Pairing: E/C Phluff
Summary: Christine POV. Alt ending.
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine but the plot. Can you spot the line I stole from Pirates of the Caribbean?
Version: 2004 Movie
Author's Notes: Firstly, I’d like to dedicate it to my daddy.
I wrote this because I don’t like Christine, and I wanted a version of her and her actions I would like and approve.
Any mistakes in regard to backstory of POTO I apologise for.
I’m not overly happy with this. Feel it could use more work, but I’m not willing to give it that right now. Constructive criticism would be very much appreciated. Enjoy!
How quickly two little words can change your life.
Truth be told, I had lead a sheltered life. In my own mind, I had become the eternal child. Despite the death of my beloved father, this had never changed.
In my eyes, he had hung the moon. No only that, but he was my sun and moon. Having not been old enough to remember my mother, he was all I had. I entertained the thought that the world was playing a cruel joke on me by taking him away also. Perhaps the Lord thought it was the only way to make me mature. He could have been right.
My father had doted on me. Not with material possessions per say, but by indulging my music, my voice and my imagination. I was forever anxious for stories of pixies, goblins, fairies and of course, my loving Angel of Music. How enchanted I was to believe stories of an angel sent down from heaven to care for me only and teach me how to be a prima donna.
This is where Raoul and I began to grow apart I feel. He grew up and moved past all this where as I was till deeply captivated by it all.
My father’s death was softened only by my certainty that he would ensure my angel was sent to me. I knew my father wouldn’t let me down, I just knew in my bones. The Angel had to appear to me. I fear what I would have done if he hadn’t.
And then he did. My Angel’s beautiful voice first comforted me as a small girl weeping tears of anger, sadness and frustration in the Opera House’s chapel. From then on I was spellbound. I knew nothing could harm me as my angel was beside me at all times, guiding me, guarding me and loving me, just as much as my father had.
Isn’t it strange how at the same time Raoul re-entered my life, I learned my angel was no such thing after all? In the privacy of our lessons in my dressing room, I had pleaded with my angel again and again to show himself to me. What had he to fear? Of course, now I know.
The night he first took me to his home, I was so fascinated by the look of him, feel of him, sound of him. When he touched me, as gentle as rose petals on my skin, I felt like a woman for the first time in my 17 years, instead of the scared, confused child I had been in recent times.
My illusions of him as my angel though were sorely crushed on learning what lay underneath that white mask. To this day, I still can’t say what possessed me to do such as thing as ripping it away like I did. I can only say I was so embroiled in my angel that I wanted him, all of him, therefore I needed to know what was underneath. I think now what would have happened if I had left well enough alone.
The tears I cried after that were only mildly caused by witnessing his horrendous scarring. It was more to do with my angel’s behaviour. He had always been so careful with me, firm but gentle. To see him lose control like that frightened me into tears as I lay on the floor of his home as he called me those awful names. The only way I felt I could rectify the situation was by giving it back to him, as strangely as I had taken it away. Inwardly I screamed please forgive me, angel.
When he subsequently returned me to my dressing room, saying nothing more after stating he was to take me back, I threw myself on my dressing room bed and cried. A part of my childhood died that day. Nay, A part of my soul.
My soul continued to disintegrate on learning my ‘angel’ and the opera ghost were one and the same on the evening of the death of Joseph Buquet. That night, I grabbed the only thing that I still held dear to my heart, that being my sweet childhood friend Raoul, and ran, ran far up to the top of the Opera House to escape before nothing was left of me as my world was torn asunder.
It was there that Raoul first made his intentions upon me known, which I accepted gladly. I thought, if nothing else I will have Raoul, for I know he cared deeply for me. I was so immersed in this one fact that I disregarded my angel as an evil man who had tricked me and nothing more. Anything I had ever felt for him, I killed and buried deep inside myself that night upon the Opera House roof.
I was able to keep this charade up for three months before I saw him again at the Masquerade Ball. Up to then, I had even begun to get excited about becoming Raoul’s wife. I do love him, but on reflection, not the way he ought to be loved, the way a woman should love her husband.
