Name: Nina |
Gender: Female |
Age: 22 |
Posts: 9 |
||12-17-2011 at 03:44 AM
Angel of Music
(Performer Is Offline)
Love Which Divides
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Here's the first bit of a fan fiction I'm writing. Hope you like it!
"The Phantom is there!"
Meg Giry scrambled up the bank, clothes dripping from the tepid water. She paused, staring in awe of this homelike place which was the genius's domain. It was utterly dedicated to music; the centerpiece of the somewhat grotesque place was the massive organ with which the phantom had composed his Don Juan Triumphant. Papers filled with notes and pieces of half-written arias were scattered across the dampened floor with the Phantom's evidently hasty exit. One room remained pristine, as though it had never been touched by the hands of men since it had been aranged; this was the room meant for Christine Daa'e. It was clearly the most lavish room in the place. Candles illuminated the entire catacome with an eerie glow which sent shivers up her spine. Meg had only a few seconds to observe this enchanting place before the crowd entered and bustled about.
"Where did he go??"
"He couldn't have gone far!"
The crowd chattered angrily until a voice stood out among the rest. It was Carlotta Guidicelli.
"We'll burn him out! He can't escape us then!"
The crowd stood in shock for a moment then shouted in furious agreement. Meg's heart sank with horror. Everything would be destroyed, all evidence of the musical demon would be lost forever.
"No! Y-you can't! Everything he built is here! The music! It's all here!"
No one heard her cries over the din. The crowd began to destroy all that was in sight; the organ was smashed to pieces, the carefully laid out rooms vandalized before her eyes. Then, as the candles were scattered they began to burn. As each piece of wood or cloth caught fire it blazed faster and faster until the room was almost too hot to bear. The crowd cheered and rejoiced, then retreated back to the water where the fire would burn out. Meg stared in horror and despair at the papers of brilliant scripture as they floated on wings of flame into nonexistence. On an impulse, she suddenly dove into the inferno and ran through one of the many mirrors. This was the Phantom's lair, so she assumed this mirror has more to it than what was evident. She was correct; Meg passed right through the mirror. She found herself at the entrance of a passageway; the mirror swung back, leaving her alone in the cool and dark.
****Her breath slowed to a normal pace, and once she had gathered her wits she slowly proceeded down the corridor, feeling her way until her eyes adjusted. If the others had found this place they needn't have bothered to burn the Phantom's lair, Meg thought. He must be here somewhere. Feeling like an intruder, she hesitantly spoke. "Hello...? Are you there, um...Mr. Phantom?"
"Of course, Little Meg."
Suddenly Meg felt the rough scratch of a hemp lasso loop around her neck.
Meg started, her eyes flying open. Miss Fleck, the Phantom's assistant (employed under unexplainable conditions) stood over her bed with her face only a few inches from her own. *
"What the heck!" Meg screeched, quite unladylike. "You didn't have to wake me up like that!"
Miss Fleck pursed her lips. "Mr. Y would like to see you. He said it was urgent."
"All right, all right.. I'm getting up."
Miss Fleck sauntered out of the room and shut the door. Somehow, this woman never ceased to unnerve her. Meg flopped her head back onto her pillow and groaned. For weeks the same nightmare had assaulted her each night. Even though this time it had been interrupted, the rest continued to play in her head as she forced herself out of bed to change.
****Once the Phantom had nearly killed her with his Punjab lasso, her mother had arrived just in time to save her. She then told the Phantom of her plans to ship off to America (Of which Meg had been previously unaware) and offered to take him with them. He grudgingly accepted, and they were on their way the following morning. Arriving at Coney Island, the Phantom soon found work as an entertainer under the name Mr. Y. He performed many astounding feats of magic and was a hit among his viewers. Being a showman, his mask was assumed to be part of his act so it was overlooked. His attraction became so popular that he decided to open his own show, which he fittingly named Phantasma. This was still in progress, and the inner workings were unknown to both Meg and her mother.
She mused for a bit as she tied her stylish high-heeled boots, then left her room. She crossed the hall into the kitchen, grabbed a bun from the table and proceeded out the foyer. The building which Madame Giry and her daughter inhabited was temporary; the Phantom, in payment for smuggling him out of Paris, said he would allow them to live in his building once the attraction was completed. Neither of them had been able to see more than the outside, which was completed four months ago. Construction appeared to be at a standstill, but since the park was not open it was clearly still in progress. As Meg approached the massive gates, she saw Miss Fleck waiting by the entrance. Meg was assured from this fact that her conjecture was correct; Phantasma was in operation.
"Mr. Y will see you now."
Meg nodded hesitantly, and as the massive gates opened she walked inside the Phantom's new lair.
