I'm so sorry it took me so long to update. I've been quite busy lately, but to make it up to you readers I wrote a VERY lengthy chapter for you. I found it quite entertaining to write. I almost feel as if Christine doesn't really talk much to anyone in The Phantom of the Opera. I find it really fun to give her a friend like Lorenzo she can actually discuss things with without any pressure (yet hehe)

well I do hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I did writing it. when you're done reading there's a small favor I ask of you at the end :3

and sorry for any grammar errors, it's currently 4am..but due to daylight savings time it actually feels like 5am, so yeah hehe

(I do not own any Phantom of the Opera related things, or Frank Liszt's "La Campanella" who is a bloody genius might I add)

CHAPTER 11: Exposed Lullabies

"...sing us a song,

and we'll sing it back to you,

we could sing our own,

but what would it be,

without you...?" -Hayley Williams

Lorenzo's POV

I didn't completely understand Christine's sudden shift of attitude when she decided to go back to Madame Giry's house. I was still rather insulted about being lied to, but I had the whole ride back to calm myself down. The entire way there she was quiet with her face full of frustration. When we had got there she immediately ran for the door and took Meg Giry into another room. I sought this as a perfect opportunity to attempt to find my compositions in her piano room. I wasn't fortunate enough, but instead of getting out of control I decided to give the Giry's incentive to return what belonged to me. I had searched the bookshelves that surrounded the room and found a small book with no title. It captured my attention and when I skimmed through the pages it was clear that it was no novel but a journal. The first few sentences on the first page read:

"The events that have yet to come forth are clouded, and I cannot make sense of what I have done. Whether I have committed a sin or granted life I shall I never know, but God give me strength to bear the responsibility of my actions for I have saved The Devil's Child…"

It seemed personal enough. I slipped the book into the inside pocket of my coat and waited for Christine to finish talking to Meg before we finally made way back to the Viscount's home. The Vicomte was sitting in the front room when we entered through the door.

"Oh Christine!" The Vicomte had a bouquet of flowers in his hand as he ran up to embrace her, "I'm so sorry! I had absolutely no idea it was Valentine's Day until someone had mentioned it at the theatre!"

"Raoul, it's really okay. I didn't know it was Valentine's Day either until a couple hours ago."

I felt extremely awkward as the Vicomte leaned in towards Christine for a kiss.

"Raoul…Lorenzo's right there." Christine reminded him.

"Oh yes, excuse me Signore Trentacosta."

"It's quite fine."

"Well Christine, when I found out today was Valentine's I decided to quickly stop by and at least let you know that I remembered, but I have to go back to the Populaire."

"Already?"

"Christine, there's just so much work that needs to be done. I really wish there was less but that dreadful fire caused by-"

"It's okay Raoul…just don't overwork yourself."

He smiled at her and gave her a kiss before he was out the door.

Over the next few days it was quite the same. Christine and I would wake up when the Vicomte came home, and when he left for work we were out and about somewhere exploring Paris because the weather had gotten significantly warmer. Everything I had heard about Paris seemed to be true. The food was amazing, and the city had so much art to offer. I never spent so much time with someone before in my life. What confused me was that I always liked solitude. I could barely even keep conversation with Vincenzo, but there was something about Christine that made me realize how alone I really was…I enjoyed talking to her. Christine and I walked into an art store to look around when she had asked me to paint her something.

"You want me to paint you something?"

"Yes. Your music is very good so I'm sure your paintings couldn't be any less imposing." She was too kind.

"Not a painting because I don't want to have to move too much stuff into the opera house…perhaps I could do a drawing."

She smiled at this notion as I paid for a leather-bound sketchbook full of paper along with a case of lead pencils. We wandered back outside unsure of where we wanted to go.

"What do you want me to draw you?" I asked.

"I'm not sure…but I have an idea." She did something she had never done before and took my hand to follow her.

I probably shouldn't have been this thrilled with the feeling, but the last time I held anyone's hand was Sophie's; I tried to pull her away from Cosentino when he set fire to our house. I gripped her hand in return as she led me through the city.

"Where are we going?"

"It's just around the corner."

