A/N-If I owned Phantom and crew, Erik would be mine and Raoul would be 6 feet under. Aka I don't own it.
And so the years passed. Time melted into time. Monsieur Ane retired, and the naieve Monsieur LeFavre took over the opera. This suited me rather well. Monsieur LeFavre was much more compliant than Monsieur Ane. I received my salary and box, as well as having a say in all the matters.
The one stain on the opera house was a certain Carlotta Gudicelli. Carlotta was a vain young woman, well aware of her position of Prima Donna, which she lorded over everyone else. I was certain that there was a promising child here who could grow under my tutelage and push Signora Gudicelli out of the Prima Donna space.
I found just such a child as I prowled the passages in the walls one night. I heard a child crying. "Papa, you promised to send me the Angel of Music when you were gone," the brown haired girl sobbed, "but that didn't mean you had to go die. Why did you leave me Papa?"
She was merely speaking, but her voice! Such quality! I had found my student. I had seen the girl, a Miss Christine Daae, but she'd never stood out somehow. An angel of music, hm? That could be to my advantage. The wall was thin enough. I knew the girl could hear me well enough if I projected my voice. "Christine," I called, loud enough for her to hear over her own quiet sobbing, "do not fret. Your father is very happy in heaven, and he has sent me to you. I am the Angel of Music."
I could barely see her through the ornamental holes in the wall, but I could tell her face had lit up. "Angel! You're really here to teach me?" she asked.
"Of course! What else would I be here for? Christine, your father said you are a beautiful singer. Please sing the b-flat scale so I can judge for myself."
And so she sang. I was pleased with the find. Her soprano voice was smooth and clear, not overdone like that self-satisfied soprano… Lord I hated that—that—well it's not such a pleasant thing to call someone, what I thought. I turned my thoughts back to my new pupil. "Very good. A little overdone at the end, it's just a scale remember! Sing it again."
This was the first of many voice lessons with Christine. I scarcely marked the passing of time, thus it was a shock when I glanced out at her one day, and saw not the slightly pudgy and youthful child, but a beautiful young woman. My heart gave an odd lurch as I looked at her, which I attempted to put aside. "Sing the aria from the second first Christine," I instructed, and she launched into the beautiful song titled 'Think of Me', from Hannibal.
Well, that was the day when Monsieur LeFavre signed over the opera house to Monsieur Firman and Monsieur Andre. The foppish men were very into business and pleasure, with no feel for music, I could tell that at a glance. Naturally they wanted to hear the Prima Donna sing. I smirked. Well, I could arrange for them to witness her retirement from the theater.
It was all I could do to keep from plugging my ears as she began mutilating the beautiful aria Christine has sung just that morning. Instead I took my anguish out on the ropes of the scenery. Buquet, the drunk who ran scenery, was nowhere in sight, as usual.
I cannot truly describe the victorious feeling that remained in me as the diva screamed, yelled at the new managers, and quit. Of course, she'd quit many times before, but never the day of an opera. She'd be back of course, but in Christine's shadow. Monique knew my mind as well as I did, she'd see to it that Christine held the spotlight tonight.
The Opera itself went smoothly, without mishap, and far better than had Signora Gudicelli been singing. It is the gala that occurred afterwards… maybe things would have been different if not for the gala. Christine was in her dressing room when it happened.
I wasn't spying if that's what you think. Certainly not! I was just behind the wall of the dressing room, meditating, when matters slid down hill. A certain Vicomte, Raoul de Chagny, entered the dressing room to praise Christine. It appeared they had been childhood friends. I didn't like his forward manner. I could tell, just tell that he was interested in more than friendship. It made my blood boil over! I had to do something. For lack of anything else, I sang.
"Insolent boy! This slave of fashion, basking in your glory! Ignorant fool, this brave young suitor, sharing in my triumph!"
She seemed scared as she answered. I comforted her, then opened the mirror. I had only ever allowed Monique into my lair, as my friend. I was allowing Christine, who I hardly knew into my home, opening up to her, something I had never done. Maybe she'd see past the mask, to the man. I reached out my gloved hand and she took it, her pale skin contrasting with my dark, covered hand.