Phantom of the Opera: My Story(Part One)

CHAPTER ONE:

Christine POV

The girls of the rich countryside in west Paris stood beneath the roof of my father's house, which overhung a porch, chatting about the weird girl. Me, Christine Daae.

Not that I really noticed at the time, I was too busy dodging crossfire of snowballs to feel that insecure. Then again, I was only seven, so I don't know if I'd ever felt insecure before.

I was a rambunctious little hellion, as agile as a monkey and as cunning as a fox, yet as graceful as a swallow. I was completely different than any of the others, and glad to be. I saw no fun in long boring parties, or posing for boys. I'd rather batter them with snowballs, which I was currently doing.

I had many companions within the ranks of the rich boys, many of which as well versed in roughhousing as any of the farm boys or gypsies that lived on many of the same countryside roads. I had learned from them how to play like a boy, better than most of them, to tell you the truth.

Often on afternoons, I wouldn't be daydreaming of a princess in a fairy tale or of the handsomest man in the world. I usually would be thinking of a life of adventure: swordfights and kidnappers! I would dream of being kidnapped sometimes, I liked the idea as a child.

This of course was the most shocking news to the lords and ladies of the country. A girl shouldn't act rough. She should be genteel and discreet! They would often scold me about this, wagging their pudgy pampered fingers. They all wanted their little sons and daughters to marry other little sons and daughters, just to keep the fortune within the aristocracy. What surprised me was that all the daughters agreed!

I couldn't imagine marrying a rich pretty boy, sitting around the house all day. I had pictured marrying someone exciting, full of danger with actual personality. Many who I imagined as candidates when I was little would have made the woman swoon in shock. None of them wanted their daughters to marry pirates or gypsies.

Luckily for me, my father thought the same way as I did. He was a man of the people, and I suppose that's where I got my strong sense of social justice. We would never turn a blind eye to the weary traveler, and would help anyone who asked.

He, unlike many other parents, hadn't betrothed me to anyone yet, and I was grateful for that. Though I had matured enough to enjoy the idea of marriage, I did not want to be tied down, and certainly not with the boy everyone chose for me.

The only boy I could be betrothed to would be have to match my father's fortune, making him the richest boy in the entire countryside. Unfortunately, he was also the most annoying. To my displeasure, he had just pulled up to our winter home.

The carriage he rode in was fit to carry his entire family, but he was far too self-absorbed to ride with another person. A page jumped out of nowhere and opened the door, which had the insignia of a pigeon on it.

He stepped down onto the slushy snow, hardly getting any of it on his nearly matching boots. His thin, quite gangly, legs where stuck in overly tight hose, slightly hidden by his jaunty riding coat. Long, girlish hair, shinier than the silver coins that more than certainly inhabited his pocket, curled around his ears and jaw line in a somewhat cute manner. The girls beneath the porch sighed with infatuation. Raoul de Chagny had made his entrance.

I rolled my eyes. He was such a stuck-up little creep! Every girl was smitten with him, only because of his massive wealth, and supposed 'good looks'. I didn't see what was that attractive about him, but then again, I was only seven at that time. I tried to make it known I loathed him, but it obviously didn't matter, for of all the girls I had the most money, instantly crowning me the object of his affections. I didn't have to deal with him for the moment, for the young ballerina girl I had been talking with shortly before the snowball fight ensued came back from the washroom.

Father had been hoping to sign me up in with the Paris Opera House's ballet program. I was actually quite pleased with this decision. I was immensely interested in dance and theatre, having seen many productions during the summers. I had practiced ice-skating ever since I was four on the nearby pond to perfect my form and Father had finally decided to let me pursue dancing seriously.

So, he had invited the ballet mistress to his annual winter gala. It hadn't turned out as boring as I thought it would be, for she had brought along her daughter, who was about my age.

I liked this girl, which was a surprise because I didn't have that many friends. She seemed less cowardly than the others I had met up to then.

"Oh, ballerina girl! Ballerina girl!" I called, for I had forgotten her name. She laughed, sprinting over to me while ducking to avoid a rather chunky snowball.

"My name is Meg, Miss Daae," she reminded me, not offended I had forgotten.

"Oh, all right," I agreed, liking her friendly disposition. She smiled for a moment before catching sight of something over my shoulder. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes widen in adoration. I turned to see what she gawked at. Of course, it was Raoul. Behind him stood his nearly identical brother Philippe who was sulking the background (he was very shy by nature). So he hadn't ridden alone after all. I should applaud him.

"Who is that?" she asked, sounding as if she wasn't fully conscious. I made a noise of disgust and she looked at me with confusion.

"You don't like him?" she asked, surprised. I shook my head furiously.

"He's terrible! He keeps following me around trying to kiss me!"

Meg giggled shyly, her gaze still on Raoul.

"Maybe he likes you. Maybe he wants to marry you!" she suggested, tittering softly. Raoul had spotted us, but was distracted by his page. He looked over at me with his dazzling blue eyes.