When we reached the end of the street there was a magnificent church towering over my figure. She led me to the church's stairs when I stopped dead in my tracks.

"Lorenzo what's wrong?"

"I…I don't know if this is a good idea." I couldn't even remember the last time I went to a church, and if I did I was sure that God would strike lightning on my arrival.

"Why not? It's just a church."

"It's not just any church…it's the Notre Dame." The biggest church of them all.

"Exactly. I've lived here almost all my life and I've never even been inside before. I hear it's absolutely beautiful."

"I…I haven't gone to church in so long. I'd feel…out of place-"

"Please?" how could I say no? Some people begged for money while others begged for sympathy, but Christine found happiness in the smallest of things. This won me over.

Though I hadn't been to many churches in my life time it didn't take an expert to know how vast and beautiful it was inside. I felt sick to my stomach. I was willing to bet that I was the most despicable human who had ever set foot in this church. Christine knelt down in the pews as she began to silently pray. I took a seat in the row behind her and waited for her to finish. She then asked me to follow her to a small area that had unlit candles.

"We pray for my father…" she said as she lit one candle, "and we pray for Sophie." As she lit another candle.

My breathing stopped when I heard her say this. I shut my eyes tight, and then I could feel all of it. The absence of my family, no one now to live for, and everything that the pain of having nothing could ever give someone I could feel in this exact moment. I felt a gentle hand clasp around mine. Looking up at Christine I now knew that she and Vincenzo were all I had, and I had only known her in less than a week's time. She gave my hand a squeeze. It was so nice to feel somewhat involved in someone else's life.

"If this place lives up to its stories then I want to show you something." Pulling her hand I led her deeper into the church. My mother had once read to me the story of The Hunchback of Notre Dame when I was a little boy and I used to imagine what the view must've been like from the bell towers.

"Lorenzo, where are we going?" Christine whispered as I quickly opened a door to reveal a spiral staircase.

"I want to see something." After finally reaching the top of the stairs and making our way through different halls we were at the top between the two bell towers looking down upon the city.

"It's beautiful."

"That it is." I agreed. The sun was ready to set itself away below the horizon.

"How did you know how to get up here?"

"I didn't really…but my mother used to read me the story of The Hunchback of Notre Dame when I was little."

"The what?"

"You've never heard of it?" I was surprised; after all it was a French story.

"No." she admitted.

"Well, I can't really remember the details of it…but it's about a man who was so ugly and deformed that he was hid away from the world by a man of the church named Frollo. Frollo looked after him and took him in when he was a child after the absence of the boy's mother. His name was Quasimodo; which means half-formed I think. He became the bell ringer of the Notre Dame and lived in the bell towers for all his years until he decided to escape-"

"He escaped?"

"Well, I think he just wanted to get out of this place for awhile...but in the book there's something called 'The Festival of Fools' that happens every year and he decides to go even though Frollo makes it specifically clear that he is never to set foot out of this church-"

"Why would he tell him to stay in the church?"

"Because he had the face of a monster and he would never be shown an ounce of kindness beyond these walls-"

"So what happens?"

"I forget how…but when he goes to The Festival of Fools he's exposed and people start heckling him and being merciless. Out of all the horrible people there's a gypsy girl named Esmeralda who pities Quasimodo and tends to him by giving him water I believe…causing everyone to stop and witness her act of sympathy-"

"You mean kindness?"

"No, I mean sympathy. Quasimodo has never known compassion and when he receives it from Esmeralda he falls deeply in love with her; he tries to kiss her hand in appreciation for what she's done but she won't let him touch her because of his hideousness-"

"I don't see anything good in this story."

"I don't really think there is…everyone basically dies. Esmeralda is accused for being a witch and is hanged. She neglects Quasimodo and falls in love with the captain of the guard, Phoebus, who is already betrothed to another woman but sleeps with Esmeralda anyways…and Frollo, who isn't allowed to be with a woman because he's a man of the church, is deeply attracted to Esmeralda as well-"

"Something…good happens in this story at least though right?" she sounded genuinely distraught.

