IMPORTANT! REPEAT, IMPORTANT! IF YOU DO NOT WANT A POTENTIAL SPOILER OF MY STORY, LOOK AWAY UNTIL THE CAPITALS COME BACK ON!
I am aware that some of those who read this phic will not be aware of the plot of the Corpse Bride film, which this is a crossover of. Recommend you go to the official website for the trailer.
But, if you want a basic run-through of the plot of the film, so you have some idea of what I am implying with my story, I can give you this, without – hopefully – too many spoilers of my own story.
The film is set in Eastern Europe, rather than France, and has Victor – voiced by Johnny Depp – about to marry his fiancée, Victoria – voiced by Emily Watson. In the practice for the wedding, Victor basically mucks up his words, and the pastor – voiced by Christopher Lee - refuses to go through with the ceremony, which is due in a few days, until Victor learns his words. That night Victor goes out into the woods, to practice. He says his words perfectly, and even goes so far as to slip his wedding ring onto a withered stick poking out of the ground.
Unfortunately for Victor, the stick is not a stick at all; it is in fact the rotting finger of a young bride – voiced by Helena Bonham-Carter - who was murdered and laid to rest there; this ties in with the anti-Semitic ways of that era, when Jewish wedding parties would be ambushed on the way to the synagogue and the bride killed to prevent her bearing future generations of Jews. Since Jewish tradition dictates that a person be buried in the clothes they died in, the brides were often buried where they had been slaughtered, still clad in their blood-splattered wedding gowns.
Anyway, the Bride is ready to take up Victor's offer, and become his bride; consequently whisking him away to the underworld. Though the afterlife is certainly a lot more liberating than his own restricted upbringing, Victor is determined to get back to the world of the living, and to Victoria, who is still faithfully waiting for him.
When I learned of the plot of the film, it just seemed to speak to me of this story. I mean, one desired person, two desirees; one not quite so pretty – the Corpse Bride has been dead for quite some time, and consequently has lost the flesh on her left arm and her right leg, though her remaining leg is apparently very attractive, and apart from some slight decay on one of her cheeks has a whole and relatively pretty face – and one quite boring, no offence Raoul lovers – Victoria is very prim and proper; though as time goes on she becomes more desperate and daring in order to get Victor back, which again ties in with Raoul.
All in all, with a little adaptation, I believed it would make a good crossover. It would also answer a question which I have been meaning to ask all on the forum for quite some time – would you still love Erik if he was actually dead? Not a ghost, not a vampire – just dead. With some bits missing – not too many, but enough to warrant the onlooker feeling just a little squeamish.
Well, would you?
FOR ALL THOSE WHO WERE LOOKING AWAY: YOU CAN LOOK BACK NOW! I REPEAT, YOU CAN LOOK BACK NOW!
Yep, a bit more R/C fluff; only this time it's going to be back story in face of our own little ballet brat – only in this she's not really a ballet brat as such – because I think it's boring if I write from the same point of view and the same vein all the time; so it won't be quite so fluffy. Never fear E/C shippers and Erik phans; I have not forgotten you, and Erik will soon turn up. Oh, it's gonna be so good when he does! But I'll make you wait, because I like getting people all expectant. It leads to more appreciation. If I gave everything to you on a silver platter, would you keep coming back for more? Well?
So, further musings on life, the universe and everything – well, perhaps not that, but certainly her friend's marriage, as well as other situations, from Meg Giry. Enjoy!
Mazed and amazed
As a girl brought up in Paris, Meg was used to seeing opulence and splendour in magnitude. In walking or driving about the city with her mother and Christine, she had seen vast buildings and structures designed to imply the great wealth of those who owned or had commissioned them. And while she and her mother were perhaps not quite so well off as some of the aristocracy, her late father had been fairly wealthy, and had left them a substantial fortune, which Mamma had moderated so they had had enough to live off in comfort, and a little more, and a fair amount would be left for her dowry, when she got married – though in her opinion it was more if she should get married. They had some servants, of course; not too many, but enough to make sure they were fairly well attended, and few enough to make sure they were not wasting money. Meg knew the names of all who lived in their household in the fairly moderately sized house; but that did not mean she did not appreciate wealth.
