Disclaimer: I (regretfully) own nothing Phantom. Leroux, Webber, and Kay all own it…lucky stiffs.
AN: Important note: some people might be confused in distinguishing thoughts from flashback quotes. "These" (with quotes) are flashback sentences, and 'these' (non-quotes) are thoughts.
Also, I know that there is the possibility that some readers are probably going to hate me and think that this is a "Mary Sue" chapter or story. So, to head off any possible flames from readers, here is my defense of my original character. (If you would like to read my hopefully unnecessary defense, proceed reading this author's note. If not, jump ahead to the chapter.) My understanding is that Mary Sues are "perfect at everything" that has meaning in that particular universe (for instance, in the Phantom-verse, music and art). Marie is not even remotely good at anything musical or artistic; she just sews costumes, is a practically a well-paid babysitter for the younger ballet rats, and is a good person. That's it. She does not dance, sing, play an instrument, or possesses anything resembling the artistic talents that traditionally attract Erik. Therefore, in my mind, she is not a Mary Sue. Further arguments may be made to me via e-mail (included on my bio page). Enjoy the chapter!
Chapter 9: Heartache:
Marie was in a state of shock as she made her way up to the Opera House.
"Marie, I am Christine's Angel of Music."
She could hardly believe it. As she walked, Marie's heart shattered into countless pieces. The man she had trusted with everything had kept something like this from her! She had trusted him to keep her and Christine safe, mentally and physically, from all of the goings-on at the Populaire, and he had betrayed the trust she had placed in him! But it wasn't just that Erik had betrayed her trust…no, it wasn't just that.
A sudden coldness began to fill the void where her once-whole heart had been, the chill spreading throughout her chest as tears began to fall from her eyes.
'I love you, Erik,' she wailed in the back of her mind, hoping that he was able to hear her, despite the distance between them.
But she would never, could never, tell him that. Not after learning what she had. The fact that he was manipulating Christine hadn't broken Marie's heart…it was the fact that it was Christine he preferred over her that did it. He had not said so in those exact words, but it was all implied when Erik had spoken of why he had done what he had.
"Christine has the making of a true opera star," he said, green eyes blazing with excitement as he explained it all to her. "Her voice will make the Opera Populaire greatly known throughout the world! Her beauty shines like a star in the heavens; people will come from far distances to hear her sing and see her perform as the great Prima Donna she was meant to be!"
'And why shouldn't he wish the best for Christine?' Marie thought in despair.
At 18 years of age, Christine had everything that her sister did not. She was young, talented in dance and song, graceful, and beautiful. She was tall and lithe, with long legs that were perfect for a ballerina, and her hair was a cloud of lovely curls framing a perfect, sweet face. She had glowing skin, and gray eyes that were edged with long lashes and filled with an attractive innocence that drew people to her. Who was Marie to compete with her sister?
'I cannot dance, and even Father told me that my singing would be mundane, at best,' Marie thought, biting back tears as she slipped into her room and swung the door shut behind her. 'Christine was always asked to sing along with Papa as he played while I sat and listened, only joining in during the chorus of country songs.'
If only her life were like the fairy tales in her books, like the tale of Cinderella! But the dear Cinder Girl was already lovely beneath the soot and rags, and had wicked stepsisters that were spoiled beyond saving. Marie was far from attractive, and even though Marie tended to spoil her when she could, Christine was far from wicked. Therefore, the younger girl could hardly be called a 'brat.' In this case, the roles were reversed, though not to the extremes. Christine had the beauty and the handsome man interested in her, and Marie would be the older sister foster sister that would take care of the lovely offspring that she and Erik would produce once he won her over.
Marie winced at the thought of Erik marrying and having a happy family life as she looked on from afar. She did not doubt that, together, her sister and the dashing Phantom would have incredibly beautiful children, male or female.
'It's not as though there is anything wrong with either of them,' she thought, taking a seat on her bed before stretching out on it completely. 'After all, only a small part of Erik's face is different; the rest of him is just fine.'
Marie caught herself blushing as she reflected on that thought. She had once visited the lair when Erik had been in the midst of changing shirts, and that had been the single most embarrassing (and thrilling) day of her life. Erik had blushed and gaped in surprise as she had tried to stammer an apology before leaving the room. He had later lectured her on entering his home without knocking, and she had countered it with the fact that he had an alarm for his home, one that was meant to alert him when visitors were approaching. Marie had then declared that his hearing must have been fading, if he hadn't heard the telltale chiming from the alert bell. However, while they had been talking, Marie had done her best not to think of what she had just observed moments before.
From what she had seen, Christine should have no objection to Erik. Apparently the deformity that he had been born with was solely on his face; the rest of him resembled the drawings of the strong, muscular Greek gods that she had seen in books. Running through the passageways, climbing the ropes, and carrying away heavy props had left Erik in perfect physical shape, one that could be admired by any woman, despite what he looked like.