"I don't really remember anything good happening…I almost think the whole point of the story was to show that one of the only good things was Quasimodo himself; he saved Esmeralda from being killed once but she ended up getting hanged in the end. Quasimodo was a good man but he was ugly…I think when you read the story you notice that there's so many bad things that are caused by people who were born fortunate and it forces you to really wonder where the good in it was until you realize that it was in Quasimodo."

Christine looked down upon the city in silence.

"Almost reminds me of your Phantom..."

"How?" she asked immediately, "Did Quasimodo kill anyone?"

"Not that I can remember-"

"Then it's completely different."

"Not necessarily…Quasimodo was a story written by an author. This Phantom of the Opera is real I'm guessing?"

"Yes."

"It could've been worse."

"How?"

He could've been like me.

"This Phantom…he's disfigured?"

"Supposedly…"

"Well then he could've taken refuge somewhere else in Europe and become an insane serial killer that travelled across the world, or a rapist…but instead he decides to order around an opera house am I correct?"

"Yes…"

"Well obviously he has some sense of morality. He's clearly not insane, but a man who kills is man with a past too dark to share."

"No one knows of his past…"

"Maybe it's not meant to be known yet. Does he still live there?"

"I…I don't know. The fire-"

"Wouldn't have reached the cellars."

"You're right…"

I don't know why but I was somewhat fascinated by the idea of a masked man lurking about the opera house. I had moved away from Venice to escape such a story only to find another so similar here.

"How hard is he to find?"

"Lorenzo…" Christine placed her hand on my shoulder and looked me strait in the eyes, "Promise me you won't go looking for him."

"I wasn't intending to Christine."

"Please…just don't."

"I won't." Did she care that I would get hurt from such a man? The sun touched the horizon and began to set, lighting the city with a warm glow of orange."You still want a drawing?"

She nodded and to my relief made her seem a little less tense. I took out the notebook and began a rough sketch of the city.

"What happened to your family?" she hesitantly asked.

I exhaled deeply as I continued to draw, "My father died of sickness a week after my fifth birthday, and my mother died in the fire along with Sophie…"

"You survived…"

"Barely." The lead felt good between my fingers while I pushed it against the paper to get the shadings just right.

"What caused the fire?"

My mind began to project a painful flashback. It was another typical day in Venice. I was playing the piano when I could hear Coesntino roaring at my mother. I had just turned thirteen. I thought I could stand up to him that day, but I was so wrong. I had burst into the other room and told Cosentino to leave my mother alone and we were leaving. My poor mother didn't need to be in the abusive relationship any longer. This only angered him. He struck me in the face so hard that I was incoherent then he left the room. It wasn't until we smelt something burning we knew something was wrong. Sophie, I had looked for her and when I reached upstairs she was trapped in her room surrounded by flames screaming for me. God- I ran towards her to pull her out when Cosentino came and grabbed me by the shirt.

"I'm going to give you the worst of them all." He dragged me back down the stairs away from Sophie's screams. I cursed him over and over through my tears; my sister was being burnt alive! Cosentino's own flesh and blood he was killing! He threw me into the bathroom and barricaded the door.

"I'm gonna get your mother first, would you like to say bye to her?" I could then hear my mother screaming as Cosentino laughed. In a desperate attempt I smashed the mirror into pieces with my fists and picked up a shard. When he came back to get me stabbed him in the arm but what he did to me was far more lethal. He grabbed the back of my hair and threw me down on the floor on top of all the broken pieces, cutting my chest all over. I could then feel water being poured all over the back of my body, and it was until Cosentino flipped me over and poured the liquid on my chest that it wasn't water but alcohol. I screamed in pain when it entered the gashes of my wounds, but it wouldn't hurt nearly as much as what would come next. When he was finished dousing me in alcohol he dragged me out of the bathroom and grabbed a lantern.

"Perhaps you'll learn your place in the afterlife Bonaventure DeMarco." Then he threw the lantern at me and left. The flames engulfed my flesh but somehow I managed to get up and run out before the house started collapsing. That's when Vincenzo came in my life and found me.

"My mother remarried after my father died. My stepfather was a drunk and one day I stood up to him…trying to protect my mother. I told him we were going to leave but he had other plans…he decided to torch the house and everyone in it." I viciously sketched as I said this. Christine was quiet as ever.

