A/N: This story has nothing to do with my Phantom's Mask (it is not a prequel.) This story begins when Christine Daae has been at the Opera House for several months now, and has not yet met Erik. This is a mixture of the musical and book. The question is will Erik get Christine in the end like we all wished he had? Read and find out! R&R…
Edit: I have decided to come back through and try to make this story better. I suppose with how many chapters I have in this story, you'll be seeing a lot of me!
Christine Daae smiled softly as she gazed over the city of Paris from the roof of the Opera House. She came to the roof often since she wasn't overly fond of the stage and dark hallways below her. What better place to go than up where you could almost touch the cerulean sky and the spires of churches? The wind played with her skirts like a kitten batting a lace hem around someone's ankles. Her hair was in total disarray, it lay in tangled brown curls around her waist. Her hair ribbon had long since been flung from her hair and off the side of the roof into the streets of Paris below.
How her father would have loved the view from the roof. He would have played his violin and sung a song about the city of Paris, for he knew almost every song that had been written. He had an ear for music and it seemed that he had passed it on to his daughter. Little Christine had been thought of as something of a prodigy when she was small. But the death of her father had taken her love for song and passion for music. She felt as if her heart had been ripped in two when he had died. What was worse? A coffin or a silent violin? She did not know. How she longed for him to be again by her side guiding her through life and giving her the advice she cherished greatly. His smile was something she also longed to see again. How it filled her with warmth! It was a smile she would never see again. It was his music that she would never hear again. The Paris Opera house roof was seemingly the only way she could be any closer to heaven where her papa was.
"Oh Papa," She sighed. She wondered if she had pleased him by joining the Opera chorus. Would he be happy that she was just one of many girls who sang together rather than alone as the lady of the stage? He would have wanted her to be happy and enjoy such an opportunity, but how could she when she knew she would never be happy again?
"Christine!" Meg called. Her little voice was almost swept away by the wind. She had come on to the roof. A much too large cloak covered her thin shoulders and costume. Christine turned quickly to face her friend. "Mama has been calling for you! It is almost time to practice!" Meg was trembling from all the excitement that was going on. She'd never seen her mama so angry by the absence of one girl, but then Christine had been wandering off more than usual lately. Christine hurried down the steps with Meg in quick pursuit behind her. It took her only five tortured minutes to dress in the slave girl costume for the dress rehearsal of Hannibal. Meg hurried away to inform Madame Giry that Christine was on her way. She dreaded the look of anger from the ballet mistress that she was sure to get for delaying practice. But it had been her own fault for lingering on the roof.
"Christine Daae!" Madame Giry struck her staff down on the stage floor. Some of the ballet girls whimpered. "You have been holding up the rehearsal." The woman said with rage creeping into her voice.
"Oui Madame, I'm very sorry." Christine said compliantly. She hurried up onto the stage and got into place. Meg gave her a compassionate look. Madame Giry was the stern leader of the ballet corps. She was always dressed in black taffeta, and her raven hair was always placed up in a strict bun. Her black eyes held no warmth, and some say that had to do with the mysterious death of Monsieur Giry many years ago.
I'm sorry Christine," Meg whispered as they stretched out. "She's been rather irritable lately since she found out the managers are retiring."
"MEG GIRY!" Madame Giry shouted above the giggles and shrieks of the ballet girls. Meg whipped her head around to see her mother glaring at her. "Are you a dancer or not?"
"I'm a dancer mama," Meg said in a whispery tone, she stared down at her ballet shoes.
"Then act like one!" Madame Giry turned to shoot dark looks at many of the ballet girls until they were once again quiet. "I'm ashamed! Such form!" Madame Giry spoke sternly as she observed them. Christine felt her muscles scream for mercy, but dare not let up until Madame Giry had looked in the other direction. Sounds of workmen working on the sets of Hannibal filled the air, their hammers echoed as the pounded nails into place. Painters worked their brushes on the scenes using great detail with their oils.
"Did you hear that Vincent Sosiete broke his foot when one of the props from Hannibal crashed down on him, I think it was a wooden tree!" A girl behind Christine whispered to another.
"No!" The girl shrieked softly so that Madame Giry wouldn't hear her. "It must have been the Opera Ghost!"
