A Note to the Managers:
I do not claim ownership to The Phantom of the Opera, nor any of its characters. I only claim ownership of the original characters that I create, and any other original things. Everything else is property of Gaston Leroux, Susan Kay, Andrew Lloyd Webber, or any other rightful owner. (Yes, I do quote several people throughout the story :))
Also, in a note to the general audience, please know that in my story, the girl Christine's name is not pronounced Kris-teen as you are probably used to, but is pronounced K'ris-tee-nuh. I chose this pronunciation because, well, I like it ;). This name also gives you the backbone of the original Christine, but allows you the freedom of some characteristics Book/Movie/Broadway Christine may not have had. At least, that's the way I interpret it.
The setting of the story starts off in 2006. The story is not a sequel or prequel to the novel; rather, the story takes place during the same time period the original story did. (spoiler) "Future"-Christine is really just swept into the body of "Past"-Christine.
On a closing note, I hope you enjoy the show. I do read the reviews, so please, don't hesitate to drop this Opera Ghost a note ;)
Your Ever-Faithful Servant,
J.F.
JewelFlame
CHAPTER ONE
"This is where you girls will be sleeping tonight."
Christine peered behind the frail woman. The backstage sleeping area behind the stage of the grand Opera House was all crafted of wood, and had a lovely pine smell to it. The candlelight reflected off of the lightly polished surfaces of the dressers and beds, creating a warm, cozy look. Christine sighed and smiled at the other ballet girls. This was going to be a fun slumber party.
Margaret nudged Christine. "Tina," she whispered, "isn't this cool? I've always wanted to visit the Paris Opera."
Christine smiled at her friend. "So have I," she said. "ever since my Gram read Le Fantôme de l'Opéra to me when I was seven. That's how I got started learning French."
Margaret grinned. "And Madam Antoinette says that you are the best student she ever had. She says it's hard to believe you didn't live in France your whole life."
Christine blushed. Although she only had a year left until she graduated High School, she had grown quite fond of the long hallways and bustle of students. She was the star pupil of the school, and was considered a teacher's pet by many.
Suddenly Christine started, falling forward onto her bed with a muffled Oomph. She bounced up and swiveled around, one single sculpted eyebrow raised. Margaret stood behind her, smirking and holding a pillow up to her face.
"Pillow fight!" one of the ballet girls cried, and all chaos broke loose as shrieks and feathers flew through the air.
Christine emerged from the sleeping quarters an hour later, out of breath and pink in the face. She had been able to escape the squawks and screams of the other girls, and slipped out into a dark corridor. Light from the candle in her hand cast eerie shadows upon the wall as she walked, slipping into darkness once she had moved on.
Christine passed many rooms as she wandered, but none interested her. At least, not until she came to a room with "Christine Daae, Soprano" engraved on a gold plaque that hung on the door. The door and plaque were smothered with thick, gray dust. Intrigued, Christine gently pushed open the door. It swung inward with a faint creeeeeak.
It was a dressing room. Christine surveyed the dusty surroundings, her eyes finally resting on a grand mirror in the back of the room. She carefully stepped forward, maneuvering around the sheet-covered chairs. Her reflection in the mirror was distorted and foggy, so she carefully brushed away the dust upon the glass. She gasped. Who was that face in the mirror? It was not herself. Why, sure, the young woman staring back in the mirror still had the long, curly hair and big doe eyes Christine had, but her mouth was a bit smaller and turned up in a shy smile. Christine's clothes were different, too; gone were her burgundy silk pajamas. Instead, a lovely white lace evening gown was draped over her body. The ivory folds cascaded down to her feet, where white slippers had magically appeared.
Suddenly, Christine's candle flickered and lost its light. Her dress fluttered about her feet, tugging at her ankles. Christine's eyes widened as a divine voice sang out from above:
"Holy angel, in Heaven blessed… my spirit longs with thee to rest!"
Christine shrieked as a strong, gloved hand sprung from the mirror and seized her wrist, pulling her through the mirror and into the darkness beyond.