Author's Note: Our first look at Christine and her father as they enter the village of Perros. I made the decision not to change any of the character's names, as I was originally thinking of changing the surname Chagny ect. to one which sounds more Swedish, since I did not want to change Daae. Though this may put a slight inaccuracy as far as place goes for the story, I wanted to avoid confusion considering there is already so many changes in place, time, and terminology. Thanks to those who have already reviewed! I'm very excited to present this idea I've had for some time now. Please bare with me on the potential longer updates. Though I just finished my finals, I will still be quite busy during my winter break. I'll be going to Paris for about a month! Hopefully I'll get the time to write a bit while there, because I think it will be super inspiring! I'll also be doing a lot of my own touring, especially themed around Phantom. I plan to blog about it, if you are interested in following along!

Thanks for stopping by to read and I hope to get the ball rolling so that we can really get to the fun stuff of this story.

- Phantom's angel

Le Fantôme et L'ange

Chapter One

Arrival

As the village of Perros prepared for the upcoming la Toussaint, a man and his daughter were traveling toward the town. The gentleman guided a small dapple-grey horse by the lead rope through the brush and branches, finding that the path seemed hardly beaten for their arrival. They maneuvered their way between trees and stumps, spending valuable time weaving their way along. The wagon was sparsely packed with just enough clothing and goods to get them through their journey, but their amounts of food were plenty. Their stop in the kingdom of Sant-Brieg and again in Trégor's capital city Tréguier had provided them with substantially more food than they required, yet they considered it a blessing for their crops would not be planted until the spring after they arrived to their piece of property.

Behind the wagon walked a young girl of sixteen years. Her hair was golden-yellow, curling tightly down her back and her eyes were a clear crystalline blue. She strolled casually behind the wagon, holding her scarf tightly in her hands as she hummed her own tune into the trees. The crows and gulls were the only to reply, circling and flocking far in the sky above them, which was beginning to turn orange from the sun departing in the west. She smiled, looking off into the trees, feeling a satisfaction as if she were to have a live audience present, adoring to her song. She followed the wheels' tracks in the mud, stopping just before running into the back of the wagon, then she'd continue floating forward again as her papa cleared the way.

Papa stopped and began to cough, beating his hand against his chest and hunching over his wobbly knees. Placing her scarf in the wagon, she walked around to the front and grabbed a hold of the gelding's halter. The young girl reached out and held her father's arm. He looked over, dropping his clutching fist from his lips and stared at his daughter sadly.

"Sit in the wagon, Papa," Christine urged. "Please."

The man indignantly looked to her, but then fell back on his persistence.

He nodded sadly and passed the reigns to his daughter.

Christine patted her father's back as he passed her and squeezed his arm tightly with affection.

Christine's mother died when she was very young. Charles Daaé kept his daughter close, priding himself in teaching her the reading and writing of music. The rest of her comprehension skills came from her love of books and knowledge. She was a devote student and was fluent at reading musical sheets and could play the violin quite well. They attended faires and festivals together in their home kingdom of Knivsta, where the land sprawled with green hills in summer and snow fields for the rest of the year. The buildings of Knivsta were known to be quite linear, pointing upward toward the maker, for everything connected back to his creation of the earth.

Charles Daaé's grandparents had moved his father from their home in the kingdom of Trégor to that of Knivsta when he was young, and ever since, their family had made feeble attempts to reroot. His father had grown up through his valuable childhood years in Knivsta, gaining friends along the way and eventually, falling in love with what he felt was the most beautiful women he'd ever seen. Their child together was the spitting image of her mother, and Christine was raised off of the land they shared, planting crops and selling at the faires alongside her family. After her mother's death, Charles had focused all of his attention on his daughter.

There was never thought of leaving their land until Charles had received a letter one day last spring. It had traveled from the kingdom of Trégor and informed him that the last of his lineage living in Perros had died. With the death of Christine's mother and the misfortune of the rest of the Daaé name, there were no members left of the Daaé name alive or interested in the property. Charles, however, saw it as opportunity.

