|Diamonds in the rough
Author: Mia-Purdy PM
What if Erik had been more honest with Christine? What if he had acted quicker? What if Christines father didnt simply die of illness but was murdered? What if Christine didnt remember Raoul as much as he would like? A different retelling of the story with more twists along the way. Kay/Kopit/ALW/Leruox influences. E/C eventually.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Drama - Erik & Christine - Chapters: 62 - Words: 295,786 - Reviews: 581 - Favs: 85 - Follows: 82 - Updated: 03-24-13 - Published: 11-10-12 - Status: Complete - id: 8690975
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Hello, this is my first fanfic ever, so I'm a bit nervous about posting this, however you have all inspired me with your brilliant stories. I hope you like it, please feel free to review and tell me what you think, whether good or bad, it would be great to know what you think!
I sadly dont own POTO *weeps* so anything recognisable is from ALW, Kay, Kopin and Leroux.
Christine is about 16 in this story (: just so you all know.
Chapter 1-Christine POV
'Whats on your mind my darling?' My papa chuckled. I realised then my jaw was slack as I looked up in wonder upon the beautiful Opera house, the busy Parisian people bustled past, but I couldn't help it, it was so large and grand!
'Oh Papa, it's so beautiful!'
'Not as beautiful as you though, my angel! But let me tell you, there is something special about that opera house, when you play or sing it's not the audience that embrace you in their delight, but the opera house itself.' My Papa said his eyes glazed over, I could tell he was in another time or place, he did this often. He quickly snapped out of it and squeezed my hand.
'One day my angel, you will grace the stages. You will sing to the masses and bring them great joy. I know it.' He said his large blue eyes looking sincerely into mine.
'Oh Papa, do you mean it? You truly mean it?' I said throwing myself into his large arms.
'Of course my child.' He held me tight, and didn't let go for a few moments, both of us enjoying the bliss of not having to face reality again until the embrace finished.
When he let go, he took my hand in his and we walked to find our shelter for the night. As we walked, I looked at the large carriages, and beautifully dressed people who passed no doubt going to watch the evenings opera. Who were me and papa kidding? I would never be a singer, Id never grace any stage. I looked down at my clothes, they were the same rags I had been wearing for the last two weeks, hardly the clothing of an opera singer! But I didn't care, I longed to sing, but I knew in my heart of hearts I was lucky just to have my caring Papa, I would take care of him. Id get us off the streets and back into a proper house, Id get him playing his music once more, then we could be happy again. As we walked through the streets leaving the main and relatively posher part behind, we began to see the people who society hadn't been kind to. We brought our single loaf of bread that was to last us for a week, I was so hungry my tummy growled, I knew I could have eaten it all then and there, but I restrained myself and tore of the tiniest peice. Me and Papa sat on the step outside the stinking shop. When I realised a small boy no older than seven was watching me his ribs visible through his rag shirt, he looked hungrily at my piece of bread he was watching me. I tore a piece of the rough bread off and handed it out to him, he looked at me wearily.
'Please take it, its only bread.' I smiled at him as he ran and took it from my hand and treasured it as if it were a peice of gold. 'Merci!' he called out to me before running off down one of the rat infested alleys. Then I realised my papa was crying, his giant shoulders shuddering.
'Oh Christine, you poor darling, look at you! What have I done? Your nearly starving but still your kind heart gives. You deserve so much better.' I had never seen Papa like this, it scared me, he had always been my rock, he had always been grounded and would rarely let negative emotions effect him, but now I realised my papa was just as worried about our situation as I was.
'Papa! Dont cry! Im fine, Im not hungry anymore! I have you Papa thats all I need, we will be happier soon. I promise! Ill get a job tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow Ill go to the bakery and ask for a job. Ill work so much, until we have all the money we need, then we can buy a house and you can have your music again!' I said desperately trying to make him happy, gosh I was so near to letting all my emotions go, but I knew I had to stay strong for papas sake. He smiled at me and wiped away his tears with his large hands.