"The Opera Ghost!" Another girl chorused. Meg shot the girl a look resembling her mother's glares.
"Shh! Do you want her to hear you! Than I will not be able to tell you what happen to Monsieur Lefite!" Meg said sounding like a conspiratress.
"Oh! Do tell!" A girl whispered loudly. Her cheeks were pink with excitement. Meg glanced over at her mother before beginning her tale. Madame Giry was in an angry discussion with one of the stage hands who had unfortunately run into her in his great haste to get somewhere with a ladder!
"Well," She said warily looking at the eager girls who had gathered around her. Christine was still stretching in the corner of the stage knowing all to well this "story" was probably just another tale spun out of proportions by Meg. She glanced over at her friend and gave her a sad smile. Meg was an excitable little ballet girl. She was timid as a mouse with an imagination as wild as her mousy blonde curls. "Monsieur Lefite was walking in one of the halls by the dressing rooms after a performance when everything was very dark," Meg said. The ballet brat's eyes were wide with fright. "He was there because he wanted to congratulate Carlotta on a grand performance. So as he was walking he heard a noise, as if someone was talking to him. It was a very lovely voice, but terrible all at once. The voice was saying "Go away Lefite… you should not be here," Well Lefite threw the bouquet of roses he had brought for Carlotta at her doorstep and tore back to his carriage outside of the Opera House!" Meg squealed. "He was scared he had been cursed!"
"It must have been the Ghost!" A ballet girl with auburn hair and an excitable demeanor whispered loudly.
"Yes, Yes!" Another said.
"Must have been!" Meg nodded.
"I suppose the Ghost dislikes Carlotta as much as we do. That's why he didn't want Carlotta to have guests or well-wishers." Christine said quietly. The girls turned to look at her in surprise that she had said anything at all. Usually she did not listen to the stories they whispered to each other about the Opera Ghost.
"That must be it!" Meg nodded. "What clever girl you are Christine," She smiled sweetly at her friend. Other girls chorused their thoughts out loud. The whole scene quickly escalated volumes from whispered tones to loud shrieks.
"GIRLS!" Madame Giry's voice rang out across the stage, the sharp crack of her staff echoed all around them. They immediately quieted. She shook her head at them. "What shall I do with you!"
"We apologize Madame Giry," A girl whispered dropping her eyes to her pale pink ballet shoes and hose. Other girls murmured their apologies.
"I'm sure you are," Madame Giry said with false calm. After meeting every girl with her eyes she began speaking once more. "Begin from the top ladies, I expect since you have been talking so much you, you already know the routine perfectly," The girls stifled groans.
Christine's legs ached from the endless practice they had that day. She sank into the steamy hot bath she had drawn for herself. She heard Meg and the other girls outside the door to the baths discussing the unfortunate event that had taken place during their practice. One of the girls had twisted her ankle and could not perform for several weeks. They believed the Opera Ghost had cursed her for exclaiming that he was not real. They were very superstitious little ballet rats. Christine tried to hurry through her bath, but found herself lingering in the hot water breathing in the scent of lavender soap. A few candles burned illuminating the darkening room. What a day! Madame Giry had worked them harder than she had in several months. There was only two weeks till the performance of Hannibal. Christine was quite nervous that she wouldn't be able to concentrate on her actions during the dance, she was afraid she would get distracted by the sea of faces beyond the stage. She finally willed herself to get out of the comforting bath waters, and once she had dried herself she pulled on a dressing gown. The ballet girls grew quiet as she exited. Trembling Meg intercepted her before she could go any farther beyond the hall.
"Christine, are you well?"
"Why yes Meg," Christine smiled weakly.
"Even mama commented to me that you looked pale today,"
"Oh must be the lights on the stage,"
"We both know that mama could see right through that excuse Christine Daae," Meg patted her shoulder.
"I'm just tired Meg," Christine said trying to put an air of confidence in her voice. The way Meg's compassionate blue eyes swept over her, Christine knew she wasn't convincing her friend.
"Well I will see you in the morning then, my dear Christine," Meg smiled. Christine tried to make her eyes look bright as she passed her friend to go to sleep, but weariness was seeping through every pore of her being. As soon as her body was underneath the blankets, and her head was on the pillow, she fell asleep…