On the few occasions when she had been inside really grand houses - when her mother had taken them to meet acquaintances and old comrades in the dancing profession who had likewise married into fortune, or various ladies who wished to meet Christine as the heiress of the Daaé estate, and she had been brought along as well - she had been impressed by the magnitude of richness she had seen around her. And perhaps sometimes – only sometimes, but still – she had wished that her mother would hire a few more servants, so that they could be waited on hand and foot like the fine ladies she had seen, wearing silks and satins, and lounging on chaise lounges; so that she could hold feathered fans languorously in her thin, white, graceful hands – or at least the hands she wished she had, instead of the slightly plump, small-boned ones she seemed to have inherited from her father - and be so wealthy she hardly ever had to get fully dressed, because no one would care if she was fully dressed or not.
She supposed this was because she bore the curse of being both practical and a hopeless romantic, sometimes at the same time.
But nothing she had ever seen or envisioned had ever compared to this – this mansion, this palace. As she made her way down one of the many, many staircases in the building, she was able to marvel once again at all she saw around her; one girl in a new world unlike anything she had ever witnessed or even dreamed of, and first of all at this room which seemed so gigantic the ceiling seemed miles above her. This outdid anything she had seen before in every way – and yet at the same time, it was nothing like she had seen before. In Paris gold and gilt reigned supreme; sometimes she was amazed at how much gilt the architects and craftsmen had managed to get into their designs. There was gilt here too, but somehow it carried a far different weight from the designs in Paris. In the city the buildings and designs were often so top heavy with all the wealth implied, it became almost – not vulgar, that was not the right word. More…excessive. There was so much of it that you almost got tired of it; even slightly agonised.
But here, whatever was used to accentuate the beauty of the place was not repetitive. This whole house was fresh, despite its age; a new delight at every corner, a new wonder to be marvelled at with every new room you entered. And there was this room; this room which contained this marvellous staircase; the walls crafted from a gorgeous pale stone she could not name, and the ceiling created from the same material, carved intricately so as to almost resemble some beautiful sort of natural lacework. Meg marvelled as she reached the bottom of the stairs, craning her head backwards so that she could examine the ceiling further. How had they managed to build a ceiling so high? The only ceilings she had ever seen with this much height was the one in the opera house, the one time she and Christine had been taken to see an opera, and the high ceiling in Notre Dame cathedral. But there the roofs had had something to hold them up, while here there was no evident sign of any support for the ceiling. How then had it been managed? However it had been done, the man who had designed it must have been a veritable genius.
At length she tore her gaze away from the ceiling of the room – she had more important things to do than admire the architecture; though it said a lot about the design of the building that she would be willing to spend the rest of the day savouring the whole mansion; she for whom architecture usually held as much fascination as arithmetic.
Once again, as she hurried out of the room, pulling on the fur stole she had brought form Paris, she felt a deep, wondrous awe at this whole building and the grounds, and once again felt a deep flow of happiness that Christine would be marrying into a family with such property and such fortune.
Lucky Christine…
She gave her mind a little shake, as she made her way along one of the corridors. She shouldn't be jealous of her friend, just because she had a handsome fiancée and a rich family to marry into and a beautiful house to be entitled to; she really shouldn't. She should be happy for her. And she was. She was so happy for her that that was what made her jealousy hurt all the more; there was always that undercurrent of envy that she just could not help, no matter what she did. It was not so much an emotion as a way of living, of existing; the desire to have just something that someone else did not have; a talent or a feature, a possession or perhaps just knowledge. And right now Meg wished, for one scandalous second, that all this could be hers; hers and not Christine's; that she could be a princess, and walk through this palace, knowing it to be her own rightful property. For one moment, she felt as if she would do anything to be allowed to live here forever.
