#phantom of the opera
#erik pondering after sex
There needs to be less stupid Christines’ running around on tumblr.
Not that I am talking about any specific, I have not personally run into any, but I’ve spotted them.
It’s kinda silly,
and being Me,
it’s.. Well It’s rather offensive.
I don’t know If Im the only one who notices it…
Christine was intelligent, caring and on ((Rare, special)) occasion- witty.
But she was never stupid, or overly sarcastic, or vulgar.
((I know this because I was her husband, lol.))
It needs to stop.
#Christine Daae RP
I waited endlessly for that damn reply. My heart came to a full, screeching stop when a few days went by and still I had not received a scrap of news from my Lottie. All I could think by then was that I was the fool for thinking she would remember me; she had grown tired of my strange, bothersome face, and hadn’t bothered to reply. It was the final straw; I put my coat, my gloves and my hat on, grabbed my walking cane and reached for the front door handle. Though, before I could open the door, I heard three tired knocks.
My angel led me back out to my dressing room, in a deadly and cold silence. I tried to talk to him, joke with him, even tried telling him that I was cold. Still he did not respond to me, his mismatched eyes staring straight ahead. His yellow eye seemed to glow more against the light from his torch, while his blue eye only seemed sad. They stuck through my mind as I left him at the passage ways, and sat down at my desk. There was a small envelope with a “C” stamped at the seal. I opened it and read slowly, the syllables forming on my tongue, a whisper of words escaping my lips.
What is the meaning of this game you continue to play with me when we are face to face, pretending you do not know me? Is this just another game from our childhood that I have not caught onto yet? Christine, I know you remember me. I would like to take you out to supper, to talk with you on both serious and silly matters. Please reply soon, I will be anxious for your response.
I sighed, knowing that if I did not reply to this, I would surely crush him into a million pieces. In a very ungraceful manner, I opened a drawer and yanked out a sheet of paper and a pen. My angel appeared over my shoulder, most likely reading Raoul’s plea.
‘Don’t reply.’ He growled.
I dropped my pen and turned in my chair to face him.
“And why not?”
‘If you respond, things will get out of hand. And I will have to kill him.’
This caught me off guard, I should’ve been too afraid but the moment he vanished, I once again picked up my pen and scribbled a reply.
My Dearest Raoul,
I remember you and the view of the sunset from the hills, and from the ocean side. I remember my father playing the violin as you and I sung along to entertain your family. Please meet me at the park down the street, just on the bench. Around 2 o’clock tomorrow? I have much to tell you, I will explain everything later.
I sealed the letter into an unsecured envelope and handed it to one of the maid’s sons. I told him he would be paid extra if he could make it all the way there running and with an innocent grin he told me that if I paid him extra, he would fly there. I came back inside, just entering the opera house, when my angel appeared at the grand escalier. No one seemed to mind him there as they went about their days and jobs, and so I thought nothing of it. Though his eyes seemed to glow, he seemed to be fuming, steaming almost. I came toward me in a charge, and I stumbled backwards.
‘Enough! You have disobeyed me!’
Still he came towards me with aggression, and I tripped over a bucket of water that someone was using to mop with. They cursed at me for a second, but I was preoccupied. Had they not even noticed that I was being chased around? I grabbed the bucket of water and threw it on the angel in a panic. And luckily he vanished after that. The man that was mopping approached me with annoyance spread in his face.
“What, did I miss a spot? Or are you just rehearsing for an audition?”
“Maybe she’s just mad.” A maid chimed in, giggling softly.
“Bloody arrogant divas…”
And he waved me away, and I walked back to my dressing room, unsure of what on earth any of them were talking about.
The rest of the night I tried to resume my post of the famous phantom of the opera, sending notes of criticism to each section of the opera. I got a few humorous replies back, and at the end of the day, I sat by my fire, thinking to myself that I would never be the angel of music my Christine so desperately needed.