"I'm so sorry." She barely whispered.

"It's not your fault." I exhaled. The drawing was almost done.

"My father died from illness when I was little as well…that's how I ended up living at the opera house."

I took notice in Christine's confession. She didn't seem one to share personal matters with just anyone, but neither was I.

"Birds of a feather." I observed.

"What?"

"Birds of a feather flock together…never heard of it?" she shook her head. "It means people who have things in common tend to naturally come together."

"I agree." She smiled.

I finished the rough sketch of the city and handed it to her, "Here's your drawing."

"You didn't initial it." She pointed out.

"Should I?"

"Well yes!" I quickly wrote my initials on the corner. "I have to give you something now."

"What? No, please I don't want anything from you Christine."

"It's only fair."

"Fine. I do have a favor to ask…I guess-"

"What is it?"

"My presentation for the Fine Arts Academy is tomorrow. Would you be willing to-"

"Yes! I was planning on going anyways." She interjected.

"You were?"

"Yes, I wanted to watch all of the auditions. Raoul's going to be there too."

"Now that you mention him I think we should be heading back, I need to him about something."

"About what?"

"I sent him a copy of my composition when I applied for a slot. I want to look it over before I present it tomorrow."

We left the church and walked to where the carriage was waiting for us. When we got back to the Vicomte's house he wasn't there, nor had he returned all night. I decided to pack everything for tomorrow morning since. Christine entered my room before just as I was getting ready for bed.

"I…I need your advice on something." She sat on the foot of my bed.

"What is that?"

"Raoul…do you think I should stay with him here or move back into the opera house?"

I wasn't quite sure why she was asking me this. "He is your fiancé is he not?"

"Yes but-"

"This is your first time living with him isn't it?" she nodded. "Do you like living at the opera house?"

"Well…yes."

"Then you should live there. You're not married to the Vicomte yet…you'll have the rest of your life to live with him." I wasn't sure if that was exactly what she wanted to hear but it was true. Even though she was promised to him she didn't seem so attached to him, but then again I knew something had been bothering her since I first met her.

"You know that you can call him Raoul…"

"It's strange…if you're coming with me tomorrow then I suggest you retire to your room, it's late."

She bid goodnight and left me alone with my thoughts. The past four days with Christine were so peaceful but odd. I never spent so much time with anyone before, and not only that but she made me feel different. When I was with Christine I wanted to compose myself and satisfy my need of entertainment along with hers…was this what it felt like to be a regular person?

Christine woke me up the following morning saying we were running a bit late. She helped take my things into the carriage. The Vicomte hadn't come home at all last night or this morning. He was still at the Opera Populaire because he had once mentioned that he had to be there to review the presentations. Once Christine and I got to the theatre we made way into the auditorium. The chandelier was no longer there, and half of the ground seats were removed. There was a piano set on the stage along with many chairs and occupants that filled them.

"Students please sign your name on the sign in sheet and take a seat on the stage left." One of people in charge called out.

"Nervous?" Christine asked.

"I…I don't really know." Then from nowhere the Vicomte walked up to us.

"Signore Trentacosta! I already signed you in." he smiled.

"You can just call me Lorenzo sir Vicomte." I was getting rather annoyed with him calling me Signore…

"Lorenzo…" his smile grew bigger. "Well just place your bags somewhere in an empty seat in the audience I suppose…all the students left their things in the reception room so-"

"Raoul I can put his things in my room, I think his things will be safer there." Christine politely suggested.

"That works. My dear are you sure you wish to stay here? You can go home and rest you know."

"Raoul this is my home."

Raoul's brow furrowed upset when she said this. "Christine we shall discuss this after the presentations."

"Vicomte…I had wondered if you have my compositions I sent you…from when I applied here?"

"They should be in my office. You don't have your music?"

"No…it was misplaced." I muttered.

"Very well, I'll go check. Take a seat. We're about to begin soon." he gave Christine a kiss and left.

