Chapter 1: Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again

Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing.

She stands at the precipice of a cliff, listening to the faint sounds the wind creates as it weaves its breath through her auburn tresses. Her eyes are closed and lips parted, caught in a deep trance. The ocean roaring as it collides with the cliff with the wind creates a sweet symphony.

And in the distance, a violin sings a melody of sorrow. Little Lotte clutches the red scarf in her hand tighter, and she wonders if she could ever hear a more haunting sound.

A gust of wind forcefully hits her, and it sounds as if it is whispering her name, beckoning her to move closer into its musical embrace.

The symphony becomes louder as she moves closer to the edge, the toes of her bare feet hanging off the cliff.

"Christine…. Christine" The wind beckons. A smile tugs across her lips as the music flows through her. She flies her arms out to her sides as if to embrace the melody as if it existed on a physical plane.

She begins to take a step forward….

"Christine!" A hand clamps itself on her wrist and she is jarred awake from her trance. A horrified gasp flies from her lips as she teeters on the edge of the cliff. Spinning on her foot, she grasps the other arm outreached for her, and she falls into the embrace of her savior.

"Christine! What in the world were you thinking? I could've lost you!" The man releases her wrists and grapes her shoulders to push her back slightly and look her in the eyes, which were now watering. How had she become so lost within nature's music?

The man heaved a deep sigh and bowed his head, utterly speechless. Did this child not understand that she was all he had left of her? That this child had been his world since the moment she was born? He had almost lost her.

"I…I'm sorry father. I didn't mean to. It's just…" Christine trailed off, unsure of how to explain herself. His grip loosened on her shoulders and he pulled her back into a hug. Christine gripped the back of his nightshirt and her toes dug themselves into the ground.

"I know, Lotte. I know". He whispered, holding her close. Gustave Daaé sweeps nine-year-old Christine into his arms and she refuses to leave the tight lock they have made around his neck. "It is time to return to bed now. Shall I make some tea to help you sleep? Or would you prefer the violin?"

She nodded her head against his chest and closed her eyes, dizziness beginning to overcome her. Much to her father's ease, she began to doze off into what would hopefully be a deep sleep. Heavens above, he couldn't handle her leaving him too.

Before Christine succumbs to sleep, she hears her father whisper "I miss her too, my Little Lotte. But she is with the angels now…"

At the edge of the cliff, her ref scarf became entangled with the wind and flew away.

Seven years later….

Christine watched from the windows of a carriage as the sight of her childhood home in Calais faded from view. Her eyes were glazed over and her lip trembled and she fought to not have another emotional breakdown. Her father's death lingered freshly in her mind, and she wondered if she would forever be tormented by the memory.

She could recall the day he told her that she would be spreading her wings to fly away on a path that would surely grant her opportunities she would never have in Calais.

"Paris", her father told her." I am sending you to Paris to an old friend of mine, where you will study".

"What do you mean, you're sending me away? Did I do something wrong? I don't understand!" She cried out, moving to stand from her chair when her father held a hand out gesturing to her to stay seated.

"My dear Christine, I've educated you as much as I have been able. You deserve so much more this world can offer. I will be sending you to Paris, where a friend has agreed to take you under her wing at the ballet. I understand this is all very sudden, but this is the only way I can guarantee you a lifetime of happiness. A place to live in which music can never leave you".

Her father's hands were clenched tightly on the table, the skin turning a ghastly pale tone. His eyes refused to meet hers, and at that moment she knew his mind could not be swayed.

Christine's throat seemed to tighten in an invisible grasp when she choked out "Will you come with me? To Paris?"

She wanted to succumb to all her emotions right then and there, but she kept her posture straight in her chair and placed her hands in her lap. It was as if the life she knew was crumbling around her. Her home was with him, and the thought of being without her father for so long was unbearable.

What would happen to him once she was gone? He would be all alone in the house, with nothing but his violin to keep him company. Would he fall into mental anguish once more as he had when her mother died?

"I shall be escorting you to the opera house, but I must then immediately return. I understand this is very sudden, Lotte, but it is time to let your wings spread and fly". He finally lifted his gaze to hers, and he too looked on the brink of tears. "You know I love you, and this is one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. But I would do it over every time if it meant you had a chance to live the life you deserve".

