A/N: Originally, this story was written and posted a few summers ago. I have gone back through it and edited/tweaked some things. This is major AU, but I have tried to maintain canon-characterizations and preserve the integrity of the music.
I do not own "The Phantom of the Opera;" Just borrowing.
(see profile for further notes)
Chapter 1: Opera Populaire Opera House, Paris, France, 1881
It is just as I remember! Oh my beautiful opera house…how I have missed you… your tunnels…your hidden secrets…I thought I would never see you again…
"Mademoiselle?"
Christine Daaé snapped back to the present. The impatient carriage driver held out a calloused, grimy hand.
"Oh! Forgive me, Monsieur." Christine reached into her reticule and pulled out a few francs to pay for her passage into Paris. "Here you are."
The man tipped his cap and rumbled away down the crowded cobblestone street. Christine watched him go until he disappeared around the corner. Christine suddenly felt very alone. She gazed up at the double doors of the Opera Populaire. As much as she had dreamed of this moment, she somehow couldn't force herself to walk up the stone steps.
It has been 10 years...you have suffered too much to stop now…
She took a deep breath. Lifting her heavy travelling skirts above her ankles, Christine slowly ascended towards the entrance. Hesitantly, she opened the door and walked into the elaborate foyer. She gasped.
"It is beautiful." She whispered to herself. The sparkling marble floors and statues radiated the brilliance of the opera house. Ornate paintings and exquisite artwork decorated the vast room. Christine stared open-mouthed at the beauty of her old playground.
"Miss? Can I 'elp ye?"
An older woman with an unidentifiable brogue approached her.
"What? Oh, f-forgive me," Christine stuttered, "It is just so…"
The maid nodded appreciatively "Exquisite no? Aye. But I donnae get paid for standing 'round doin' nothin' so state ye business miss…?"
"Daaé. Christine Daaé. I am here to see Madame Giry. Are the Giry's still living here?"
The maid scoffed. "Aye. And as demandn' as ev'r. The old woman still rules with an iron fist." The woman leaned forward and whispered. "Though not as strict since the Opera Ghost began his reign."
"Opera Ghost?" Christine questioned.
"Where 'av ye been lass? 'Av ye not heard 'bout the Opera Ghost that haunts this place? Aye. Been here for the past decade so I'm told."
"Oh." Was all Christine said in reply. Ghost? But who would-
"But ye didnae hear it from me lass. Come on then, to the old hag I'll take ye."
Numbly, Christine followed the odd cleaning maid up the marble steps and towards the expansive stage. Christine thought about this "Ghost" as she walked. Who is he? I never ran into anything strange in the old passages... But…she said for the past ten years… maybe after I left…but who? Only Erik and I played in those passages…
Erik.
Christine shivered involuntarily.
"Christine! Christine! Wake up!"
The little girl moaned. She rubbed her eyes. "Papa?"
"Christine. Wake up…we are leaving."
"Leaving? Where are we going?"
"I'll explain on the way, Lotte. Pack your things."
"But Papa-"
"Now Lotte! We have to go before the others wake up!"
Shaking in fear, Christine packed the few belongings that she owned. In her short 9 years of life, Christine Aminta- Marie Daaé had seen her father in many states that terrified her. Only Madame Giry had provided an effective escape from her father's alcohol-induced escapades. But Antoinette was asleep on the other side of the opera house…
"Lotte!"
"I-I am ready Papa."
"Come. Be quiet. I don't want anyone to hear us. Understand?"
"Yes Papa, but-"
She couldn't finish. Her father had grabbed her wrist and practically dragged her through the theatre. Even though she couldn't see anything, she knew he was taking her towards the front double door entrance. She didn't want to leave. Antoinette, Meg, and Erik were here.
"Papa? Are we coming back?"
"Shut up Lotte."
She didn't say anything else until they had reached the foyer.
"Sit still, Christine."
Her father scuttled to the front door, trying to unlock them without the key.
"Papa?" she whispered, "Are coming back to see Madame Giry and Meg again?"
"No. We are moving to Marseille, on the coast. We will never come back to this haunted place again."
"But Papa! Who is going to sing with Erik? I can't leave him, Papa!"
"ERIK?" Her father turned on her with a look that haunted her in nightmares for weeks after."I told you to stay from that cursed, illegitimate-"
"Papa! Don't say that!" Christine cried. "He's my best friend I can't leave him! He doesn't have anyone, but me! Please Papa!"
Her father stormed towards her his face inches from hers.
"Quiet Christine! You are never going to see that half-human, gargoyle again!"
Christine's eyes filled with tears. "No, Papa, I am not leaving with you." She clenched her fist and backed up defensively and yelled at the top of her lungs. "MADAME GIRY! MADAME G-"
SLAP!
Christine flew to the floor, her face burning in pain.
"How dare you! You sniveling low-life! I have given you everything!"
"Gustave! What's all this noise? You're going to wake up Chris-" Antoinette Giry stopped short when she saw the little girl sobbing on the marble floor. "Mon dieu! What have you done Gustave?"
Christine was on the brink of emotional hysteria. "H-he is...making m-me l-leave."
"What's going on?" Giry glared at Gustave, her anger evident.
"Christine is my affair, not yours!"
"Her safety is my concern Gustave."
Christine sobbed, still lying prostrate on the cold, unfeeling ground. Then she felt a cool hand on her face.
"Christine?" the familiar voice whispered. "Are you alright?"
"E-Erik..." Christine hiccupped.
"Shhh…move your hand. Let me see your face."
"B-but it doesn't h-hurt anymore." She lied.
Young Erik gently moved Lotte's hand and looked into her deep brown eyes.
"I-I'll be f-fine, Erik..."
"Christine-"
"Go! If he sees you here, P-Papa is going to-"
"You! Get your filthy hands off my daughter!"
Gustave Daaé grabbed Erik by the shoulders, shaking him violently. "YOU!"
"Gustave!"
"Papa! No! Don't hurt him!"
"Miss Daaé? Here's the lady ye lookn' fer. Though I cannae imagine why." The older woman mumbled. The other woman didn't respond. "Miss? Ye alright? Ye lookn' mighty pale."
Christine abruptly pushed back the painful memories. "Y-yes. Thank you so much madame, I can take it from here."
Leaving the maid, Christine hastily walked towards the musical commotion at the back of the stage.
Antoinette…please… please help me forget…