'You my darling are the kindest girl. Im proud to say your my daughter. So, proud Christine. Dont ever change for anyone. Always be yourself, do you promise?' tears were leaking in the corners of his eyes. I promised, which made him smile, I felt the sides of my mouth creep up, that smile was infectious.
We walked hand in hand to the place we usually slept, it was near a local tavern, perhaps not the safest choice but the owner was kind and in the harsh winters would allow us to have a quilt from one of the rooms. I hated it more than anything in the world. The tavern was noisy and disgusting, men would crawl out with women clinging onto them, yelling and shrieking, I was always petrified. But Papa was always there and he would give my hand a squeeze or huddle up close to me, and tell me beautiful stories about the Angel of Music, whenever my Papa spoke of the Angel I felt safe. I knew it was silly for a girl my age to adore such stories but there was something about that Angel of Music that I felt was real, I didn't know why when my Papa spoke of him, I got a strange feel in my stomach. By the time we reached our 'shelter' it was raining, and raining hard my rags were drenched and my long curly hair clinging to my face. I was grateful to get into the dark alley were our night was to be spent. Me and Papa huddled close together. The shelter was very basic, made of old wooden crates to make a sort of shell and roof then covered in all sorts of scrap, which we had dragged from the stinking rubbish piles, but that was all we had. That and each other. I was shivering violently now, Papa pulled me closer trying to use each others body heat to warm ourselves up. The loud, angry voices from the tavern could be heard.
'Papa, please tell me a story of the Angel of Music.' I begged knowing only his voice could drown out the sound of those ugly words.
'Of course my petal' he replied, and so he began, the story of the angel who had a voice that God grew jealous off, a voice so pure it was too good for the other angels ears, he was banished from the heavens and to the earth, were he was to be with the mortals, the angel was kind though and wished to help the mortals, and only a rare few, get taught by the angel, only those with exceptional gifts. The story always made me happy. 'One day Christine,the Angel will guide you, he will help you.'
'But I'm not exceptional Papa, he would be wasted on me.' I replied,how I wish the angel could help us, but I knew what I spoke was true, Id never be good enough. The voices were getting closer now, I could see the looming shadows against the wall, and the cackling laughs, they were getting closer.
'Christine, no matter what happens stay behind me.' My Papa whispered coldly as the owners of the cackle rounded the corner and now faced us. They were three men, obviously not from around the area, they were very well dressed, their hair perfectly parted, but they were obviously very very drunk, I was so scared, I began to tremble, I mentally hit myself, I needed to get a grip my Papa took my hand in his and gave it a squeeze as they approached us further.
'Look what we got here then! My, my look at the state of this.' Said the taller of the group, his hair was as fair as the sand, his large green eyes wild. He staggered towards me and my Papas shelter.
'Leave us alone.' My Papa growled, this only made the men laugh louder and more hysterically.
'What are you going to do about it?' the taller man shouted, he spat into my Papas face. I gasped, I knew my Papa hated spitting, he was positively enraged now, I felt him raise a little as if to make a move, I was going to grab him, but before I could I felt an iron tight grip around my wrist, that tugged me from behind our shelter.
I screamed and kicked wildly, but the hold was too strong, all I could smell was alcohol.
'Christine!' My Papa roared, rising.
'Well, well, well, what a beautiful surprise. I didnt realise tramps had pretty girls like this kept with them.' The fair haired man was close to me now, he touched my face with his dirty hands, I struggled wildly, screaming and sobbing against the tight hold.
'Let her go!' my Papa shouted.
'I swear take another step tramp and Ill slice her pretty throat.' Roared on of the other men.