"I'll be there in a moment, Little Lotte," he called to me with a grin that showed his perfectly white teeth.

I narrowed my hazel eyes with annoyance at him, but he had already looked away. Meg obviously didn't see this either.

"Aw! He has a pet name for you! How~"

"He doesn't even know my name!" I hollered at her, deeply disgusted by what he had called me. I absolutely despised that name ever since he started calling me that.

"He doesn't?" She seemed confused.

"He thinks my name is Charlotte," I muttered quietly, withdrawing after my sudden outburst.

"Your name isn't Charlotte?" I turned away with clenched fists to stop myself from giving her a dirty look. I jumped back, startled by the sudden nearness of Raoul. I regained my composure, pushing my snow-covered hair behind my ear.

"Good day, Raoul. I must be going now~" He caught my wrist and spun me back around.

"I have to talk with you," he insisted ignorant to my animosity. I raised a questioning eyebrow, shaking my hand free and bending over.

"I'm sorry, I really have to~" He whirled me around again, but this time I was ready.

Taking the handful of snow I had picked up, I slammed the cold powder into his handsome face. There were cries of horror all around, including from him, but I didn't mind. In fact, I was actually smiling. Served him right, calling me that disgusting name.

He wiped the cold flakes off his cheeks, flushed red at this point.

"What'd you do that for?" he asked, the whine prevalent in his voice. I laughed, shrugging my shoulders. He shook his head, removing the excess snow.

"Well, you should be glad it didn't get on my suit, do you know how much this~ AH!"

He screamed, for I had just smeared snow onto his brand new shirt with my other hand.

"It costs a lot less now!" I told him cheerfully, dusting my hands off in a 'job well done' manner. Meg had backed up, obviously wanting him to know she didn't support any of what I was doing.

He jumped around like an idiot for a moment, before brushing off the rather small clump of snow from his jacket. He glared up at me, very offended by my action. Served him right, last week he nearly ripped the arm off my toy monkey when he wanted to see it.

"Why do you insist on torturing me?" he yelled, holding the wet spot on his jacket as though it were a battle wound. I smiled devilishly, as he asked.

"No one else will," I replied, laughing as I said it. He pouted as he scowled, nearly making me scream with mirth.

"Well, you better start being nicer to me, Little Lotte!" I winced. Oh, how I hated that name! "We're going to be betrothed soon!"

I nearly gagged. Betrothed? Father hadn't told me about that!

"We are not!" I retorted childishly, more confidently than I felt. It was more than probable that we were betrothed or going to be. Especially with the amount of money Raoul's family had inherited so quickly.

"Yes, we are!" he protested back, hands on his hips. I crossed my arms, biting my lip to stop from pouting as well.

"Father would never let me marry a… a girly boy!" I insulted quickly, trying to distract Raoul. I really did not want to envision our wedding. I might be sick. Thankfully, my ploy worked. He turned deepest red, bordering on maroon.

"I'm not girly!" he screeched at me, flicking his long hair over his shoulder. I smirked.

"Yes, you are. You can't even take a snowball!" I jeered, laughing to increase his embarrassment. He jabbed his finger at me angrily.

"Oh, yeah? Well, I dare you to come out on the pond with me!" he challenged, pointing to the frozen lake which had been populated by ducks that summer. I looked at him, unimpressed.

I ice-skated every winter, and he was daring me to come out on the ice with him? There really was no challenge in that. It wasn't the usual pond I skated on, but it surely wasn't that much different?

I shrugged, following him over to it.

"Are you sure that's safe, Charlotte?" Meg called to me, forgetting that wasn't my name. I waved her concern away. It was a pond, what harm would it do to me?

Third person POV

Gustave Daae had finally gotten the chance to talk with the woman he had been meaning to speak to all day: Antoinette Giry. The other blue bloods had tried to hog him for hours at a time, and he had just snuck away from the last of them.

He knew the taut faced woman was the ballet mistress at the Paris Opera House, for they had met once before. She stood near the corner, looking out the window at the children playing in the front garden. He was excited to speak with her. His little Christine was suited to be a ballerina, and would most likely climb to the ranks of a leading lady.

"Antoinette!" he cried, hurrying over to her.

"Monsieur! I had been thinking I would never get to talk with you!" she chortled softly, pulling him over to the corner.

"Your daughter seems quite keen to dance, I saw her frolicking around in the yard. A little jumping frog, she is!" she joked, taking a sip of wine from her goblet. He laughed, so deeply it was like the rumble of thunder.

"Yes, she's quite an agile girl, and feisty like her mother!" He paused with remembrance. "I didn't marry who everyone thought I would, you know, but I suppose arranged marriages are never meant to last, don't you agree?" Antoinette just gazed at him thoughtfully.

"Gustave, I don't mean to intrude, but… all of Paris is talking about it. Are you accepting the Viscomtess de Chagny's offer?" His smile faded, as he shook his head.