After following Christine to the ballet dormitories and leaving my stuff in her room he went back to the auditorium for the presentations. The students all sat in the chairs set on the stage left, and their sponsors sat in the audience seats of the theatre. On stage right there was a piano and eight chairs for the people in charge. Four chairs to a table and each table was stacked with papers. All the students seemed no older than mid twenties, most of them were men.

""Students please be seated within five minutes! We are about to call names and presentations will start!"

"Nervous now?" Christine asked again.

"A little." I admitted.

She pulled me to the side of the stage away from everyone. "What exactly are you doing for your presentation?"

"I have to perform my composition."

"Lorenzo…your left arm is in a sling."

"I can play it." Though I left my arm in the sling for the past four days, it wasn't broken. Playing the piano wouldn't be too hard.

Christine raised her eyebrows at me. "Your arm is broken."

"I've been through a lot worse pain before. I just need the Vicomte-"

"Raoul."

"…I just need Raoul to bring my compositions!" I was growing a sick feeling in my gut. I never played my music for anyone in ten years, was I even good?

"Lorenzo close your eyes."

This took me off guard. "What?"

"Just close your eyes. You're practically shaking."

I listened to her and closed eyes.

"Now breathe in slowly until I tell you to stop. Breathe in through your nose and your mouth."

I began to inhale until I couldn't anymore and coughed.

"I didn't tell you to stop."

"How do you suppose I continue inhaling for the rest of my life then?" was she joking around? I had to present in a matter of moments!

"It has nothing to do with how much you can breathe in, you're inhaling too fast. Relax. Close your eyes and do it again but this time breath in more slowly."

I followed her instructions and this time paced my breathing.

"My voice teacher taught me that." She said as I exhaled. "Do you feel better?"

"I do actually."

"He told me it helps you concentrate on your breathing instead of other things…I use it whenever I have too much on my mind."

"It definitely helped. You're teacher's very smart."

"Yes, he is."

Christine and I walked out onto the stage. She told me good luck before sitting down in the audience along with the sponsors and a bunch of other young looking people. I assumed they all worked at the theatre and were here to watch the first day of auditions as well for I could see Meg Giry in audience too. I took a seat next to man with untidy blonde hair.

"Ladies and gentlemen it my honor to introduce to you the teachers and staff of the Fine Arts Academy…" a short man with balding grey hair announced as he stood out of his seat. "I am Monsieur Andre, the manager of the Opera Populaire, and this is; Monsieur Gervais, Monsieur Severin, Monsieur Clement, Monsieur Toussaint, Monsieur Leonce, and Madame Giry."

Everyone applauded as each name was called and the staff member stood up to bow.

"Ahh! And this is the Opera Populaire's patron; the Vicomte DeChangey!" Andre said as the Vicomte took his seat at one of the tables. "Now Monsieur Severin would you like to start?"

A tall man with spectacles and a top hat began to speak. "I am Monsiuer Severin, the director of this organization. Even though there are more days to audition I am to tell you that you all have decided to come today and present to us. You are only allowed to present once. If you are not cast a vote then that is the end of the journey for you…"

I looked at Raoul who met eye contact with me, he shook his head and it appeared that he was mouthing the words 'I couldn't find it'. Damn it all to hell. He was the one who signed me in and now I didn't have my music…great.

"The first name on the list to present…" Madame Giry spoke, "Is Edwin Thornton."

The man I sat next to with untidy blonde hair stood up and made his way to the center of the stage.

"Monsieur Edwin Thornton, you are a piano player and dancer from America?" Monsieur Toussaint raised his eyebrows at him. Monsieur Toussaint had red hair and carried a snobbish tone in his speech.

"Yes sir." His accent was definitely American.

"Many people can play the piano; let's see why you're any better than the rest. What piece will you be performing?" Monsieur Toussaint inquired.

"La Campanella by Frank Liszt, Monsieur Toussaint." Edwin Thornton answered.

This caused a lot of intrigue amongst the staff and students, those who knew this piece also knew it was absolutely one of the hardest songs to perform. I heard it before, and even I knew I couldn't play it. I was a composer, not a skilled pianist.

"You may begin." Monsieur Toussaint sneered.

