The Phantom's Lair

Wishing you were somehow here again...: The waking world.

Reblogged from madmoiselle-christine-daae

Christine could not help but notice Raoul’s lips twitch in to a smile as he addressed her teasingly as ‘my lady’ – had they always had such an easy, playful relationship? She blushed bright pink as he kissed her hand, and she tried to stifle a girlish giggle of embarrassment. He was only being…

Erik paced the hidden passages ways of his opera house. Days she had been gone with the idiot patron, days! He knew that she was with him – he had watched from afar as they rode off together. The fact that he had heard the managers whispering about it in their office had done nothing to relieve his agitation. How dare some pathetic nobleman keep him from her! He knew he must do something soon, but for once, he was at a loss for how to proceed. Threatening notes had already been written for both Andre and Firmin, both had been answered with similar messages stating that Christine would only return after she had the medical attention necessary. Erik himself had seen to her wounds, he knew that there was nothing lasting about her injuries, save for the memory loss. And memory, on occasion, had to be triggered in order to return. Living in some stranger’s house was not going to help her in any way.

Erik froze as he heard the sound of yet another carriage. So many had stopped by the opera, as they do every day, yet with every one that arrived, he had to check. He had to know if she had returned to him. With less enthusiasm as he had on the previous days, he maneuvered through his hidden passages until he found one that appeared near a window overlooking the road outside of the opera.

He felt as though his heart had ceased to beat as he looked out and saw the one that he had nearly been praying for.

“Oh Christine,” he whispered, pressing a hand against the cool glass.

She was truly beautiful, her face lit up from her own spirit as well as from the light of the sun. No, he was clearly not the angel here, not next to her perfect form. Quickly, knowing he was floors above her, Erik raced down through more passages. He had to be in earshot, had to make sure that the foppish boy had not done one thing questionable in her presence. Such a fool, to think he could take Erik’s angel away from him. He had not thought to look to see who else had been riding in the carriage with her, having been so distracted by the sight of Christine after so many days without her. He wouldn’t be surprised to find the Vicomte still accompanying her – no doubt here to “protect” her from the evil men of the opera house. As if any filthy stage hand would dare touch her with the Opera Ghost to watch over her…

((ooc: I should be able to post regularly now…I’m back at school even though my mom is still in the hospital. She’s doing better though, so as long as she doesn’t have any setbacks, I’ll be around))

My Poor, Unhappy Christine...

Reblogged from brave-young-suitor

brave-young-suitor:

madmoiselle-christine-daae:

Christine paused for breath as the room swam before her eyes, leaning on the dresser for support. She felt so dizzy, so sick…she needed to get out of this place, out of this waking nightmare! The handsome man from earlier had mentioned a father…yes, yes she must escape and find her father! He would be missing her, surely? Suddenly she was running, running across the room and bursting through the doors and out in to the hallway. Christine had no idea where she was going nor how she would get there: all that was important now was that she run as fast as she could and never stop…

Before Mademoiselle Giry could give him an answer, the door to the room they had just left flew open. Raoul started rather violently and turned on heel to stare as Christine came running out of it, obviously in distress. His face, full of defensive anger for her sake just a moment before, transformed. Now there was fear and the utmost concern written in every line as he grimaced, moving to catch her so she would not go further, not hurt herself… God knows why she was suddenly fleeing that room, but he doubted the reason could be a good one. If he had known what it truly was – the Opera Ghost in the flesh come to “haunt” her, as it were…well, it was better that he did not.

“Christine!” Raoul, with one arm wrapped around her middle to stop her, placed one hand gently under her chin. Of course she would be frightened. She did not even know who she was. This was no time to be brusque or impatient, to demand answers – for anyone. Christine needed to be cared for. And it seemed this opera house was not the place to do it. To him, Christine’s desire to be somewhere else, anywhere else, could not have been more obvious. If she wished to be elsewhere, why then, he would take her elsewhere! How funny, how strange, how quickly his life could be turned on its head by this girl from his past…even if it was a past she did not remember.

He looked back at her friend then. “Mademoiselle Daae needs to see a physician at once,” he said softly, “for her own sake.” Then he turned his gaze once more to Christine. She had no more father, it would seem. Gustave Daae must since have died, otherwise why would they not have taken her to him at once – why would he not have attended her performance? She needed someone to be there for her. “Besides, it may not be safe for her here. If you will permit me.”

