Enjoy!
This story is *very* loosely based on "Wuthering Heights".
Chapter 1
Paris, France
1880
Normally, books were a source of excitement for young Christine Daaé.
Just ten years old, and she was reading the likes of Jules Verne and Victor Hugo. Her governess, Antoinette Valerius, often liked to say that she would be the next great wordsmith, perhaps a writer of beautiful poems. Christine would respond that poetry was boring, and besides, she liked to read stories - not write them.
But tonight, Christine could not even focus on the words read aloud to her. It was two and a half hours to midnight, the fireplace was crackling and glowing orange, fighting against the February cold, and rain fell in icy sheets outside. This would normally have been the perfect atmosphere for a story, especially one narrated by talented Mme. Valerius.
But her Papa was still gone. He'd gone to work around noon, as normal, but today was a matinee at the Opera House. Sometimes the actors stayed late to meet with patrons, but musicians like Gustave Daaé generally left right after the curtain fell and the audience shuffled out.
The show ended at five.
So where was he?
"Christine?"
Her head shot up. At Mme. Valerius's high-browed look, Christine's blue eyes blinked, one hand playing with a brown ringlet. Had her governess asked her a question?
"I apologize, Antoinette." She straightened her back and let her hair go. "Would you mind repeating that?" They both sat in opposite armchairs, and though Antoinette could comfortably put both feet on the carpet, Christine could not. And, of course, a lady did not slouch - so the only thing supporting her was the cushion beneath her, legs dangling beneath.
It was the only part of this she hated. If there was a way to play and read at the same time, she would find and do it.
Alas, she had not found it. At least, she'd not found a way that didn't involve a stern word or two from Mme. Valerius.
Her governess smiled. "I asked if you are bored, but I can quite clearly infer the answer."
"Infer?" She regretted the question the moment she said it, because:
"Ah. A new vocabulary word. Go and get a dictionary."
Christine suppressed the urge to groan aloud. "Yes, Antoinette." She slid from the chair as daintily as she could and went to the bookshelf. She plucked the cursed dictionary from its spot and brought it to her chair.
"Now," said her governess. "What letter does the word start with?"
"I."
"Good. How do you think it's spelled?"
"I-n-f-e-r-e."
"Close. There is no -e at the end, but good. Find the word, Christine, and tell me when you do."
Christine did as she was bid. She'd said that the sitting was the worst part of story-time, but that was untrue. This - stopping to define unknown words - was the worst part. After scanning several pages of the dictionary, she finally found it. "Infer," she read aloud, "to conclude information from reasoning or evidence rather than from explicit statements."
"And what does 'explicit' mean?"
Just as Christine let out an involuntary sigh, the doors to the townhouse opened with a light creak, amplifying the sound of the rain.
"Blast, blast, blast this weather!" came the unmistakable sound of Gustave's voice. Christine grinned; the parlor was right next door to the foyer, so his words were loud and clear. "It's like the damn arctic is falling straight from the sky!"
"M. Daaé!" called Antoinette, in a chiding tone no other servant would have dared to use. "Christine is right here!"
"Ah." He sounded mildly embarrassed. "Hello, Christine, darling."
She giggled, then gave her governess a pleading look.
Antoinette sighed. She closed the book. "You are dismissed, Christine. Go and greet your father."
Like a bird freed from a cage, she dropped the dictionary to the table and flew from the seat, not without a distinctive clucking of disapproval from Mme. Valerius. She ran from the room and into the foyer and -
Stopped short, nearly tripping over her own feet.
Her father smiled at her, blonde hair plastered to his head.
And next to her soaking wet father was a boy, perhaps her own age, just as sopping from the rain. His raggedy brown clothes and tangled, long black hair were filthy, and he looked like he'd not eaten in weeks. The most striking thing, though, was the leather half-mask that covered everything on the right side of his face. His brown eyes stared widely at her.
"Christine," said her father, "allow me to introduce Erik. He will be staying with us for...a little while."