Edwin Thornton took a seat at the piano and began to play. Within five minutes everyone was well aware of his talent. He played the song perfectly, and when he was done was then asked to perform a ballet routine for Madame Giry to evaluate.

"Thank you Monsieur Thornton. You may sit down."

Everyone clapped, myself included. Even his dance was flawless. There were almost around thirty or so students that had come in today. Most of the students were either dancers or played an instrument to an extreme level. There were a couple composers and even less singers. Everyone had done their presentation, and now I knew I was next.

"Monsieur Lorenzo Trentacosta...or rather Signore Trentacosta?" Monsieur Toussaint asked as he noticed my Italian name.

"Either is fine." I replied as I made my way to the center of the stage.

Monsieur Toussaint lifted a piece of paper from the table reading it closely, "You are a composer from Venice?"

"Yes."

"Where is your music?" he posed.

"The fault is mine Monsieur Toussaint-" The Vicomte addressed, "I misplaced it, however Lorenzo could perhaps play it…? How is your arm?" Raoul asked.

"I can play it. My arm is no distraction." I answered.

"Does not matter; you have no proof that the composition is yours, and being sponsored by the Vicomte himself won't get you out of that. Are you a pianist?" Monsieur Toussaint inquired.

"No-"

"Do you dance?"

"No, Monsieur-"

"Then you appear to have wasted your time Monsieur Lorenzo-"

"I can sing." I disliked Monsieur Toussaint on a very severe level. He had tried to find excuses to not permit many students from auditioning.

"Can you now?" he scorned, "You have no music to sing or accompaniment-"

"I can play piano for him." Edwin Thornton stood up and walked to the center of the stage. "Surely you must have some sheet music around here that Lorenzo could sing."

I was somewhat taken back by this man's kindness because I didn't even know him.

"No, we don't. Everything was scattered in the mess of all the fire." Monsieur Severin answered apoplectically.

"This presentation has then no purpose being-"

"Actually…" Madame Giry interrupted Monsieur Toussaint, "We do have sheet music. Meg, go to the dressing room, there is a box on the floor by the door could you please bring it here?"

Meg Giry nodded and got up from the audience and ran to the stage to retrieve the box. I looked at Christine whose surprised expression I didn't miss. I never told her I could sing, or even put on the application that I could. My name in Venice was Sirena di Morte for a reason; I lured people in with the sound of my voice. The way I looked at it was I didn't want to utilize the bait I used for murder as bait I could use for alluring an audience, something about it just seemed wrong.

Meg came back with the box handing it to Madame Giry.

"This is absurd! He cannot do this! He wasn't even prepared-"

"Put a sock in Toussaint, I wanna hear the kid sing." Monsieur Leonce had spoken for the first time. He was definitely younger than the rest of the staff and couldn't be older than mid-thirties. He had short auburn brown hair and his face was unshaven. This remark made Monsieur Toussaint red in the face to the point it almost matched the color of his hair.

"Where did you find sheet music?" Monsieur Severin asked.

"Does not matter where I found it Monsieur…" Madame Giry walked to be and handed me the sheet music. "We will give you five minutes to look at it, there's only one copy."

"Here let me see it." Edwin asked. He skimmed through the music, "I can remember the chords and melody. You can look at it while you're singing. Do you need to look at the lyrics now?"

"No, I'm fine. You can look it over for the five minutes...you're sure you can remember the music?" I could read music easily, but looking at four pages of music and remembering how to play it on a piano was something else entirely.

"Yes I'm more than positive that I can." He heartily laughed.

"Are you boys ready?" Monsieur Leonce asked after five minutes was up.

"Yes sir." Edwin sat himself at the piano.

Then I started to feel it…that rush of adrenalin rise and begging to cascade through my body.

"What's the title of the song you're going to sing Lorenzo?" Monsieur Leonce continued.

I hadn't even read the title yet. My hands lifted the paper to read. "Music of the Night."

"Very well, you may begin."

Edwin began to play the intro of the song as I took a deep breath to sing the first line of the song.

I'm letting YOU decide who should the next chapter's POV should be. Erik or Christine's...cause their both there hearing the song...hehe. hard decision huh? haha