All Christine could do was nod in agreement, and the rest of their meal was eaten in silence.

Days passed, and Christine had spent all the time she could with her father. She had begrudgingly come to terms with leaving her peaceful home by the sea to the widely industrialized Paris.

Her father had told her about the time he had once visited Paris to perform with her mother, and how the city lit up during the summer night and music from the opera flooded the streets, enrapturing people from all over. And so he had pulled out his violin to play along and his wife sang. It was then that he realized he could never live without her.

And they married that night in a Parisian chapel.

Christine reflected on those memories while she spent the next day in town with her father, who had insisted on buying her a new wardrobe consisting of day and evening dresses to fit in with the bourgeois society.

And much to Christine's horror, she had also had to purchase a corset.

Living on the outskirts of the village, Christine rarely visited the town, and so she never felt that she had a reason to wear a corset. She found them to be abhorrent, painful and restricted her breathing when she sang. But now that she was entering Parisian society she had no choice.

'Society be damned' had been her continuous thought throughout the day until they returned home, arms full and stomachs growling.

Her father laughed, moving to place the two dresses he carried onto the couch, but Christine quickly halted him and took the dresses from him, now barely able to see above all that she carried. "I will carry them to my room, father".

"Thank you, my dear, and to commemorate your last night I shall make your favorite dinner". He clapped his hands together and put himself to work.

"Thank you, papa!" She shouted as she made her way upstairs to pack her new belongings. Christine tossed the dresses onto the bed and began to delicately fold them to place them into the few empty suitcases she had left. Looking around the nearly empty room, she was flooded with every joyful memory she could recall. A smile graced her features, and she couldn't help but wonder what kind of life was in store for her.

The dinner she shared with her father was spectacular. Laughter, tears, and music filled the house that night, and it was one that she would never forget.

But then everything changed.

Christine hurled her suitcases on the back of the carriage, she heard a loud noise erupt from inside. Racing inside, she found her father on the floor next to a shattered vase, a hand raised fisted in his shirt above his heart.

"Father! Father! What's wrong?" Christine opened his shirt but found nothing. Her breathing was frantic as she looked over at her father. His eyes met hers before they rolled back into his head.

"No, Father! Please don't leave me, please not yet! It is too soon! Not you too!" Christine left her father's side and ran back to the carriage to the driver, who was waiting patiently for them. She grabbed his hand and pleaded, "Please monsieur fetch any nearby doctor, my father has fallen and will not wake! Please, as fast as you can!"

The man jumped into action, nodding quickly and hopping into the box, driving off. Christine ran back and fell next to her father. She held his slightly warm cheeks in her hands and patted them gently, hoping to stir him. But to no avail.

"Please, father. Don't leave me all alone. I cannot lose you too!" Christine wept over his body, her hands trailing to his neck to find a beat. None was to be found.

A scream of agony tore from her throat and she slipped her arms under him, pulling him into her arms to rest on her lap. Christine placed her lips upon his forehead and whispered "I love you" repeatedly, her tears slipping from her eyes to his hair. She rocked back and forth pleading with any god that would bring him back to her.

It was only last night that they spent their time reliving memories together, music flooding the house one last time before she would leave.

For the second time in her life, she sang the song of sorrow, her lips quivering and her body shaking.

Wishing I could hear your voice again

Knowing that I never would

Dreaming of you won't help me to do

All that you dreamed I could…..

It felt like hours when the driver and a doctor strode through the front door and had to peel her away from her father. Christine numbly watched as the doctor looked upon his now ashen features and brought in a sheet to cover him.

"I am so sorry, my dear. I am so very sorry", one of them spoke to her.

But all she could hear was the erratic beating of her heart. Her heart was still beating. And his wasn't.

Gustave Daaé's funeral came two days later, and she buried him at the edge of the cliff, next to his wife. Her mother.

Christine knelt and placed a bouquet of white lilies on his marker, the ground around it still soft. She brought herself to sit in front of her parents and gaze at the ocean ahead. A gentle breeze brushed her face in the drizzle and she shivered.

How long had it been since she had been able to bring herself here?

Christine had lost her mother when she was still a young girl, no older than nine. Her father never told her how she died, but she knew that it was far too distressing for him to even utter a single word.