"It's not that I don't approve of her son. Raoul is quite the handsome boy, but I've always felt it is up to Christine to decide who she wants to marry." Madame Giry surveyed him with her eagle eyes.

"No matter if she married someone beneath her?" she questioned curiously.

"I would be happy for her if she married… the ugliest man in all of Paris!"

Madame Giry made a face, which made Gustave suspicious she really did know the ugliest man in all of Paris.

He noticed her looking over his shoulder and gave her a questioning look.

"Didn't you tell everyone that no one was allowed on the pond?" she asked, to his surprise. He thought he had gone over this at the beginning of the evening.

"Yes, it's very unstable, and someone could fall through the ice. Why?" She pointed over his shoulder and he turned.

Stepping tentatively across the pond was Raoul de Chagny and Christine.

Christine POV

I pushed myself effortlessly across the ice, laughing at Raoul who stumbled and shuffled along, barely off the short embankment. I glided a couple of figure eights, waving to Meg who stood on the bank. Raoul looked over at me, struggling to move.

"Stop laughing at me!" he complained, very immaturely.

I just laughed all the more, singing, "Raoul can't skate! Raoul can't skate!" He didn't seem to be mad; rather he looked utterly mesmerized by my voice. I smiled to myself. My father had trained me himself, and blessed me with a secret angel. The Angel of Music to be exact.

I had never met my angel, but I often dreamed of the adventures we could have. Whenever I thought of a husband, I imagined of someone like my angel, not knowing his exact features.

Raoul seemed to shake himself from whatever stupor he had just been in, and returned to his attempts to stand.

I watched him for a while, merely for entertainment. I suppose if I hadn't, I would have seen the cracks in the ice that were beginning to form.

"Charlotte! Look out!" Meg called from the bank. I would have ignored her, had it not been for the sensation of shifting ice beneath my feet. I looked where I was going.

The ice had split open to a large frosty pool of water and I was heading straight for it. I tried to slow down, but my legs went numb. I was sliding uncontrollably towards the gaping, mouth-like hole, and cold water as blue as Raoul's eyes. I screamed, swinging my arms like windmills, to slow myself down.

Suddenly, someone caught me around the middle and threw me over top of the hole. I collapsed on the far bank, and looked around to see who my rescuer was.

I turned in time to see my father slip down the crack and into the icy water.

"PAPA!" I howled, nearly jumping in after him. He surfaced, gulping air down greedily as he tried to pull himself out.

"Papa, papa!" I cried, forgetting I was much too old to call him such a name. I stretched my hand out, but he didn't take it.

"Y-you aren't st-strong enough, Chrissy," he told me, pushing it away. I knew then that he wasn't all right, for he only called me Chrissy when he was seriously distressed.

Large servants who usually dealt with the horses suddenly appeared, throwing me roughly aside. I toppled into the snow face first, but pulled myself out quickly so I could look back at Father. They pulled him out and stood him up on his quivering legs.

He was shaking like mad and his face was bluish in colour. He collapsed backwards into the servants' arms and I heard him mumble, "Send the guests home, and get the doctor."

It was a long and restless night for me. I tried to get to sleep, but just when I'd drift off, I'd wake up all clammy and cold. Poor Papa, I was too young to realize what had happened to him. It was two in the morning when my maid, Margery, shook me awake.

"Your father is ill, and is dying," she told me in a whisper, causing me to cry out in shock. "He wants to see you."

I let her drag me from the room, feeling half dead. Father was going to die; I would never see him again. I had learned what dying meant when Mother had passed, but Father had always been there for me. Now he would be gone, and I'd never be with him ever again.

I burst into the room, rushing to his bedside. He lay as still as a corpse in his bed, his face blank as one as well.

"Papa?" I asked, unsurely. His eyes flickered over to me.

"My Christine," he murmured, his hand finding my cheek and cupping it gently.

"Papa, oh, Papa! What's going to happen to me? I won't be able to live without you!" I wailed, not fully understanding then what that meant. His thumb pressed over my lips, like it always did when I was upset.

"You'll go to the opera house, and you will be the greatest singer in Paris someday," he promised, probably a little delirious at this time.

"But Papa, you're the only one who can teach me to sing! How will I be able to be the greatest in all of Paris?" I questioned, grasping his deathly cold hand. I could tell he was fading fast, and so could he.

"My child," he whispered, his voice growing hoarse. "When I am in Heaven, I will send you the Angel of Music, and he ~" He broke off, coughing so harshly his entire body racked in pain.

He fell back, his eyes starting to close. I clung to him tighter, desperate not to let him go.

"Christine…"

"Yes, Papa?" With all the energy he had left, he gave my hand one last squeeze.

"It is your choice," he whispered and exhaled for the last time.

Only then did it truly sink in. There would be no more late evening violin playing, or feeding the ducks in the summer. I wouldn't wake up to his smiling face, or ice skate with him. No more tales of the Angel of Music, and no more adventure games.

There was nothing now. My world was nothing without him, and I would never have him back again.

Only then did I begin to cry.

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