AN: I hate to be /that/ kind of author, but I've really lost my confidence on this story. So I was wondering if one or two of you still reading this could maybe leave a review? Be as honest or not as you want, I'm just really struggling and I feel like this story's just becoming a steaming pile of shit.
They had set out from their home in the dead of winter and by spring found themselves in a country where they didn't speak the language or know anyone, but as long as they were together they didn't care.
They had enough money to lodge wherever they pleased, though their income was still low enough that Papa Daaé couldn't find even a tiny flat within their means.
So for nearly two full years they had drifted from town to town, staying in each place a few days and playing for the locals before moving on. Christine hardly missed life in Sweden, but not a day passed that her father didn't want to return.
It was in the morning of their seventh day in London that Papa Daaé's violin caught the ear of a particularly well-dressed man who crossed the a busy road just to hear the music more closely.
He was Papa Daaé's opposite in every way. Tall and lanky, the man had orange hair and so many freckles it looked like he'd had a pen explode in his face. Papa Daaé's build more closely resembled that of a bear; the only thing light about him was the icy blue of his eyes.
As the last few notes hung in the air, the man began to applaud.
"That was marvelous!" he exclaimed. Papa Daaé gave him a small nod of thanks as he searched his brain for the next song he'd play. Christine stood nearby, hands folded neatly in front of her as she watched the people pass by.
She'd turned seven years old on the road into the city, and for her birthday her father had bought her the dress she currently wore. It was a deep blue that nearly perfectly matched her eyes, with white piping on the sleeves and collar. She felt like a dignified little lady wearing it, not someone who slept in a lumpy bed at an inn in a less than reputable part of the city.
The man dropped a small pile of coins in the hat at their feet and stepped back to enjoy the music as Papa Daaé began to play once more. This time he played a simple lullaby. It brought the well-dressed man to tears.
"Why are you gracing only the street corner with your talent?" he demanded, causing Papa Daaé's playing to come to a screeching halt. "You play beautifully."
Although he'd picked up some English during their time in the country, Papa Daaé still only understood about half of what was said to him. He looked down at his daughter for translation, which she happily gave. He relayed his reply to her in Swedish and she smiled sweetly at the man.
"Papa says thank you, sir. He has been playing since he was a young boy, but it is hard to find a patron at his age."
"Age should be the last thing any would-be patron should consider!" the man said, shaking his head. "My name is Valerius."
"I am Nils Daaé."
"Might I ask who this lovely little lady is?" Valerius asked, gesturing to Christine. She giggled and smiled shyly up at him.
"My name is Christine," she said. The man knelt down and kissed her hand, which only caused her to blush and giggle more.
"Surely you must be hungry," he said as he stood up and smoothed out his long overcoat. "Would you care to join me for luncheon?"
"Oh Papa, can we?" Christine begged as her father considered the offer. He nodded and she hugged him tightly before crouching down to collect the small pile of coins they'd amassed during their morning of performing.
When she handed the hat full of coins to her father, he shoved it into an inner pocket of his coat. He took her tiny hand in his and they walked along with Valerius. Christine tried to pay attention to what they were saying, but she was too excited about the prospect of a hot lunch.
Nils was especially glad for the other man's patience as he stumbled over words that still felt so foreign on his tongue. He knew a small amount of French from his childhood, but beyond that all he'd ever known had been Swedish.
The restaurant that Valerius chose was unlike anything that Christine had ever seen. Even in her nice new dress she felt incredibly out of place amongst women in sparkling finery. The dresses she saw as they made their way to a seat in the back corner were the stuff of her dreams.
"…I am so sorry for your loss." Christine sighed. She had obviously picked the wrong time to start paying attention to what the grown ups were saying again. They were talking about her mother, she was positive. Valerius was looking at them with greater pity than he had in the street.
She hated that look. She saw it often on the faces of the innkeepers and their wives. Her father sighed.
"I… I have missed her greatly. It was hard to work after her passing. I've been playing for coins since Christine was a baby."
"I daresay you've been selling your talent for far too cheap a price, Mister Daaé," the well-dressed man said. Christine played with her skirt as the man continued to talk. She wanted to pay attention, she really did, but the man's words were so boring.
Occasionally a word would catch her attention and she'd perk up for a sentence or two, but until the food came Christine busied herself with trying to memorize the way that the restaurant looked.
It was decorated entirely in dark wood accented by tall white candles and gas lamps kept near their dimmest setting.
The nearest table to them was occupied by two of the most beautiful women that Christine had ever seen. One of them had long golden locks that were nearly the same shade as her own, the other had short, tight curls that barely reached the middle of her back. Their dresses were both the same shade of emerald green and looked incredibly soft. Christine wished she could go over and touch their dresses, just to know what something that soft felt like, but she didn't dare.
"What do you think, Christine?" The sound of her name pulled her back to reality, and she turned to look at her father and Valerius, who were both looking back at her expectantly.
"Um," she chewed on her lip, unsure of what they were asking her about.
"Professor Valerius has offered to pay for your schooling and to allow us to stay with him and his wife in France."
"What?" Christine's eyes widened as she stared in disbelief up at her father. She'd seen plenty of other children going off to school in their travels, but they'd never been in one place for long enough for her to attend as well. Her father had done his best to teach her what he could, but between the strange hours they kept and the long hours he had to play on the street corner to bring in enough money to pay for their room, that hadn't been very much.
"Would you like that, Christine?" Valerius asked. She nodded enthusiastically.
"Oh yes," she said. "I should love to go to school with the other children."
The men both smiled and Nils hugged his daughter close. For once in her short life, her father felt that she might actually have a chance at the life she deserved.