But of course nothing she could do would ever win her that right; and she should not envy Christine, because Christine most likely would not reside here after her wedding, but go to another house with the Vicomte. This house belonged to the Comte, and no other. So Meg did her best to forget her child-like desires, and concentrated on the main issue at hand.
Which was; where was Christine? After the breakfast they had had only a short while ago with Mamma – in yet another marvellous chamber, with a charming floral motif – she had gone to her friend's room, expecting to find her there, and had instead found the room empty, and her outdoor garments gone from her still partially packed travelling cases; so that meant outdoors. But why? Why, when you could stay inside? At any rate, she was going to find her. They hadn't had a chance to talk properly since before dinner last night; and she had a strong desire to ask her just what she and the Vicomte had been discussing.
Anyway, she was sure she wouldn't have gone very far. Breakfast was but a few minutes finished, and Christine never walked very fast, so she would soon catch her up.
Or at least, she hoped she would, if she ever managed to find her way out of the huge mansion.
After ages of walking along various corridors, she had to admit what she had been denying for the last while; she was lost. This house was beautiful, but it was a veritable maze; she had no idea where she was now. She had a vague idea she was near the dinner chamber they had eaten in last night, because she had walked along a corridor which had look out onto a room seemingly sculpted out of black marble that vaguely resembled that particular room, although she hadn't stopped to check – but that was no good to her, because that was miles away from any entrance to the grounds. And that was ages ago!
Brilliant. Lost in this vast house. How will I ever find Christine now?
Suddenly, in an entrance to a wide, circular room, she saw a window a little up ahead of her. That lifted her spirits slightly. From there she could see exactly where she was in the house, judging by what floor she was on, and what she could see from the window outside.
She made for it – and then stopped, in puzzlement. She had run quite quickly across the room, and yet the window still seemed to be as far away as it had been before. Perhaps it was just some illusion –a trick of the light? More cautiously, she made her way forward again, a few steps – and then a few steps more. The window appeared to be no nearer than it had been before; and yet by now she should have reached it. What was going on?
Whatever it was, she had no desire to know. Somehow this place felt strange to her. She turned to go away, and started to walk back the way she had come. But after a few moments she definitely knew something was wrong. By now she should have been back in the corridor she had come out of, and yet she was still in the same room she had entered.
She looked around fearfully. There didn't seem to be anything strange or mysterious about her surroundings; and that was it. Somehow, this simple room managed to strike chills into her simply by being that – a seemingly quiet, innocent room.
I want to get out of here. Now.
Once again she made for the corridor – and once again got nowhere. Why couldn't she get out of the room? She was trapped – trapped here. How could she get out?
She forced herself to remain calm. Of course she could get out; why would this sort of room have been built in the house? It was obviously just some sort of trick room – something to impress guests with. She of course didn't find it all that funny. But surely there must be some way out?
But after a few more attempts to find a way out, she had to admit she was at a loss. No matter where she went in the room, the environment simply stretched away from her, into oblivion. She tried to fumble for some – any – hold on a physical object, but she could find nothing; nothing at all. It was as if the only real thing in that whole room was herself.
Eventually, she stood in what she thought was the middle of the room. She was hot now; but not from her running – rather her fear. She was trapped. Trapped…
"Help." Her voice came out as a sort of treble; but gradually grew louder. "Help! Help!"
There was no answer. She was all alone. She was never going to get out; never going to…
Abruptly, a click made her whirl around. The impossible had just happened; a door had just opened in the wall, out of nowhere. All she could do was stand and stare in amazement.
After a moment, a face peered around the edge of the door. That face was enough to make her shut her mouth, which had opened in amazement, at once; for it was the face of Comte Philippe the Elder. But that did not mean she was not surprised to see him – although at the moment she was more relieved than anything else.
He, clearly, was no less surprised to see her; his elegant grey eyebrows arched high over his equally grey eyes. "Mademoiselle Giry? What are you doing in here?"
"I…I was looking for Christine," Meg stuttered, knowing what a fool she must look, hot and sweaty and with her hair in disarray, clad in outdoor garments and a fur cape which was hanging off her. "I…I must have gotten lost and…I found my way in here, and I couldn't get out again."