A failing heart, the doctor had told her. Her father died because his heart failed him. And at that moment she felt as though she would die of a broken one.

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, the scent of the lilies filling her senses. Putting her hands together, she closed her eyes and prayed. She prayed for them to be reunited in heaven, and that they would send her guardian angel, the angel of music.

Gustave Daaé perched his violin on his shoulder, his chin sitting on the rest, fiddling along to a song he had created for his daughter. An exuberant song about an angel of music who comes down from heaven to hear the merriment of the people in unison.

Oh ange de la musique!

Apparate before us as we unify in song

Thou only appear for the glory of sound

Ange de la musique come to our ground

Oh, Angel of music, you must be found!

The song came to a soft end and little Christine looked up to her father. "Papa, what is an angel of music?" Curiosity gleamed in her emerald eyes.

Gustave took Christine into his arms and sat her down on his lap as he went to sit on a nearby armchair. "An angel of music is an entity who listens to the sound of sweet music's throne. They protect and guide us onto our own paths in the realm of music".

Christine's lips parted and an excited squeal left her lips. "Papa! Have you met an angel of music?"

A smile crossed Gustave's face as his daughter pressed to hear more. "I have, in fact, met my angel of music. Your mother was my angel. Without her, I would not have the musical ability I do today".

"Mother was an angel of music? Was she my angel of music too?"

Gustave's hand tightened on hers and he pulled a picture he kept in his back pocket of his wife. He gingerly handed her the worn picture and her eyes glistened at the familiarity. They sat in silence for a minute before he continued. "Not everyone meets their angel of music, and I was very fortunate to have met mine, but when I am in Heaven child, I will send the angel of music to you, and your angel shall guide you on an ethereal journey of music".

Music had long run in her blood. Her father played the violin and her mother sang the sweetest melodies. From the moment she uttered her first word, she had been thrust into a world of music.

Before they had settled in Calais, they had traveled across the country, performing anywhere they could. Finally, after eight years, they had made enough to live comfortably in a chateau on the outskirts of town, on the border of a cliff.

They would spend the nights singing and dancing happily, and Christine could see the love in their eyes when their musical talent combined.

And then her mother had suddenly fallen ill, and death claimed her the next day. The house went silent for a week, and her father would lock himself away in his bedroom, his sobs echoing throughout the halls. All Christine could do was sit at the cliff where she had been buried, speaking to her mother about him, and how he missed his angel of music.

Then Christine sang, hoping maybe his angel of music would come back to hear song once more.

Wishing you were somehow here again, wishing you were somehow here

Sometimes it seems, if I just dreamed, somehow you would be here

She heard approaching footsteps behind her and she turned to see her father's tear-stricken face, holding out a hand to her. Christine took it gently and pulled him into a hug.

"I'm so sorry, Little Lotte. I wasn't there to help you through this. I'm sorry". He cried into her shoulder. Christine grabbed his cheeks and pulled them from her neck. Her fingers wiped away his tears.

"It's ok, father, she's with the angels now. I just know she is". Christine spoke softly. A soft smile graced her father's features.

"Thank you, Lotte".

That night music filled their home again, never to leave again.

Now that her father was gone, Christine wondered if she would ever have a reason to sing again. The last light in her life was gone, and now she was left to go on without him.

"Are you Mademoiselle Daaé?" A thick French accent called out behind her. Startled, Christine came to her feet to gaze at the woman behind her. Like her, the woman was dressed head to toe in black. Her deep brown hair was tied back in a braid, and her face was done up in smoky makeup with deep red lips.

"I am, may I ask who you are? I have not seen you here before you". Christine cast a glance at the marker in the ground. "Were you a friend of my father's?"

The woman nodded solemnly. "I am Madame Giry, a distant friend of his. He sent me a post nearly a week ago. He said you were to come train under me at the opera house in Paris. I understand the circumstances for which I am here are saddening. I understand you may feel very lost right now, so I brought it upon myself to say farewell to your father and escort you to Paris in his place". Behind her back, she procured a bunch of yellow roses and placed them beside her flowers.

Christine lowered her head to face the ground, which was slowly becoming soft underneath her. "He was my best friend, all I had left in this world", she whispered under her breath.