But he needed no one’s permission. She had no father, presumably no legal guardian – she was too old for such things, was she not? – and he was the patron of the Palais Garnier. They would not risk losing his money, surely. Besides, despite their enthusiasm for the quality of her performance, he rather doubted that Messieurs Andre and Firmin were very concerned with the spotless reputation of their would-be new diva, especially in her current state. He should, however, at least seek Christine’s permission. This was her life, regardless how much of it she could remember living.

“Christine – I know you do not remember me,” he said slowly, “but…we were friends, once. I knew you when we were children. I knew your father. Please, let me help you now.” He paused, trading the arm he had around her waist for taking her slender fingers in his. “My name is Raoul de Chagny – and the pleasure is all mine.” Then he kissed her knuckles, though he never took his eyes from her lovely, panicked face.

Erik had not known what to think when Christine finished her outburst. Christine’s behavior in the past had never before come close to this. He simply stared at her in open mouthed shock. As she leaned against the dresser, Erik reached out toward her as if to help support her, but withdrew his hands at the last minute, unsure if she would accept his touch. He still hovered near her, however, as it seemed as though all the color had drained from her face.

“Christine, I-” he stuttered, unused to attempts at apologies. There was no need for him to finish it, however, as she bolted from the room. His eyes widened, not expecting something so abrupt from her.

“Christine!” Erik shouted, taking a step toward her.  He couldn’t let her leave! Not without explaining everything, not with her understanding how important it was that no one learned of him! “Christine, come back!”

It was too late. She was at the door. Erik cursed and started to run after her, stopping short when he heard the Vicomte shout her name in return. Erik stood frozen, torn between following his angel and returning to the safety of his underground world. With another curse hissed curse, he returned to the trapdoor he had used to enter the room. He glanced once more to the still open doorway in the vain hope that Christine would have decided that it was better to deal with than the Vicomte. As there was no sign of her, save for the voices echoing from the hallway, he entered his realm, securing the door behind him. He headed to another trapdoor farther down the hallway. He would not be able to hear them unless for some reason they raised their voices, but he would at least not be stuck with the infuriating situation of not being able to see.

Getting from the passage to Madame Giry’s room and the one at the end of the hallway took more time than he would have liked, as the two were not directly connected. When he was finally in sight of the group, what he saw infuriated him. There was the filthy Vicomte, with his arms wrapped around Erik’s Christine! He glared at the man, his eyes like daggers through the dark. His anger only intensified as he watched the pompous aristocrat kiss Christine’s hand. He would not allow his angel alone with this man ever, not if it was in his power to stop it.

(Source: phantom-erik)

My Poor, Unhappy Christine...

Reblogged from madmoiselle-christine-daae

madmoiselle-christine-daae:

phantom-erik:

“You do not remember, but I am your-“ again, he paused, searching for the right word. “I am your teacher. I have been giving you voice lessons for years now.”

He kept his gaze away, prepared for her scream, her rejection of him. She had accepted him easily enough as her Angel, but with that identity torn away, he was truly nothing but a monster before her…

Christine was aware of a sudden commotion behind her and spun around to face the source of the noise. The sight in front of her caused her mouth to hang open with shock, but she did not scream. In front of her was…was a…man? Yes, a very, very tall man, clad head to foot in black, as menacing as a bad dream. The way he stood only revealed one side of his face to her, and she studied it with interest. He was…well, definitely an older gentleman than the boy who had been in here before. His profile was rather handsome, in an austere sort of way. He would not look her in the eye though, which Christine had to admit she found a little unnerving. He was inquiring if she was hurt. What a strange apparition this was! She would have laughed, but there was such earnest concern in his voice that she did not dare. “No Monsieur, I am not hurt. I will need to buy someone a new mirror…” She paused for a moment, as a thought struck her “Unless, of course, that one was mine…in which case I will not need to bother.”