****The sight before her eyes literally took her breath away. This fairground was comparable to no other; singularly, it was inside. The domed ceiling gave way for a matrix of performing platforms, trapeze bars hanging overhead, tight wires and gymnastic equipment. A massive carousel adorned the center of this indescribable place. The room was bathed in an enchanting violet shade which pleasantly disoriented the senses. Somehow the Phantom had designed a fuel which would glow that particular color. At the end of this massive dome there stood a stage. This part of the place was designed completely differently from the rest; instead of showy glitter and shine, the theatre was quite regal; the French influence was evident. This stage was almost more beautiful than the one he had helped create for the Palais Garnier. Violet velvet curtains adorned the foremost part of the stage, embroidered with gold trim. The wood was a rich mahogany, carved into shapes of performing showmen with the expertise of a master. The opulence overloaded the senses, both terrifying and exciting her. This was true genius.
"Welcome to my domain."
Meg froze as the disembodied voice filled the place. Somewhere, the Phantom heard and saw everything in his kingdom from the safety of the walls once again.
"Meg. This is not a place to be used by one man alone. I must have a show, one with the best and brightest performers available. You must find such people for me; if you do this, I swear you will not regret it."
Meg swallowed, then spoke:
"Sure, I'll do it."
Christine gazed out of her bedroom window at Le' heure bleu sunset. The view from Raul's french home was spectacular, yet it merely caused her dark mood to sink even lower into the depths of oblivion. The sound of silence still felt foreign to her ears, even after three months; she had grown up in the bustling city of Paris and to her the noise was pleasant. But Raul had forbidden her to sing at the Opera Populaire ever since the terrible night when she had been stolen from the world into the heart of the opera *house.
****Since that account, no one ever dreamed that sweet, innocent Christine would tell anything but the truth about what had transpired. No one knew that she had a choice. When the Phantom had appeared on the stage instead of Ubaldo Piangi, she was ready to devote her life to Raul. But as the two of them sang his rapturous duet, she finally understood where the true beauty was. It all made sense; music was the only form of communication that extended far past race, gender, society or appearance. Without music, there was nothing. She knew that only Erik, the one man who most terrified and inspired her could give her life meaning. At the final climax of the duet, no one heard the Phantom whisper in her ear. *
"I am not a selfish man. You deserve to live in light, where no darkness can reach you. I will keep you here no longer."
But Christine had made her decision.
"Take me with you."
It was then that she tore off his mask.
Raul found the two of them in Erik's lair and was nearly strangled to death. *The Phantom was forced to let Raul take Christine away because of the angry crowd who were set on murdering him; that much was absolutely true. But even though Christine loved Raul with all her heart, she still longed for the music which Erik could have bestowed upon her.
It was not this fact which made Christine's mood so foul at the moment. The midwife had delivered news which utterly threw her whole world upside down; she was pregnant.
What should have been a happy occasion for the two was shadowed by Christine's unhappiness. Sure, Roull had been overjoyed with the news but she felt far too young to handle a household. Also, this child was not Raul's; Erik was the father.
***The night after Raul took her away from the opera house she returned, and when she found the Phantom still alive the two found themselves tangled in the sheets. This guilt weighed heavily on her mind.
****A knock on the door snapped her out of her reverie.
"Who is it?"
"It's me, little Lottie."
The mahogany door opened and Raul stepped into the room.
"What are you doing in here, all alone?"
"Oh, I was just thinking..."
"About what?" Raul sat beside her in one of the chairs in her room.
"Nothing, really. Just thoughts."
"Well, I hope it's about our child." He said kindly and kissed her neck.
"Raul, stop it..."
Christine shifted away from him, but he moved a little closer and kissed her again.
"Come, you know you want it."
"Stop it...!" Christine's complaints turned to giggles and she kissed him back. Somehow, he always knew how to make her smile. *Raul looked into her eyes and his expression became serious.
"I know what you were thinking of... But you must try to forget the theatre! I will provide everything for us. Our child will be well cared for without you ever having to sing another note."
Instead of relief, a strange pang of sadness rose in her heart at the thought of her voice never again being used for song.
"Now, we must prepare to leave. The banquet with the Count can't wait."
Christine nodded, and Raul left her in her room, just like all those months before when the phantom had first appeared.
The intensity of the moonlight was quite unpleasant, Erik mused as he stood above the tremulterous mass of color and sound. He missed the mask of fog which so defined Paris, the safety of the underground. But aside from that, it was the memory of Christine which made the Phantom completely immerse himself in his craftsmanship. In a way, this place of indescribable magic and beauty was part memorial, part shrine dedicated to that voice which he coveted so dearly. It was the hope of hearing her once more which kept his heart beating. However, it was not merely for her sake that he wished for this. His reason was far more selfish. Since then, the only music he had been able to write was sick vaudeville trash, nothing compared with even his worst compositions. These ones he had previously tossed into the flame. But his show was expected to dazzle the mind and excite, something he soon found to be incredibly simple to do. Large sets, large performances, large music. Anything larger than life would do. And that Meg Giry is the center of all this, he thought ruefully. She was good at what she did; she was the epitome of flounce, flair, style and cheekiness. The audience lapped her up like over-sweetened honey, which was why the Phantom had made her the centerpiece of Phantasma. She was no Christine, whose gentle innocence and hidden power was enough to capture any audience. Ah, how he longed for her to take his show from a mere entertainment center to a glorious capital of Coney Island!