#phantom of the opera
Christine had not recognized me! My heart sunk as she claimed that she had not known me, and asked that I be escorted out! I paced around my chamber like a mad man, dizzy with confusion. At one point I even tried sitting out on the balcony for some fresh air, but I was ruined. After all those moments we shared together in our youth, how could she not have remembered me? Surely this was some sort of jest, some silly game. I ran back inside and called for a young popper boy, and pulled out some francs. I immediately wrote her a letter, asking if she would explain the meaning behind the joke… That I was eager to meet up with her, to catch up with old times. I told the boy to hurry up and get it to her. And then I sat down in my new chair that my brother had shipped over and had my first sip of a stronger alcohol.
The angel of music I had grown to love came to me in the form of the phantom of the opera! I wasn’t afraid though. From the very depth of my being I knew that he was my angel of music. My hand fit perfectly in his as he led me through this unexplored territory. We finally arrived at a gate, and just beyond that cave was a home. How silly it was to have a home in a catacomb. I did not think of it any further. The tall masked man studied me for a moment, as if I were a book, as if there was something boldly written across my face. The gate slowly opened with some hidden trigger he set off, and as if he were a human being, he reached into his pocket for his set of keys! I cannot explain how bewildered I will forever be. How much of a normal man he was! Once he led me through his threshold, I was attacked by a cat, followed by him draping his cape over my shoulders.
“You must be cold… AYSHA… You really mustn’t mind her. She really isn’t usually so- DAMN IT YOU BLOODY ANIMAL! LET GO OF MS. DAAE’S DRESS. SHE IS A GUEST. COMPANY.”
His frustration had made me giggle. It was as though he were nervous for some reason. This was ludicrous to imagine, an angel- being awkward. The cat slowly let go of me and trotted into another room. The shadow of a man guided me to a small room with a piano, where he sat down on the bench. Angel sighed, staring at some music sheets on the stand before looking up at me.
“Christine, if I am to be your angel of music-“
“If, angel? You are my angel of music. As you have been for as long as I can remember.”
“I… I know. Though if I am going to continue with it, I would have to continue guiding you, with your studies. You’re voice, as beautiful as it is, is obviously untrained. As my duty of your angel of music, I am required to prepare you for your future career. Would you be up for such a thing?”
“Yes, of course. As you know; father has been preparing me for this moment to come. He said I would excel. Be great.”
“Ah, lucky Christine, how fortunate you are to be in reach of the stars. The fault is not in them, you are capable of doing anything if we practice. This will be up to you. Of course, I will be there along side of you.”
It had hit me hard. There was a mask on my angels face. How could he hide from me!? Was I unworthy of him? Perhaps I was. Though my curiosity only lingered. He spoke more, and then we warmed up my voice so we could sing together. Still it was there, burning at the back of my mind. Who was this angel?
Everything was going just as planned. Christine had followed me lead, right into my trap. She seemed to be devoted to me, with the snap of my fingers. It was a sign from heaven that I would know the sweet bliss of this girl’s company. And to share a duet with her was truly the death of me. At one point we sang AIDA but it was too much for me to handle. To think that she would love me so! I sent her to bed. It could have easily been an early hour in the morning when she finally stopped singing and went to bed. I was so bloody tired, and my eye lids were begging to be released of their duty, but my Christine had inspired me to compose an opera. She had become my muse. I became so lost in what I was doing. The music seemed to swirl around my head, dizzy with a certain love, a certain longing, a certain lust. It was too awesome, and sweet to ignore, to control. Everything came to a crashing halt when a little deceiving hand fell over my face, and ripped off my mask.
“Damn you! What were you thinking!?”
I raged and screamed and threw things at a wall, and then: I broke down and sobbed at her feet. I could not lose my Christine, and if she would give me the chance to apologize, I would show her I only mean well. She seemed speechless as my voice broke through my choked up tears.
“Forgive me. I am only Erik. But you will learn to love me! This I promise you.”
After a while she left into her bedroom, which I had made out of a guest room I built when day dreaming of the real world, outside of my monstrous life. She came out a few days later, demanding that she be taken back to her dressing room immediately, announcing that she would return, but that she needed to go home and collect some things and check in with Meg, her mother and the other dancers. And of course I had no choice but to take her. She had all power over me. I still could not refuse her.
