DISCLAIMER: I like keeping these short and sweet. I only own my original characters, and a few original songs, which will be notated as they appear in the chapters. Otherwise, all content belongs to its respective owners.
I really am terrible at first chapters, so if the first few aren't to your liking, please stick with it a little longer!
xoxo
"Raoul, what is it?" Christine asked as her husband read a letter that had just arrived by post. She hadn't seen such a disturbed expression on his face since three yearsago, since what she called their 'grand escape' from the Opera Populaire. "Darling, what's wrong?"
"My brother Dimitri is dead," he replied somberly. "He was killed by burglars in his home." He glanced once again at the letter and shook his head. "His daughter has no place else to go,"
"Then why are we hesitating?" Christine asked warmly. "We'll have her here."
"She is here," Raoul said, looking outside at the mail carrier's carriage. "She refuses to come out of the carriage."
"Perhaps you should speak to her," Christine said, "It might help, speaking to family. She just lost her parents,"
Raoul nodded and walked warily out to the carriage, where he could see through the window, a young girl sitting with her arms crossed inside.
"I can hear you coming," she said quietly. "And I'm not going with you."
"Then where do you propose that you're going to stay?" he asked, cocking his head to one side patronizingly.
"I'm old enough to stay in my father's old home," she snapped. "It's mine anyway, isn't it?"
"Well, yes," Raoul said unsurely, 'But you're only seventeen. That's not at all old enough to live on your own."
"It shouldn't be old enough to be an orphan, either,' she said in a slightly muffled voice. "Most things aren't as they should be." She opened the carriage door, but did not come out. Raoul felt a slight stab as he looked upon the young girl who looked so much like his brother. Her dark eyes and brown hair would have been plain, but with Dimitri's strong, exquisite features, the girl exuded a sort of strength and grace. "You don't want me here. I know it." She continued.
"You're family," he said simply.
"Yes, family," she said in a slightly mocking voice. "But do you even know my name?" Raoul turned his gaze downwards and shook his head. "Gabrielle."
"Come inside," he said strongly. Gabrielle glared slightly at him, but stepped out of the carriage resentfully. "This is my wife, Christine,"
Gabrielle nodded politely, but went no further in introducing herself.
"Your father spoke of you in his letters often," Raoul said. "He said you had a lovely singing voice, and that you and he sang together all the time."
"Oh, do sing for us," Christine said, trying to sound as amiable as possible. Gabrielle shook her head fervently.
"I don't sing," she said defiantly. "My father must have told you wrong."
"No, I'm sure he told me so, quite repeatedly." Raoul insisted. "I'm sure—"
"I do not." She interrupted. "If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to go to sleep. It's getting a bit late."
Raoul, seeing no use in trying to change the girl's mind, led her up to a spare room, then followed Christine up into their chambers, where they fell asleep without incident.
Christine, however, would not sleep peacefully. She tossed and turned fitfully, all the while hearing a voice in her dreams.
"I am your angel of music…
Come to me, angel of music…"
"No," she muttered quietly. "Leave me alone…"
Raoul was woken by her voice, and turned to her. "Darling, wake up," he said. "You're dreaming again, Christine."
"Go away," she whimpered quietly. "Please…"
Raoul shook her until her eyes opened. She saw his face, and immediately threw her arms around him. "He won't go away," she said quietly, nearly whispering it into his ear. "I can't forget him. He keeps calling out to me. He wants me to go back…"
"But you won't," he said adamantly. "Whatever it takes, I'll see to that. You never need to lay eyes on him again,"
"I'll be his victim until he finds another," Christine sobbed. "There will never be another."
"Then what can we do?" Raoul asked.
"Anything…" Christine said frantically. "Everything…oh god, Raoul, just let him find anyone else…" she looked up toward the open door and into the hallway. "Gabrielle."
"What?" Raoul asked.
"Bring her to Paris," Christine said, her voice rising in pitch, but not in volume, so as not to be heard. "Take her to the Opera Populaire,"
"You're talking about my brother's child," Raoul said in disbelief. "You expect me to bring her there? It won't change anything,"
"But if the Phantom wants her…" Christine began. "Then I can be free, Raoul! Isn't that what you want?"
"You know it is," he said weakly.
"Whatever it takes, you said," she defended.
"But my brother's child!" Raoul said.
"Whatever it takes," she repeated, sounding slightly crazed. "If you love me…" she let the condition hang in the air, staring up into her husband's eyes.
He blinked and sighed in resignation. "I'll bring her tomorrow," he said with regret.
"Leaving again," Gabrielle sighed as she and Raoul stepped into a carriage the next morning. "I suppose I should get used to it." Raoul merely closed the door behind them. He could barely speak, for fear that he would vomit. He felt sick at the thought of what he was possibly doing.