The stranger continued to talk, still refusing to look at Christine. Despite his rather fearsome appearance, he was shifting underneath her candid gaze as if he was afraid of her. Now he was telling her he was her singing teacher? What a ridiculous notion! Christine could not sing…could she? She was incredulous. “My…my teacher? Tell me…how can you be my teacher when you spring out of the walls like a ghost?” She crossed her arms across her chest: she had had quite enough of all this nonsense! Someone was going to give her some answers, and in lieu of any other options it was going to be the man in black. Christine laughed mirthlessly. “Everybody here knows me, but I do not even know myself! But since you are here…you will tell me everything you know about me.” She took a step towards him, drawing herself up to her full height in a bid to make herself seem intimidating. It was hardly worth the effort though, she barley came up to the man’s shoulders! Christine pressed on, her voice as hard and cold as ice. “Everything. Including, I might add, who you are, and how you know me. You said you having been teaching me to…sing?”

                Erik could not help but chuckle slightly when she said he was like a ghost. She had never referred to him as such in the past and such an accusation from her lips was quite amusing indeed. He did not answer her question, as her laugh caused him to pause. It was not the childish laugh full of gaiety that he was used to. This laugh held a stirring of emotions underneath, humor not being one of them. Why, it practically sounded like a laugh of his own!

                When she stepped toward him in an apparent attempt to intimidate him, he smirked again. IT was not a long-lived expression, however, for her words were serious ones. She wished to know everything? Very well.

                “You wish me to tell you of yourself?” said Erik softly, still refusing to meet her gaze. “I shall do that. And to start, let me say that not only can you sing, but you were about to become the next prima donna at this opera house.”

                As his mind recalled the moments of her debut on stage, he couldn’t help but smile. It had been wonderful, his angel shining under the lights. She had been so beautiful then, the most beautiful he had ever seen her. As emotions flooded him with the image, he shook his head slightly in an attempt to push them away. Slowly, he turned his head to face her completely.

                “How I know you, I shall tell you in due time. As for who I am,” his eyes flashed at the thought of her knowing. His past was not one for someone so sweet, so innocent, “you should be thankful if you never learn. Let it be enough that I am your teacher.”  

                No, one as innocent and pure as she did not need to hear of such a horrible thing as his past. The thought of telling her the horrors that had befallen him since birth – no. It wasn’t for her to know. He held her gaze, willing the emotions of his horrible past not to show in what little of his face she could see. Although, perhaps, even worse would be if she could somehow sense his feelings for her. For even now, she was as beautiful as ever, even with a bandage across her forehead. In the past, she may have called him her angel, but in reality, she was his instead.

My Poor, Unhappy Christine...

Reblogged from madmoiselle-christine-daae

phantom-erik:

“Christine,” he half spoke, half sung, only realizing that he did not know how to present himself after his angel’s name was out of his mouth. His mouth suddenly felt dry. He was no longer her angel of music, he was simply a mysterious voice. In distress, he looked at the…

As soon as he had spoken, Erik cursed himself. How much of a fool could he be? She was already confused as it was, she didn’t need him getting in the way. He turned, ready to leave so that he wouldn’t be tempted to upset her further. She should be safe enough in Madame Giry’s care. Antoinette had been pesky enough in her attempts to care for him when she learned of his presence, she should be even better with a young girl who desperately needed help.

He was striding quickly away from her down the hallway when he heard glass shatter. He whirled around, panic in his eyes. What if she had hurt herself again? Blast Antoinette for leaving her alone!  Before he had even realized what he was doing, he was through the secret door and in Madame Giry’s room. His eyes alighted on Christine, searching for any sort of additional injury she may have received. When he saw that she appeared perfectly fine, a shattered mirror at her feet, he stood still. It was too late to turn back now, there was no way she could missed his sudden entrance.

Even had he not had a deformity or a mask covering it, he would have cut an intimidating figure. He stood at about six feet high, easily towering over the girl. In his haste to return her to Madame Giry before she had awoken, he had left his fedora in his house, but he had on his black cloak and dress clothes. He turned the masked side of his face away from her in a vain attempt to hide it from her. The cold, impassive porcelain only added to his intimidation. If he appeared more human, perhaps she wouldn’t fear him. The eerie white mask was perfect for his haunting as the Opera Ghost, but hardly appropriate for being in the presence of a beauty such as Christine.

