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Just letting you all know upfront, I don't own any of the rights to any of the Phantom of the Opera movies, the musical, or the music. I also don't own the characters; however, all original characters (Marie, Edward, etc. names you don't recognize) I do have rights over. I own them...muahaha...
This will be a mostly movie-based phanphiction, with a touch of Leroux and Kay thrown in there. The story takes place pre-Christine, and then late in the Phantom's infatuation with the opera soubrette, and after the 'famous disaster'.
Another note: although this is a completed work, I may take some time uploading chapters. Can't give it all to ya in one sitting, sadly.
One more thing: Enjoy and please review. And if you don't like the story, then please just leave it alone and go on to the other stories you enjoy more on this site. I don't claim to be the best writer in the world, but if you don't have any good criticism to give me, then please don't bother flaming me. Alright, here we go...
Life almost never turns out the way you wish it would. This was a hard lesson I had learned long ago. However, that doesn’t mean dreams don’t come true, or that impossible things won’t happen. Sometimes even the strangest, remote dreams come to pass. This has certainly happened in my life, thanks to the friendship and the love of a certain man in my life. A man who has been given many different names, but will always be my Erik. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Every story must have a beginning, and this one will be no exception. Let me take you back, before Erik was part of my life…
1865
“Marie? Marie Estrella Lezay!”
Shaken awake, I pushed the sleep out of my mind and eyes. My uncle, Edward Kristophe, had rudely interrupted my dreaming, bringing me back to cruel reality. Three years prior, my parents were tragically slain in a horrific accident where their carriage careened over a steep cliff. Since then, my uncle had been my guardian, and although he tried to be kind, he was no replacement for the caring, loving family I once had. I hadn’t really recovered from the shock of it.
“Yes, Uncle Edward?” I yawned, stretching my arms out. I had a feeling this would be something most likely trivial and frivolous. My uncle’s pursuits in life always involved flushing away money in games or horse racing. I pulled my curly chestnut hair out of my face, awaiting his answer.
“Marie, I have found the perfect place for you to finish your musical training,” Uncle said, well pleased with himself.
“Truly?” I gasped. I fairly jumped out of bed at the news. I had a gift for music, and my father personally taught me how to play violin and piano. He wanted me to receive proper instruction earlier, but music was put to the back of my mind after his death. Recently I had played for the first time in ages, and realized that I wanted-no, needed to do this, for him. Fond memories of music lessons flew into my mind, but I shook them away.
“Where am I to go?” I waited impatiently for my uncle’s answer.
He chuckled. “Where else but the Opera Populaire, my dear? You shall be Monsieur Reyer’s student, and in the meantime you will train in ballet and singing as well. Madame Giry promised me she would look after you.”
“Madame Giry? As in Antoinette Giry, once one of the Populaire’s great dancers? Why did she promise that?” I was truly curious.
“She owes me a favor.” He looked away, and I knew then it would be better not to ask what he did for her. “You’ll be living there year round, but you may come home for the holidays.” He glanced at his pocket watch. “Nine o’clock. Humph. You have three hours to pack before we’re off.” He then left me alone to do just that.
My mouth opened wide, from shock or excitement I still don’t know. Just like my Uncle Edward to leave everything to the last minute. I scrambled about my room, pulling out dresses, undergarments, and stockings at lighting speed. A few special tokens also found their way into my luggage: my mother’s book of poetry, a photograph of my parents, and buried deep with the clothing, my father’s sword. He gave it to me for my twelfth birthday and taught me how to use it. My mother always disapproved of my having it, but what could she really say now? She was…she was…I once again buried thoughts of the past down deep and got dressed after packing.
As I was tossing my cloak about my shoulders, my uncle once again barged into my room, insisting we leave immediately. After making sure my mother’s rose pendant was secure around my neck, I stooped down and picked my bags, leaving behind fifteen years of love, pain, and memories.
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