"He is one of the most talented musicians my ears have ever been graced with. I understand you to are musically inclined?"

A blush crept up on her pale cheeks. "My father told me I have a beautiful voice, but I struggle to play instruments. I was never quite able to play as he had".

"Your voice in itself is an instrument", Madame Giry outstretched her hand towards Christine, and she eyed it warily. "Do not fret my child, the opera house is a place of music. You shall never be without a song for as long as you remain there. We would have to leave by tomorrow morning to make it there for supper, should the weather be favorable".

A gust of wind teased at Christine's back, as if urging her to take the older woman's hand. With one final glance, she whispered goodbye and took her hand.

Now here she was in the carriage with Mrs. Giry, who softly held her hand as her home faded from view. It felt as if she was abandoning them, although a deep part of her knew that wasn't the case. Her eyes felt as if they'd dried up, and could not shed any more tears. She leaned back in her seat and continued to stare out the window.

"How long is the ride to Paris?" She asked quietly.

Madame Giry patted her hand. "We should make it within five hours". She paused before adding, "I have a daughter who is your age as well. I am sure both of you will take delight in a friendship. She is often very stubborn, but headstrong. She also has a tendency to gossip too much for her own good". A smile graced her lips and Christine couldn't help but smile as well.

"I met your father when he performed in Paris with his wife. At the time, you were not yet born, but I remember the joy in their eyes as he played the violin and your mother sang. It was a sight to behold".

"Could you tell me more?" Christine questioned. Madame Giry obliged her, and the two women spent the entire ride sharing memories of her family.

The carriage halted just as the sun lit the summer sky orange, and the two ladies stepped out. Christine's eyes widened as she gazed at the Palais Garnier. The detail in the architecture captivated her and the gold angels from the roof seemed to peer down at her with a welcoming gaze.

"This place is majestic, Madame Giry". She gasped astonishingly. Around her people bustled on the sidewalk and into the opera house, dressed in formal wear she had never seen before. Suddenly she began wondering if the new clothes she had purchased would make her fit in properly with society.

Noticing that patrons going in did not come out, she asked "Is there a show tonight?"

Madame Giry nodded. "Tonight is the last night of Charles Gounod's Faust. I must say this opera has done very well this season. After tonight, we are given a new script to learn, and new performances follow a week or two after, given all rehearsals are kept to their strict practice times. Tonight during the performance, I shall show you around, so that you may become adjusted".

With a deep breath, Christine went to pull a suitcase off the back of the carriage when she was waved off by the driver. Christine pursed her lips and looked back at the older woman.

"Not to worry my dear, they shall take care of it for you. Come", Madame Giry called, and Christine cursed silently as she stumbled on the cobblestone leading up to the entryway staircase to meet her pace.

"Wait!" Christine called. The older woman halted and turned to look at her. Christine moved back to the carriage and reached up to the top of the rack and pulled down a wooden case. Her hand latched around the handle on the side and she ever so carefully pulled it from atop the other luggage. Satisfied and at ease, she resumed her position where the Madame stood.

"Welcome to the Palais Garnier, Mademoiselle Daaé, This opera house is now your home". She spoke as she stepped foot in the entryway. Christine paused at the threshold, and a gust of wind brushed her curls behind her face.

"Christine….Christine '' A melodic voice that seemed to call out from behind her. At first, Christine thought it was the wind that had passed her, but the realization hit that the wind had a voice. A masculine voice.

Christine's gaze flew around her surroundings and she turned, finding no one there. Her eyes darted to the ceiling just outside the door frame, but all was quiet with not one person near her. It seemed likely that her mind would play tricks on her, in light of recent events and a lack of sleep.

Christine had long believed in the story her father had told her as a child. That music was within everything. Every living thing that made the sound was an entity of music. The wind had always called to her as her mother did, in a sweet, soft sound. It sounded so alike to her voice, and so she would always welcome it as if she were returning to her once more.

Her father, on the other hand, believed that a red cardinal represents a loved one coming to visit from Heaven. It was only on a few occasions that one would appear before them, but never taken for granted.