Knivsta was growing in population, which cut their property allowed for growing crops down considerably. Charles found it difficult to keep up and to sell his product in the now bustling town. The proposition of living in simplicity again appealed to he and his daughter both. The letter offered his family the home with the attached property for farming, along with any possessions left to the home. Charles sent back within a fortnight and before summer, they were wheeling their wagon south toward the sea.

The journey was proving especially difficult for Christine's papa, as his cough started while they were on a ship crossing the great sea. He spent most of his time below the decks, trying to keep himself from turning green from the water's churning. Christine tended to him diligently, knowing that there was no turning back now. She had an appetite for the adventure ahead, but as her father began to cough more and more, she feared what may happen. Their stop for rest in Sant-Brieg had been quite beneficial in his recuperation, so off they set again toward Perros before the winter settled in.

As the wagon began to find a dried dirt path and a clearing from the brush, Daaé emerged from the wagon and nodded to his daughter's kindness. She dropped the reigns back into his hand and smiled. She knew she couldn't let him loose his pride by riding into their new home in the back of a wagon. Christine took back up her gentle tune and they continued together – side by side – as the smoke from the chimneys of the town beyond began to come into view.

They continued down the path, watching the trees disappear from their route, as if they were pruned away from the village. Their first sighting of a small home was to their right. A mother holding an infant wrapped in blankets stood on her back porch. She watched vigilantly as the travelers guided their horse toward the village, holding her child close and calling to her older son, who ran and wrapped his arms around her leg. Together, they watched the wagon pass, while Christine noticed the unease in their eyes.

Christine ceased her singing, seeming to console the woman's apprehension.

They continued past, finding another cottage coming to view to their left. Lined along the path and around the property were buckets full of water, stagnantly sitting and collecting the last of the leaves to fall from their trees. The next cottage had a fountain in back and small demon-like creatures with fire burning in their eyes and mouths placed on their porch. Upon further examination, Christine realized they were pumpkins illuminated by candlelight.

Each cottage they passed grew more decorated with knick-knacks and goodies outside of their steps, from water vases to hollowed squashes, and even coats designed in the form of soulless figures. The few people they saw seemed furtive to their presence, shying away or simply stopping to stare. All of them had thick, dark brown hair and eyes which were just as brown. They appeared plain and simple, yet seemed dignified enough in their ways to let a traveler and his daughter pass by without discussion. By the time they found the centre of the town, it seemed more abandoned than the homes surrounding it.

Charles turned to his daughter and asked her to stay with their belongings. He would ask somebody in a shoppe for direction. Christine turned about herself, admiring the quaint nature which this small village offered. She had never heard of the village named Perros until her papa began to mention it through the correspondence of his letters. Then it suddenly became their life as they planned their trip. There was hardly anything to learn about the town, which made Christine's imagination grow wild with intrigue. Now that she was standing in the centre of it, she felt alone. Not a soul was in sight and those they had seen were more like ghosts than neighbors.

Large tables were lined against the shoppes' faces, linked together and forming a circle against a ribbon shoppe and a tailor. The doors and windows behind were shut and vacant of light, with only the baker's across the street offering a soul to speak with. Christine could see the man inside which her papa spoke to, holding onto his wife and nodding his head as her father detailed their adventure. They too had dark colored hair and those vacant eyes which were round and thick with distress despite their pleasant smiles. As Charles walked back out of the shoppe toward his daughter, they peaked out and waved casually to her. Christine eagerly replied to their salutation and curtsied to them.

"They said they knew my great uncle," Daaé said as he approached his daughter. "They were pleased to hear the family name would continue here in Perros."

"Then they knew the direction toward our home?" Christine asked.

"Yes, my child," papa Daaé said. "Down the western path."

"Did they know your father also?" Christine asked.

"They did," he replied. "He was very young when my grandparents left this place, but they knew him nonetheless."

"Then perhaps we can be welcomed," Christine said, clapping her hands together in relief.

"I have no doubt of it," Daaé said, patting his daughter on the head. "Take the lead rope and let us move onward."

The western edge of the village was no different than the east from which they arrived. The small cottages and homes were situated entirely the same, even offering the same sense of décor. The small demons made of pumpkin stared right at Christine, testing her bravery and grinning at her wildly. She looked toward her father, who shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, showing his equaling mystification of the ritual.