The old man gazed solemnly at her for a while. She did her best to look sincere while also trying to stop herself from flushing any more than she already inevitably was. At length he nodded, and said, "It is fortunate that I was passing by, and happened to hear you, Mademoiselle. Otherwise you might have been in here all day – hardly anyone comes by here these days, and even fewer who know the secret to this room."
"The secret?" she asked, tucking her hair back behind her ears, and doing her best to look ladylike again.
"Yes; the secret of its illusions." The Comte stepped forward into the room, making her dart forward in alarm, all ladylike pretences abandoned in a moment. If the door should close…
"Fear not, Mademoiselle," the old man said calmly, catching her wrist and holding it gently, but with surprising firmness for one of his age, "the door will not move. Now, let me show you."
Gently but irresistibly he turned her around, to face one of the walls, with her back barely against his chest. "What do you see?" he asked softly, his head close to her ear; almost murmuring, his breath tickling her ear.
She shuddered – horrid old man! – but made an effort to appear controlled and refined, despite the situation, and gazed blandly at the wall opposite her. When she had been trapped she had not really paid attention to the decor; but now that she had hopes of getting out she was able to examine it more closely and calmly.
"I see a panelled wall," she stated. "Made of dark wood. Carved in a floral design."
"Anything else?"
She checked at this, and cast another suspicious glance at the wall. "Not that I can see. Why? Should there be?"
The old man made no answer; he instead grasped her wrists with his own hands, and pulled them up in front of her in one swift, fluid motion, so that for a moment he encompassed her with his own arms. The moment was so brief that she barely had time to be outraged before his arms were gone again, leaving hers stretched out in front of her; and he gave her a gentle push on the back, making her step forward, saying softly as he did so, "Walk forward."
There didn't seem to be anything else to do, so she took a few steps forward, and then another few steps, expecting every moment to feel the woodwork at her finger tips. However, when the eventual pressure came, it was not the raised grain of wood she was expecting, but instead smooth, and cold. In surprise, she jerked her fingers back.
"It's all right," came the Comte's voice from behind her. "Do it again."
She looked back at him, searching for any amusement in his face – but he was regarding her with an air of benevolent interest. After staring at him for a moment, she turned her attention back to the strange wall in front of her. Stretching out a hand, she touched a finger to its surface, and felt once again the strange surface, which appeared to be wood, but was in fact something else entirely.
What is this?
The answer suddenly came to her, like a flash of inspiration. "It's a mirror."
"Very well done, Mademoiselle Giry," came the Comte's voice right in her ear – he had somehow managed to come up right behind her without her hearing. "The whole room is lined with mirrors. See?" Taking her hand again, he guided it along the smooth, cold, deceptive glass, until her fingers found a slight line – very slight, but enough to show her where two mirrors joined together.
"This is amazing! But why don't the mirrors reflect us?" she asked in her excitement, running both her hands up and down the seam, forgetting for the moment her apprehension of the Comte in the face of this new wonder.
"They are all angled to reflect a specific point in the room," he explained, seeming for once to be genuinely pleased, in showing off this treasure. "You see, if you put anything at that point, the mirrors would reflect it all around the room, making it seem as if there are hundreds of the said item. In this case, it is the illusion of a wooden wall which is replicated."
"But what about the window?"
"Ah; well that is on the original wall – fake, of course – but the mirrors are angled in such a way that the window is not shown."
Meg looked around in new awe. This room, which seemed so big, now seemed at the same time to be so small – it was truly incredible. "It is wonderful. Who designed it?"
It was as if the light had suddenly gone out of the Comte's face, to be replaced with the customary shadow. His voice, when it came, had lost its fervour, and was the old, dry tone. "Somebody." He inclined his arm to her stiffly. "I think perhaps we should leave, Mademoiselle Giry, if you wish to find Mademoiselle Daaé."
She couldn't think of anything to do but take that arm, however it repulsed her, and be led out of that strange, marvellous, mysterious, chilling room, the door shutting with a snap behind them.