A sudden tap of a cane meeting the floor startled her out of her reverie. Madame Giry raised a suspicious brow and gestured for her to follow. It was noticeably evident that the Madame had a schedule to keep and did not wish for unnecessary dawdling. Christine hastened in her steps and was instantaneously enthralled by the allure of the grand foyer in the Opera Populaire.

A marble staircase leading to the second level branched off left and right and bronze statues stood on each side where the banister began. The lamps were lit in a golden hue, and finely detailed columns supported the finer architecture on the cornice. If it were her father stepping foot in this place, he would've called it Heaven.

In the distance, the orchestra could be heard tuning their instruments and she concentrated on the sounds of the different instruments. She instinctively pulled the case close to her chest, reaching her other hand to wrap around the front while the other gripped the handle.

Madame Giry helped her weave through the busy staff backstage, rushing to get to the curtain call that had been announced seconds prior. A group of ballet dancers donned white tights and baby blue leotards with intricate silver and red beading on the bodice finished with baby's breath flower crowns pinned atop of their neatly tucked braids.

The older woman tapped her cane harshly against the floor, drawing shocked reactions from the ballerinas, followed by forming a straight line. "Are you dancers? Then practice and make your way to the stage. Now!" She demanded. The girls meekly nodded and began their routine. Madame Giry grasped her hand and pulled her to trail behind her.

"Those girls looked as if they were afraid of you, Madame". Christine pointed, turning back to see the girls scurry in the opposite direction, assumedly the stage.

Madame Giry released her hand as they broke free of the crowded hallway. "That is because I am their mentor, and it is my job to properly train them. But when it is time to practice, I demand the utmost respect. They will have plenty of time to chatter after the opera has concluded". She stated simply.

Christine was led up a spiral staircase, taking them to the fourth level and down a hallway that led to a door at the end. Madame Giry opened the door and Christine followed in behind her. Closing the door behind her, the sounds of the staff from the lower levels were silenced.

"This will be where you shall sleep, my dear. My daughter Meg, whom you will meet later also shares this room. This door over here," she gestured to the door adjacent to the one they had entered, "leads into the restroom. Should you have not brought amenities, I am sure Meg will be more than willing to share".

Christine moved to what she could only assume would be her bed, which consisted of a metal frame, a few pillows, a gray comforter, and white sheets. Meg's bed had an ornately decorated comforter with intricate stitching. In between their beds was a wooden nightstand and above, a circular window with metal shaped into a harp.

Christine delicately placed the case upon her bed and sat beside it. And then, her head fell into her hands, the events of the past two days catching up to her. She heard footsteps approaching her, and then the bed sank beside her. Warm arms enveloped her and she finally let her tears fall. Fingers raked through her tangled curls and she couldn't help but wrap her arms around the older woman.

A deep sigh. "I'm so sorry, my dear. I cannot begin to imagine the pain you're feeling right now. I cannot take the place of your father or mother, but I hope that you can begin to feel comfortable approaching me at any time. You are safe here". Below them, the orchestra begins their symphony. Madame Giry places a kiss on Christine's head and moves to stand. Christine unwraps her hands from around the older woman and wipes away the evidence of her tears.

" I'm afraid I have some business I must conduct without delay. I will return soon to give you a tour of the opera house. Why don't you bathe before the corps de ballet return to their rooms? Perhaps the orchestra will prove to be a pleasant distraction for the meantime". Madame Giry suggested as she made her way to the door. "Your suitcases should be up within a few minutes if you'd like to wait to bathe". The door closed behind her, leaving Christine alone in the room.

Peering down to the case next to her, Christine gingerly pulled it onto her lap and flipped the latches open, revealing a maple-colored violin, engraved with the initials GD. Another sob made its way up her throat.

"What am I to do without you?"

Hello, my lovelies! It has been so many years since I've had the inspiration to write. POTO has always been an obsession of mine. This story is strictly Erik and Christine, with Raoul bashing being very likely. For this story, I imagine my Christine as Anna O'Byrne and my Phantom as Ben Lewis. I think they had excellent chemistry on Love Never Dies, but you are all free to imagine whichever actors have assumed the roles, or you wish would. I cannot guarantee that I will upload regularly, because I am a full-time university student now, but I will do my best to keep up with frequent updating.

Your Obedient Servant- Emma51020