'After all, I've seen what he looks like under that mask,' she thought, staring at the ceiling of her room. 'And I've taught others not to judge based on appearances, so why wouldn't Christine be attracted to the man who has made her voice come to life?'
Visions of Christine being wooed by Erik as he swept her away to his beautiful lair seemed to stab Marie in the heart. There was no possible way to not envision them together. With the two of them being so tall, her Christine was of the right height to fit into Erik's arms perfectly.
'I should know,' she thought, drifting back to a year ago, just after her 22nd birthday.
Erik had discovered that Marie did not know how to dance, and had offered to teach her as a gift. Madame Giry had taught Erik how to move about the dance floor as the Opera patrons did, and he was more than happy to teach Marie in turn. The moment he had swept her into his arms and guided her into her first dance step, she knew that she had fallen in love with him. He had always treated her so wonderfully, so sweetly, rarely raising his voice (but never his hand) in anger, and always handling her as though she were made of something delicate and precious. It was enough to make her go home every night immediately after those dance lessons and sigh dreamily as she got ready for bed.
'But now all of that attention will be falling to Christine,' Marie thought, letting tears fall. 'I will always be his first and only true friend…he will never see me as anything else.'
And yet, Marie could not hate her younger sister. Christine was such an innocent girl, too good for the harsh, brutal world existing outside of the Opera House, and would always need someone to take care of her. Erik's magical underground home, though it was not the home Marie had in mind for her, could shelter Christine away from the dangers that lurked just outside the doorway. With the large income that he embezzled from the managers, Erik could provide a very comfortable life for her.
'They deserve one another,' she thought, giving in to defeat. There was no possible way that she could compete with her sister. To make his life easier, she would do her best to avoid Erik so that he could focus all of his time on wooing Christine.
Rolling over onto her side, Marie closed her eyes against more tears and fell asleep.
Erik watched from behind the wall as she fell asleep, gazing at the head of brown locks before going to check on her sister. It was astounding how one Daae could be so innocent and trusting while the other possessed such an old and open soul. Marie was still young of heart, but still held an otherworldly wisdom within her heart, one that allowed her to gaze upon his face with no sign of hatred, fear, or disgust. Would Christine ever look upon him like that?
Erik bit his lip as he carefully peered into the room. Another head of dark hair lay upon a white pillow, the sound of deep breathing a sure sign that the other girl slept as well. No, he wasn't sure whether Christine, dear, innocent, angelic Christine, would look upon him the same way as her older sister did. Would her eyes fill with terror and fear where her sister's had not? Would she even be able to touch him? Perhaps, if her upbringing had been slightly different, it might be possible.
In the eleven years she had lived at the Populaire, Christine Daae had spent far too little time with Marie, and far too much time with the babbling, intelligence-lacking ballet rats. When she should have been listening to Marie talk about morals, Christine had instead heard far too many terrifying tales about the legendary Opera Ghost. She had heard every single story that could be dreamt up by the pesky corps de ballet about the terror he spread throughout the Opera House, and was just as frightened of him as everyone else was.
Erik grit his teeth. He would have to work a great deal harder to persuade her differently. Perhaps he could use the same techniques he did when he and Marie had first begun their friendship? Flowers, trinkets, and frequent visits for tea might just do the trick…
'No, I couldn't,' he thought, shaking his head as he turned to head for his home. 'What I did for Marie was for her alone. I will not dishonor that by using it for another purpose.'
Suddenly, the thought of Marie burned his heart. After he had revealed that he was Christine's Angel of Music, there had been a silence so thick that he could have cut it with a knife. Marie had been stunned, to say the least, and he had done everything he could to apologize for misleading both her and her sister. However, before she had left in a state of shock, hurt, and tears, Marie seemed mostly upset about his taking advantage of Christine and using her talents for his own purpose.
But that wasn't why he had done it. Although it was thrilling to think of Christine singing his music with her angelic voice, the reason Erik had taught her to sing was because it seemed a shame to waste such talent. Christine could only go so far with her dancing: she was not so extraordinarily gifted in ballet that she could make a true living off of it as a prima ballerina. At best, she'd be in the front lines until an ankle twisted, or she grew too old to keep her place.
With song, the possibilities were astounding. Since he had first heard her sing hymns to her dead father in the chapel, Erik knew that, with the correct training, Christine could be a Prima Donna. True, she would have to make a debut first, but he had no doubts that she could soar straight to the heavens as a rising star, traveling the world and seeing places she had only read or heard tales about. Once she was a success, Christine could make a handsome amount of money, possibly enough to retire early and live on for the rest of her life, should she chose to do so.
'But first, I would have to acquire her a lead roll…and that would take a great deal of planning,' he thought as he walked into the open cave by the lake.
But the other thing, besides Christine's future as a star, was how Erik was going to make this up to Marie…
The next morning, Marie felt terrible. Her eyes were crusted over from her dried tears, and her heart still lay in a million shattered pieces within her breast. Still, life must go on, and go on she would.