He knew in his heart that the Phantom would never come after this girl. Gabrielle was nothing that he was looking for, and would never replace Christine. But, to even bring her to that place, to even put her in the presence of that creature, Gabrielle's father would be outraged.
Gabrielle stared out the window as the scenery passed by. She had been to Paris before, but had never been to the Opera Populaire. She had always longed to go there with her father, but now, it seemed pointless. It hit her at that moment…
"You're taking me to the Opera," she said mournfully. "I told you, I don't sing,"
"Christine said it might be good for you to go," Raoul said, clearing his throat. "She knows the ballet instructor, Madame Giry."
"Even better," she said sarcastically. "Now I'm going to be a dancer, when I've never danced a minute in my life. How fun."
"Please," Raoul said impatiently. "My head hurts terribly. Would you please be quiet a moment."
"With pleasure," she mumbled.
Eventually, the landscape of the peaceful countryside melted into the city backdrop of Paris. A childish smile spread across Gabrielle's face when she first laid eyes on the Opera Populaire, until she realized that she had already resigned herself to hating the place. She replaced the smile with a melancholy grimace once again, but Raoul had seen that brief glimpse of the child within that stony exterior.
He took her hand and brought her out of the carriage and into the building. He gasped deeply upon seeing it once again, remembering what events had transpired when he had last set foot there. Contrary to what he expected, the place was not in shambles. The chandelier that had fallen on that fateful night was still absent, replaced by many smaller lights scattered throughout the theatre. Some of the seats seemed dusted over, as though the theatre had not held a full house in quite a long time. Up on the stage, Madame Giry was teaching a group of dancers.
"Monsieur le Vicomte," she said respectfully upon noticing him. "Who is this young lady you have with you?"
"My niece," he said gently. "Christine wishes for her…to be taught," he said, emphasizing the last three words. Madam Giry raised her eyebrows slightly, showing that she understood.
"I see," she said. "Very well. May I get you anything before you return home?"
"Oh, no," Raoul said, "I'd rather not impose. You all seem quite preoccupied." He nodded and left in quite a hurry. As he returned to the carriage, he futilely tried to swallow back the tears of guilt he felt creeping up on him.
"Mademoiselle," Madame Giry said obligingly.
"Gabrielle," she corrected.
"Very well, Gabrielle then." She corrected, "This is my daughter, Meg. You appear to be nearly the same age. You appear about eighteen. Meg is twenty-two."
"Just so you know, I don't really dance." Gabrielle said nervously.
"Then do you sing?" Madame Giry asked.
"No!" Gabrielle said frantically. She flinched at the way her voice echoed around the empty theater, but the sound calmed her substantially. "I mean, no, madame. I don't."
Giry looked at her suspiciously. And sighed. "Very well then. Meg, would you show her to…Miss Daae's old room?"
Meg looked at her mother questioningly, but did not speak. She merely smiled at Gabrielle and brought her to the room. She looked back over her shoulder to make sure no one was nearby.
"You'll want to be careful in here," she said compassionately. "The last girl we had in here…she was my best friend. Awful things happened to her. The phantom—"
Meg paused and looked at Gabrielle's questioning face. "Nothing," she interrupted herself. "It's just an old story." Meg put her smile back on. The Opera Ghost was gone, and there was no use scaring a new girl with yet another story.
"All right," Gabrielle sighed. "Could you do me a small favor?" Meg nodded. "Tell your mother I don't want to dance. Perhaps you need another girl in the choir?"
"Oh, yes," Meg said, "She'll agree to it, I'm sure." Meg bowed out of the room and left Gabrielle to her thoughts.
Her father had wanted so badly to take her here one day, she remembered. They had shared so many secret dreams, so many ambitions that they'd carry out together. After her mother had died, Gabrielle was all that Dimitri had left. He took such good care of her, and lavished her so wonderfully, it was unlikely that Gabrielle had ever even bumped her head or scraped her knee. She spent her days standing contently next to her father as he sat on the piano bench and played songs way into the night.
For nearly a month now, since Dimitri had died, there was no music. Gabrielle would try to hum a melody to console herself, only to find that it hurt her more than it helped.
She lay down on her new bed, the second new bed she'd lain in for two days, and fell quickly asleep.
Meanwhile, in the deeper reaches of the theatre, a lone masked man sat on a throne, remembering the woman that he had loved. He remembered his music, which had long been silenced. He remembered the joys he may have possibly had, which had so narrowly eluded him.
And, for the first time in a long time, he remembered his own name. He had never had any need for it, and had pushed it into the deepest recesses of his mind. Erik…