“I–” he paused, searching for the right words, “I was afraid you were hurt.”

He shifted awkwardly, not looking at her for fear of her reaction.

“You do not remember, but I am your-“ again, he paused, searching for the right word. “I am your teacher. I have been giving you voice lessons for years now.”

He kept his gaze away, prepared for her scream, her rejection of him. She had accepted him easily enough as her Angel, but with that identity torn away, he was truly nothing but a monster before her…

Meg Giry's Corner.: Christine what happened to you?

Reblogged from future-prima-ballerina

future-prima-ballerina:

After just finishing an excruciating ballet rehearsal, I untied my long blonde hair from it’s light blue ribbon,slipped off my baby pink pointe shoes and began to massage my tired, blistered feet until I felt that I could walk on them again without wincing every time I managed to take a step. I…

I stood in the tunnel leading to my opera box, knowing that today, assuming the managers were not complete fools, my salary would be delivered. Sure enough, Antoinette showed up within moments of my arrival with the envelope containing my twenty thousand francs. I was about to emerge from my hidden passage to discuss the success of Christine’s performance when Little Giry burst in. I froze as Meg described Christine’s apparent injury.

                “Come on now, Little Giry,” I hissed, secure in the knowledge that my passage would not reveal me unless I wished it, “tell me where she is.”

                Thankfully, Madame Giry did not like to be lead unknowingly throughout the opera house, for she asked where Christine was. The second that Meg had said she was by the stairs to the ballet dormitories, I was off, using the labyrinth of secret passages to arrive at Christine’s side before the Girys.

                “Christine…” I whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. When I pulled my gloved hand away, I saw the black leather tinged with red blood. I knew she needed medical attention, and I had the necessary first aid materials down in my home. Gently, trying to support her injured head as much as possible and trying to be cautious of any other injury she may have, I lifted her into my arms. I could only pray that she would not wake up while I was giving her aid. I did not want her introduction to my home to be one of fear. Quickly, I slipped down below the fifth cellar, through a passage that allowed me to bypass the underground lake, as I had no wish to traverse it with an unconscious passenger.

                Within a few minutes, we were in my home and I was gently laying my angel down on a sofa in the central room of my house, the great organ looming over us as I cared for her. Gently, I cleaned the horrible gash on her head, content that the bleeding had mostly ceased. Knowing that this would most likely be a painful process for her, I sang softly as I cleaned. She may be unconscious, but if she neared waking, perhaps I could sooth her enough to not have her in a panic. I fought to keep my emotions out of my voice, for rage had begun to bubble below the surface now that I knew my Christine was safe. How dare someone do this! Had I not made it apparent that Christine was mine? My hands shook as they bound her wound, and my song turned slightly darker than the soothing melody it had started as. Christine stirred slightly in her sleep, and this woke me from my anger enough to change the song back to one of comfort. Content that her wound was adequately cared for, I slipped into another of my chambers, grabbing a paper and fountain pen from my desk and writing a quick letter to Madame Giry:

Antoinette,

Forgive Christine’s absence. I heard Meg informing you of the incident and saw to it myself that she received proper medical attention. Until she is fully healed, I shall not be far away. If you receive any knowledge as to who may have done this, inform me immediately. You know the consequences should you choose to do otherwise.

Sincerely,

O.G.

I carefully folded the letter and sealed it in an envelope. I made for my music room and my angel, when I paused, seeing the bouquet of roses I kept for Christine. I paused long enough to grab one and tie a ribbon around it before returning to my angel. Just as carefully as before, I lifted her into my arms.  I walked more slowly this time, reluctant to return my angel to the light, wishing I could keep her with me. Alas, I knew I could not. Not now at least. It would be her choice to make. When she saw how much I could offer, she would choose her Erik. She had to.

                Lost in my own thoughts, I realized I had made it to Madame Giry’s chambers. Gently, I placed Christine on the bed, propping up her head on pillows until she seemed comfortable. I stood and simply gazed at her, amazed by her beauty even in a situation like this.

                “My angel,” I whispered, reaching to caress her cheek. Before I could touch her, I heard the sound of a key sliding into the lock, and I vanished into one of my passages, resolving not to leave Christine until I knew she was safe from whoever had tried to harm her.