Madame! I will fetch Christine at once," she announced, hurrying to the guest bedroom. Christine had tombed herself inside, refusing to come out except for meals, the restroom and the like. Mamma Valerius beat on the door like a madwoman.

"Christine! Christine, come out at once! We have a visitor who wishes to see you!"

The fatigued young child slowly opened the door, reluctantly coming out into the hallway. Mamma Valerius excitedly took her hand and led her to the parlor, where Mme. Giry was patiently waiting. Noticing the two, she bowed slightly.

"Hello, Christine," she said in a resonant, comforting tone. Christine, however, looked to Mamma Valerius with a puzzled expression.

"Christine, dear, this is Madame Giry. She is the ballet mistress at the Paris Opera House. You will be going with her to take vocal lessons, and perhaps even become an opera singer someday. Now you can continue your music!"

"Madame," Christine said impassively to the ballet mistress, "when shall we be leaving?"

"As soon as you are ready, my dear," Mme. Giry replied. Christine stared at Mme. Giry for quite a while, and then spared to glance to Mamma Valerius. Although this place was still new to her, it already held numerous memories—many of which brought nothing but pain. Hurt. Anguish. Longing. Christine knew that, regardless of how much she cared for Mamma Valerius, she could not remain in her house. Not where her father…

"I am ready, Madame Giry," Christine announced, with no reluctance in her voice. To the older ladies' surprise, she walked toward the door and managed a faint smile. Mme. Giry nodded to Mamma Valerius, whom also nodded in response.

"So long, Christine. Please do come and visit me when you have a chance, my dear," Mamma said, her voice concealing a certain sadness. The little Christine turned to take one last look at the closest thing to a mother she had ever known.

"Of course I will, Mamma."

With those words, Christine took Mme. Giry's hands and the two departed from the Valerius household. A small carriage was waiting at the end of the walkway. Long before they reached it, though, Christine stopped. She appeared to be deeply in thought for a moment, but soon trailed along behind Mme. Giry. All the while, though, she could not dismiss the thought from her head—

"Are you my angel of music?"