The cold air was frankly a relief to Meg, as she stepped out into the bright sunlight, and heard the crisp snow crunch under her boots. Of course it was not much of a relief, considering her arm was still tucked firmly under the Comte's but it was a start.
"I take my leave, Mademoiselle," came his voice suddenly in her ear, making her start – he had not spoken since they had left the mirror room, and she had had no wish to start a conversation. But he had led her down to an entrance to the grounds, and for that she was thankful, if nothing else. She hurriedly slipped her arm out of his, now he was no longer holding onto her so tightly. She still wasn't sure about the Comte; although he had rescued her from the strange mirror room, he didn't give a great aura of friendliness, and had paid no more attention to her htan as if she was some sort of ornament on his arm.
Horrid old man!
He was gazing out across the grounds, his grey eyes slightly narrowed. "Besides," he went on, "I believe Mademoiselle Daaé is not far away – just over there, in fact." He pointed casually with a slightly rheumy hand; and she followed his gaze to where a dark shape was making its way along, away from the house.
How did he know? How did he see? But already she had gabbled "Thank you, Comte," and was hurrying across the snow, pulling her fur hood over her head and slightly lifting her skirts so that they should not get damp; racing after the shape up ahead.
The cold air tore at her lungs, and the wind whipped her cheeks; but she felt invigorated as she broke into a run. She was sweating again inside her clothes and furs, but she did not care; she knew she wasn't behaving like a lady and she was glad, glad, glad.
Opening her mouth she called out, "Christine! Christine!"
At once the shape ahead of her turned around, to face her; and she was able to make out the features of the Vicomte, with his head bare but bundled up in an overcoat. But before she could have time to feel mortified or to slow down, another shape emerged from behind him; and it was Christine, wrapped in furs and with her hair covered with a lace veil.
At once she picked up the pace, not waiting to call out for them to wait; and they paused in their walk for her to catch up. When she reached them, she had to bend over for a moment, clutching the stitch in her side, and gasping for breath, but physically and mentally invigorated.
As soon as she was able to speak without gasping she looked up at the two of them; Christine was smiling, but the Vicomte looked uncertain.
"Well, here was a surprise!" she said brightly, straightening up and doing her best to straighten her clothes as well. "You were gone right after breakfast, Christine; and I had no idea where you were!" She shot a smile at the Vicomte. "And now to find you were out walking with the Vicomte…"
"We were just talking…" the young man said, uneasily. Meg almost felt like giggling. So funny! But so sweet as well. The way he looked so anxiously at her and Christine!
"Raoul wanted to show me the grounds," Christine cut in gently. "Apparently they've changed a lot since I was last here…although I must admit; it's rather hard to tell the difference with all the snow…"
"Well, don't look at me. All landscapes are the same to me; I know no difference."
"I am sorry to hear that, Mademoiselle Giry-"
"Meg."
"I'm sorry?"
"You are going to marry Christine, Raoul," Meg said seriously, looking him straight in the eye, "and Christine is like a sister to me. In her marrying you, you give her up as a sister – so I will willingly take on the role. So, we must address each other as siblings." She batted her eyelashes at him, smiling her special, befuddling smile, which she had perfected over the years.
For a moment, Raoul looked lost, while Christine stifled a giggle into her furs. But after the moment he smiled softly, and putting out his hand took hers, and looked solemnly into her eyes. "I see your point, Meg. I shall be glad to gain such a sister as you."
"The pleasure is all mine, Raoul." She shook his hand. "Now, what were you saying?"
"I was about to say that I am sorry to hear about your opinion of the countryside. The grounds may not be very fine at this time of year, but in the spring and summer they are beautiful indeed." He inclined his free arm to her. "Perhaps you would allow me to escort you round them?"
She hesitated. "I would not wish to intrude upon you two – if I'd known, I wouldn't have come out…"
"Come, Meg," Christine said gently, from where she held Raoul's other arm. "IF you want to Raoul's sister, you had better get t oknow his heart. And that starts with his family's estates."