'Stop crying or Ill give you something to cry about,' the tall man roared into my face, I screamed for my Papa, who was looking round, trying desperately to think of a way to help. 'I think we should get these dirty rags off and have a proper look at you.' They all laughed wild, crazy laughs, as the taller man reached to untie my dirty dress. I scream and spat and tried to lash out. Before the man could even reach me, my Papa had shoved him to the ground. I felt my self be realised as the men now scrambled about on the ground, hands and feet flew in all direction. I screamed, ym poor Papa, it wasnt fair three against one! I tried to throw my fists at one of the men, but he raised his fist and split my lip, blood poured down my face. Then suddenly there was a piercing shriek. The two men suddenly jumped up, looking down at the taller fair haired man who was over my Papa, suddenly I saw it the puddle of blood that was flowing out of what appeared no were, then I realised as the man stood up, that no were was my Papa.
'Phillipe, we must go, now, leave, youve stabbed him, we must go.' One of the men called, catching the sleeve off the man who was standing now looking at my Papas body in disbelief, holding a long knife in his hand. He looked at me, then they fled.
I dropped to my knees instantly, to my Papas side, I saw were the wound was automatically, there in his chest was a hole, the blood was pouring out. How could this be, no my Papa couldnt die, he wouldnt, he couldnt leave me, we were meant to be together forever. No I had to save him.
'Papa, I will save you.' I sobbed, 'Papa, say something, Ill make you better, I will.'
His face had gone white now, his breathing was laboured as he struggled for breaths. He rose ashakey bloody hand and took mine in it.
'I will send, th-th-the angel of m-us-ic, he w-ill he-lp y-ou. I l-ove you.' Then his hand went slack. No, no, he wasnt dead no he couldnt be dead.
'Papa?' I said shaking his slack body, 'Papa?'
When he didnt reply I began to sob uncontrollably, bring his cold lifeless hand to my face. How could he be gone? He couldnt be. Maybe he was sleeping. Yes maybe that was it. He'd wake up soon and be all okay. Ohh I knew I was lying to myself. But how could he be gone. I sobbed myself to sleep clutching his cold hand in mine. God knows how I survived the night, but I didnt care, I wish had died. I wish I was dead. Without Papa what was the point in living. When I looked on his cold dead body I collapsed and wept int he early morning like, he looked so still and peaceful, he might of folled me into thinking he was sleeping, but the gaping bloody hole in his chest, showed me that was just a false hope.
The tavern owner must of heard my sobs as he came out, gasped and quickly went back inside through his door. I didnt even notice him when he approached me again, this time with a lady all dressed in black. The stood over me as I clutched my Papas hand tightly.
'The poor dear,' I heard the woman mutter tot he tavern owner, but I didnt care what theydid to me now, I had nothing, nothing left in the world, I was scared and alone.
Suddenly the woman was kneeling beside me, she had kind eyes despite her hard pale face and thin line of a mouth.
'You must be Christine Daae?' she asked touching my shoulder. I didnt reply. 'Its time you left your Papa now, you are to come with me, I will take care of you.'
At this I stirred leave my Papa! No, I couldnt.
'No, I cant.' I said simply I felt rude but I didnt care.
'You cannot do anything for him now Christine, I knew your Papa when he was a violinist, he would of wanted you to come with me.'
'You knew my Papa?' I asked.
'Not well, but I enjoyed his music very much. Come with me Christine and we can make him proud of you.'
When she said this, I realised she was right I needed to make my Papa proud, I couldnt just lay here, no matter how much I wanted to. He would of scorned me for doing so. Not only this, but I was scared beyond imagination, for the first time in my life I was alone, utterly and completely alone, and I hated it already. I hated the thought of leaving my Papa. But what choice did I have?
'Come with me Christine.' The woman said again.
I began to sob again, I kissed my fathers stone cold cheek, and rose onto my wobbly legs.
'What will happen to his body?' I asked my bottom lip trembling.
'We will make arrangements from were I'm taking you, we can get him a grave, how would you like that? You can visit him then.' The woman was being kind but still I couldnt help but cry at the thought of my Papa being truthfully gone.
She put her arm over my shoulder, and began steering me away from my Papa still body, I took one last look at him, praying that he was with the Angel of Music and he was safe and happy. Before I asked 'were are we going?'
The woman replied: 'to the Opera Populaire.'