#Phantom of the Opera
Christine Daae wasn’t your average child. She was a prodigy, just as her father raised her. She had chocolate brown curls, hazel eyes, and a voice like an angels. It was said she had gotten it from her mother, who passed away when she was a newborn. She spent most of her time out performing with her father, who was a famous violinist in his time. I was fortunate enough to spend some time with her when she traveled. She was very quiet at times, in her own little world, while other times she was playful, and adventurous. We would go out into the forest and climb trees; we would go for a ride on my brother’s sail boat. We were childhood sweethearts, if only for a summer or two. Her father had always told us stories before bed, of monsters, of goblins, but mostly, of the angel of music. She always would talk about how he was there, singing to her, and guiding her. She would save a place for him at the dinner table, and sometimes would throw a fit or cry if she didn’t see him at a performance. And when we were young, it was an exciting thought, an angel, an imaginary friend following us around. Though when I met up with her a good 10 years later, it seemed as if her imagination had not let her go.
My performance went well, and of course my angel of music was there to praise me from his box at the opera the whole way through. It was my big break, and I wouldn’t disappoint him. Yes, I sung for him, with all of my breath, all of my voice and all of my soul, I was his. Angel had grown up with me; he was there through it all, he had been my best friend at my loneliest hours, and I loved him. At the end of the song I had fainted from exhaustion, lack of air, I never heard my diagnosis from the nurse, for I had a guest knocking at my door. I tried to tell the nurse not to answer, but my voice had denied me. Soon there was nothing but a young man. The moment I saw him, my heart jolted. He was handsome. He was important. But mostly. I knew him. He was a boy from my childhood. My angel of music had not been present in the room, but he was still with me. His voice reached my ears, hissing.
“Christine Daae, it has been far too long!”
You don’t know him Christine.
My angel must have sensed I had a connection with this boy, he was jealous.
“Christine, I don’t know if you recognize me, I am Raoul. We used to play together as children, out by the sea. I dived for your red scarf.”
I remembered that scarf. At that moment I could tell you exactly where I stored it. I wore it all the time. But still, my angel was persistent about his instructions.
Laugh at him. Make him go away.
And just like that, I giggled at the poor, eager fool sitting in front of me. He frowned.
“Oh, please say you remember me!”
He reached for my hand but I swatted him away.
“Nurse, please. I do not know this man.”
Soon he was being hustled to the doorway by the nurse, as I sat with apologetic eyes. How had my Raoul not known that I wished for him to keep me company? Did he not remember that I must stay obedient to my angel of music’s every command? I did not want to lose my angel, and yet, with Raoul just reach away, I don’t think I would let him get away so easily either.
There she was, just past these walls, just on the other side of my mirrors. A woman, who I had not known of, had not met, and yet, I wanted her. Her voice had filled my domain, the catacombs of the opera house, and it hypnotically dragged me up to her room after the performance. I waited until the vicompte had left the room; I waited for the nurse to leave as well. Finally, when she was alone, I spoke to the girl, Christine Daae. I called her name, softly, not to scare her, but to lure her to me. She looked up, with a warm smile on her face as if she were expecting me.
“Angel of music! Please show yourself.”
I smiled wickedly behind my mask. This poor child thought I was her angel of music. But for the love of me, I knew I could not disappoint her. Perhaps it did not help that it was the perfect chance for me to take her under my wing. I began to sing slowly, persuading her further more that I was her angel. She momentarily closed her eyes, as if she melted inside my song. When it was over she opened her eyes once more and ran toward the mirror, which I hid behind. I was frightened and took a step back. She began to sob, her tears smearing and staining the glass.
“Oh please, angel! Show yourself to me! Take me away from here!”
This woman’s wish would be my command. She had a power over me unlike anyone I had ever known. Not my mother, the gypsies, the Khanum, not even my trusty Daroga. No this woman was unlike anyone I had ever met. And I had fallen in love with her, just by hearing her sing and I was determined to teach her how to love me in return. With that thought in mind, I opened the two way mirror, which also sets as a door and reached my hand out to her, knowing very well, I now had a lie to keep up with.
#Phantom of the Opera
THE IDEAS FOR THIS PHAN FICTION
I LOVE IT.
will post a link to the first chapter when finished.
#Phantom of the Opera