"I do think you're rude, Christine," Raoul jokingly complained, but with laughter in his eyes. She marvelled. Are these the two who could hardly make eye contact yesterday lest he choke and she be mortified? Time does fly.
She smiled, and took his arm. "If you don't mind at all?"
"Not at all," he replied firmly, pulling her close, so they could both cuddle against him. "Where shall we go?"
"To the lake?" suggested Christine. "Are the boats still there?"
"One of them sank last year; but it was rotten anyway."
"How do you know?"
"Because I was sitting in it, that's why."
Meg looked past the two, at the great expanse of woodland beyond the lake. "Why don't we go down to the woods? Not right now, of course; I should like to see them."
Their laughter had stopped. She turned back to see the other two exchanging a glance, before looking solemnly at her.
"What's wrong?"
Raoul cleared his throat. "Nobody goes down to the wood these days."
This sounded absurd to her. "Why ever not?"
"I don't know. I do remember that when we were children, we were told that a murderer had been killed there, and buried without proper ceremony, so his ghost haunted the woods."
"And you believe this?" Meg demanded, turning to look at Christine.
The other girl shrugged her shoulders slightly. "I don't know. It certainly worked when we were children – I think it was an effort to stop us from wandering off on our own."
"And what about now?"
Raoul looked thoughtful. "As I said, no one goes down there now – at least, as not as far as I know. I don't really know why. It's – ingrained, I suppose. Almost a legend. All the villagers believe it; they're so superstitious they'd believe anything."
"But do you believe it?"
He sighed. "I believe it's not the sort of wood anyone should like to take a turn in. No one's ever been inclined to actually go in. There's no law against it, and my grandfather and brother have never forbidden them, they just – don't. And we don't either. But would you like to go down there?" the young man went on, attempting to be affable.
Meg looked down again at the wood. Somehow things which had managed to escape her eye first glance now came to her line of vision – the darkness between the trees, the shadows that were created; the coldness, the stillness, even more so than the rest of the landscape.
"No," she said, slowly, "I don't think so. It doesn't look like the sort of place one would visit in the wintertime at any rate." She turned to look at them. "Shall we go to the lake?"
But they were not looking at her, they were looking at the lake in any case – but their eyes did not rest upon it. Christine's head was upon Raoul's chest, Raoul's chin rested upon her head, and his arm had somehow managed to slip out from hers and around her shoulders, and held her close; and she held close to him.
Meg, mildly amused but at the same time touched, gently slipped her arm out from Raoul's, and padded carefully away. She would wait until they woke up, so to speak, and then ask if they wanted to go down to the lake – but until then, she would wait a little way away, so as to give them some privacy.
She allowed herself a small sigh. Truly this was a fairytale, of sorts, and of epic proportions. A magnificent palace, an evil warlock – she shuddered as she thought of the Comte's arms around her shoulders – mazes, magic rooms, a screeching siren – she smiled at her classification of Carlotta – and the two customary lovers. And me, she added as an afterthought. The odd one out. She sighed silently but wistfully.
And, she added mentally as she cast a glance down at the wood, a ghost at the bottom of the garden as well. Or so it would seem.
Mominator124: Erik will soon turn up, I promise you! Otherwise there's not much point in this, is there? See top of the chapter for a quick run-through of the Corpse Bride Story - hope I didn't ruin it too much for you. I hope you understand now!
SiimplyElymas: I think she's sweet as well! Sweet and innocent in a dark environment! How dark? Ah, you'll have to wait and see! I liked the fairy business as well - I wanted to call the chapter Away with the Fairies at first, but there wasn't enough reference to said fairies for that to work. Erik will be along soon!
Kat097: Welcome, faithful reviewer! I wanted to show R/C to empahsise the terrible choices Christine will ahve to make in time! Be reassured, there will be E/C, hard though it may be to believe at the time. I haven't decided how it will end yet - watch this space! I write good? YAAAAAAY!
Moonjava: And once again, glad you like.
REVIEW, ALL YOU WHO READ THIS! ERIK WILL COME!