'Right after I bathe and brush my hair,' she thought, putting her hand on her brown mess of hair. 'I swear that birds could nest in here!'
After taking a quick bath, painfully tugging a comb through her brown locks, and putting on a green dress, Marie flew downstairs to grab a croissant before ballet practice. Today they would have to get back in shape after a rather long gap between performances. It was taking the manager longer than usual to choose an opera, and he was to announce it either today or, at the latest, within the next week. As a result of the unusually long rest period they had been given, Madame Giry (as per tradition) instructed every single dancer to be in the practice room to practice all of the basics. They could be sure to work themselves to collapse today, in order to be prepared for any opera that might be chosen. Every position would be practiced time and again until each girl thought they would go mad from the work and exhaustion, but Madame Giry would not rest until she was sure of the fitness of her dancers.
Walking towards the dance rooms, Marie braced herself for the worst. It was her door that the girls would knock on, bringing with them complaints, worn out or uncomfortable toe shoes, and an ear that would hopefully listen to tales about what each girl did during their time off from the Populaire. Thankfully, after a day or two, the girls would soon be too tired to pay her visits, and her nights would be quite and content. Another thing she was thankful for was the fact that she would not be needed in the costume rooms until after an opera had been chosen.
Today's practice was exhausting for everyone, Marie included. Although she was merely there to help position the girls and call out the mistakes they made, both she and Madame could clearly see how lazy the girls had become during their lack of exercise and practice. A mere hour into the practice, Marie heard the intimidating ballet mistress mutter something about banning pastries and sweets from the dormitories until the girls could keep themselves in perfect dancing order.
After a small rest for lunch, Marie returned to the practice rooms and was astonished to find that the dancers had all been moved to the stage to practice, which was rather unusual. Moving them to the stage when there wasn't even an opera was chosen told her that there would be some specific selecting when it came to the dancers of the next opera. It wasn't that unusual, but it was not something that happened frequently, either.
Marie groaned. Preferences for certain parts in an opera would only lead to arguments backstage later, usually during dance practice. On occasion, an opera would call for people of the same age, height, hair color, or (on one particularly embarrassing occasion) the same chest size. Marie refused to remember what had happened after the dancers for that performance! Many girls had tried desperate ways to appear "bigger" in order to be onstage, but all they had managed was to amuse the manager and patron to no end.
A quick observation quickly told that some severe fights were due to happen in the future. Apparently only the girls that were the most attractive, most exotic-looking, or both, were onstage, all in their dance leotards. A quick glance showed that Christine was among them, and Marie beamed with pride as her sister performed the best of her abilities. All of them were moving in fairly good syncopation, and bore the typical "stage smile" that Madame Giry had drilled into their heads, one of the many facades that made them appear more expressive while they dance. A few minutes of dance, and they stopped, their performance complete. Marie joined the woman who was both mother and teacher to her on the side of the stage. She saw Madame roll her eyes, and Marie didn't know whether to wince or laugh in reply. Apparently Madame was to have no say in who was to be cast in this production, and the two of them would have to work extra hard to coordinate the girls for the performance.
'Just because a girl has a lovely or exotic face does not make her a good dancer or a prima ballerina,' Marie thought, quoting Madame with a smile. 'In nearly all cases, a horse would have more grace.' She chuckled, remembering the furious argument the ballet mistress and one dancer had one night, after the girl had demanded a place onstage.
The topic for that fight was obvious. Too many girls thought that their pretty face or (sometimes) a wealthy family member could get them a place on the stage. Occasionally, it was possible, but for the most part, Madame Giry claimed that she would sooner put a lame horse in dance shoes onstage than some of the dancers she taught. Eventually, the girls soon learned Madame's ways and did their best to please her, but occasionally, someone tried their best to make themselves the star of the show.
Once the stage was clear, Monsieur LeFevre came onstage and smiled at everyone. The entire Opera House went quiet as he took his place in the center of the stage to address them.
"As you know, I have taken a great deal of time to choose the next piece that the Populaire will be performing," he said, projecting his voice to the furthest corner of the immense room. "Today, I have chosen one of the most exotic, and most lavish, operas that we have ever performed, one which has never before been done here in Paris."
Murmurs of excitement and nervousness flooded the room before Monsieur LeFevre clapped his hands and demanded their attention once more.
"Everyone will be expected to work their hardest to make this a success," he said, casting his eyes over everyone. "Each and every prop, backdrop, and costume must be made with the utmost extravagance and detail in order to live up to the exquisiteness of this performance."
"What opera will we putting on, sir?" called out a scene painter.
"Hannibal," was the answer.
AN: Okay, everyone gasp in delight or shock…the movie will be kicking in right after this! The storyline from the film will be followed to the best of my abilities, but it will also be twisted to fit whatever is going on in the tangled mess that is my brain. Please show your support and love by reviewing! Thanks!