As they arrived at the cottage which was described by the baker and his wife, Charles pulled his daughter into his side and stood with her on the outside. It was exactly as they had done before they left their home in Knivsta, taking in the moment to store within their memories.

"I hope my father would be proud," Charles said under his breath.

Christine looked up to her papa and smiled.

The home was very small, offering a simple seating area raised off of the ground with a single chair on the porch. The windows were covered with dust and cobwebs, letting no light to escape inside, but as they pushed through the front door, they revealed a charming space with a food pantry, wash tub, sturdy table and a closet. Candles were set on the table, as if left as a welcoming for Charles' inheritance. Christine struck a match to light the small tokens, revealing to them the work which would be ahead of them.

Charles walked into the center of the room, holding one of the candles out in front of him to inspect the table left for them. It revealed scruff marks and rough edges, begging for maintenance while the closet only offered a single broom to restore the house with. Christine took the other candle and journeyed up the stairs, drawing back each time they strained from the unwelcome weight of a new owner. There was a loft which led to two small rooms before Christine. Inside of the first room were three small beds and an old toy chest. No gifts were left inside of it, but a window on the far corner of the room offered another set of candles to use. The second room offered one large bed and a rocking chair with one old pair of shoes left at the end of the bed. Christine picked them up and inspected them, determining them to be left behind by a man.

Christine took her find and ran down stairs, informing her father of her discoveries.

"The three beds must have been for my father and uncles," Papa said. "It was the eldest, Edmund, who inherited the property. The shoes must have belonged to him."

"Then it is all we have left of him," Christine said sadly.

"No," Papa said. "We have this wonderful home he's left for us."

Charles seemed to beam as he spoke, proudly claiming it as a responsibility to his family.

"Christine, we must unload the wagon before dark. I will take the horse out back and find the stable. You begin removing the blankets and food for tonight."

Christine nodded, turning quickly and running outside. She jumped off of the porch, avoiding the steps, and went straight to the wagon, running her fingers along the horse's side as she went around back. She piled as many items as she could into her arms, piling blankets and rugs high over her head, then carried them into the house, letting them drop onto the top of the table. She took two of the largest quilts and ran them upstairs, placing one in the child's room for herself that night and one on the large bed for her father.

She ran back downstairs and straight outside, finding the horse gone with her father and went for another load, taking a few canisters full of salts and a basket of bread inside. She was impressed with her pace, hoping they could truly beat the sun before it went into hiding, when she heard a scuff come from behind her. Christine turned from the back of the wagon and saw a tall man approaching her.

His hair was maintained better than those villagers she had encountered earlier, yet his eyes were much more cold. His brow set heavily over them and his smile was plastered into an unpleasant smirk. Christine frowned as he stepped forward, looking down toward her with suspicion in his eyes.

"Bonsoir, Mademoiselle," the man said.

"Good evening," Christine said evenly.

"You must be of the family Daaé, from Knivsta."

"Yes, sir," Christine said, still trying to determine the man's reason.

"Where are your brothers and sisters?" he asked.

"I am the only child," Christine said.

"You traveled without them?" the man asked.

"No, sir. I am the only child of the family," Christine confirmed.

The man seemed appalled at the thought, but removed the distain from his glance and nodded his head as a form of apology.

"Then where is your mother?" he reprised.

"She is dead."

"Oh," the man said with little sympathy. "Forgive me for reviving past grievances."

Christine shook her head, gesturing her acceptance of his indifferent apology.

"Who then, may I ask, will be inheriting this property?" the man asked.

"My father and I," Christine said, becoming rather annoyed with the man.

"Goodness, quite a piece of land for such small living arrangements," the man suggested. "The clearing in back will make for quite agreeable landscaping for you, I'm sure."

"We intend to plant the land, sir," Christine said.

"To farm?" he asked. "Your father?"

"And myself."

The man looked to Christine as if she were insane suggesting such a thing. He stared at her for a moment, as if expecting her to reveal a joke, and then crossed his arms over his chest.

"Well then, mademoiselle, I suppose I shall wish the two of you luck for the next season."

They both stared hard at each other. Christine figured the man was well into his thirtieth year, yet he still carried a handsome face, despite his harsh appearance. He was far too young to be old-fashioned, yet his attitude toward Christine suggested quite the opposite. Regardless of his age, Christine felt her anger flair with his implication of her place within her own home.

"Forgive me, sir, but who are you?" she asked.

Just as the man's shoulders rolled back with distinction, Charles walked around the corner holding onto a basket full of twigs and branches for a fire. Christine and the man both turned to look as Charles gestured toward the man, acknowledging him immediately.

"Ah, sir," Charles said. "Are you Philippe de Chagny?"

"Oui, Monsieur," the man said. "I am the appointed overseer of Perros. And I presume you are Charles Daaé."

"Yes, sir; I am," Charles said. "It is a pleasure to have a face to go with the name behind our correspondence."

"Yes," Philippe said, seeming less amused. "Your daughter was entertaining me enough to say that both of you intend to farm the land you inherit."

"That is true, sir," Charles said. "My daughter speaks the truth."

The man fell silent for a moment, then nodded his head and tried to smile.

"Well then. I spread my previous wish of luck to you as well."

Charles looked toward Christine and they both made eye contact. Christine made it be known to her father that she was not amused with the man, but even Charles was unimpressed by his manners.

"I brought for you some of our extra portions of food for tonight, monsieur," Philippe said gesturing to a basket full of goods set behind him. "As I am sure you won't have the time to make something before sundown."

"We thank you kindly, but we do have plenty of food to feed us left from our journey," Daaé said. "We were well stocked in Sant-Brieg before arriving."

"This food will not be to feed yourselves," Philippe said. "It shall be left in front of the home after sundown tonight for la Toussaint."

"Forgive me, sir, but we are unaware of this custom," Charles said.

Philippe de Chagny seemed surprised that we were unaware of the term and thought a moment, seeming to find a way to describe the event.

"The people of Perros leave an offering to the spirits which haunt this land on the most active night of the year," Philippe said. "It is the least one can do to keep them away on such an evening as this. I also extend this invitation to allow you to join us in the town square after sundown to accompany us all in a feast already prepared for all of our villagers."

"We thank you for bestowing such kindness onto us, but we'd hate to intrude having just arrived," Charles said. "We know nothing of this practice and don't feel we've been received long enough to adopt such innate ways—"

"As this may be true," Philippe cut in, "the feast of la Toussaint has been a communal event for centuries, and all those who reside in Perros are to attend."

Charles looked to his daughter and then nodded to the man who claimed to oversee the town's business. Christine refused to acknowledge him as such.

"Then we shall be there after sundown," Daaé said. "We are gracious to your… welcoming words."

Philippe smirked again and then nodded to Charles. He returned the gesture before turning to see his daughter give an exaggerated bow in the man's direction. With haste, the man was mounting his horse and pulling him toward the centre of the town, making his way back before the impending sunset.

Christine turned immediately to her papa.

"Let's not go," she said.

"Come now, child," Charles said. "You heard him. Besides, it will be a good chance to meet our new neighbors and to make new acquaintances."

"It all sounds to me like a waste of perfectly good food," Christine muttered.

"Perhaps," Charles said, picking up the basket of food, trying not to coax her daughter further. "I will put this food on the ledge of the porch."

"Are we really, Papa?" Christine sighed.

"Yes, my child. We must keep good company here," Charles said kindly. "Come, let us finish unpacking the wagon. Once we've finished, we can go ahead and join in their…productive feast."

Christine laughed knowing that her father shared her opinions on the matter. They each grabbed an arm load of supplies and goods, carrying them together inside of their new home to place onto the table. Each of them knew the challenge ahead of them would be reviving the cottage from its current state, but for now, they would unpack their belongings and keep them safe from the supposed spirits which lurked outside of their windows. They joked and laughed with each other, playing games as they went, but as the light was now quickly disappearing, their amusement grew more serious, knowing that they would be attending the most important sort of faire they'd ever been to; earning the chance to fit into a new village and earning their spot in the town.