The Phantom appeared at the ball, looking exceptionally lethal in his Red Death costume, and delivered his Don Juan Triumphant opera to the company, with a few choice comments. I could only stand numbly and watch him as he instructed Firmin and Andre and plainly insulted Carlotta and Piangi. On reaching me, I could sense his contempt for me in his voice from the beginning. He spat my name Miss Christine Daaé like a snake’s venom he wanted rid of his mouth. Before he said any more, my heart stopped beating in my chest.
My angel had always said my name so reverently, like a holy word or prayer, and so carefully like he could hurt me saying it any other way. Hurting me was his intention now, I understood.
In front of the entire company he continued speaking and revelled himself to be my music teacher and blatantly asked me to return to him, whether for the lessons alone or anything more I did not know.
And then he looked at me, really looked at me, instead of barely glancing as he had done earlier. This proved to be detrimental.
I stared back at him, enchanted by his every move. I could see pass the mysteriousness created by his magnificent Death’s Head mask for I knew what lay underneath. However, it did not frighten anymore. For I understood now that he was a man full of passion.
I would have happily gazed into those hypnotic green pools for along while. I remember telling Raoul on the roof in his eyes all the sadness of the world. That was certainly true now. Those eyes were pleading with me why Christine, why? Why did you leave me? I wanted to answer. I wanted to scream my apology and tell him I never did, but I was incapable. The moment was broken, however, when he caught sight of the engagement ring resting in my cleavage. The anger that rose in those exquisite eyes then I will never forget. I could see in that moment his determination to steal me back from Raoul. To possess me once again. Thing was, he had never stopped. You belong to me. I know and accept this now. Even welcome it.
The next morning I rose with a decision made. I needed to stop living in my childhood fantasies and greet the harsh world of reality.
I informed the carriage driver of my wish to go to my father’s cemetery and returned to my room to get dressed. I had noticed poor Raoul sleeping outside my room. I need not wake him, as what I was doing did not concern him in any way, I felt.
I dressed and left for the carriage and on boarding informed the driver once again of the destination. All throughout the journey, I could feel my angel’s presence all around me. He may have been but a man, however, he was still my angel, I decided. I thought back on my father’s promise to me when I am in heaven, child, I will send you the angel of music. At first I was furious, believing my angel wouldn’t come, and then on learning this man had deceived me and was not an angel by any stretch of the imagination. A new thought struck me; perhaps this was my father’s will all along?
Leaving the carriage at the cemetery gates, I strolled through the graveyard under the watchful eyes of stone angels and gigantic tombs. I sang to my father of how I missed him and needed him to help me through this difficult time.
Deep in my heart however, I knew this was not what I needed. In order for me to finally mature and make ‘grown-up’ decisions, I couldn’t have my father or anyone else influencing me.
My father was dead. As was the angel of music. A part of me needed to die with them.
Help me say goodbye.
On approaching my destination I heard a voice. Wandering Child, so lost, so helpless it whispered from my father’s tomb. I knew instantly it was the phantom but I resolved to play along to see if he would attempt to trick me again.
Have you forgotten your Angel?
There again, He insists on treating me like a child, indulging me with illusions of heavenly voices and mystical creatures, instead of speaking to me, the woman I am, as the man he is. Still his voice . . my soul obeys . . .
“No Christine! Wait!”
Instantly the trance was shattered. Raoul threw himself of the horse like the perpetual white knight coming to my aid.
Before I could say anything, he was making his way up the steps to the tomb. “Whatever you make think, This man, this thing is not your father!”
He had barely finished his order to me when the phantom leaped from the top of my father’s tomb, sword in hand. Only then did I notice one in Raoul’s own hand.
The two battled across the cemetery, darting back and forth between headstones and crosses. I could only stand dumbstruck watching, as I couldn’t believe this was actually happening. I barely flinched when the phantom sliced into Raoul’s left arm, and blood soaked red through his white shirt. If I did not know where my heart lay until that moment, I knew now.
The next I knew, the phantom was lying on the snow, his sword kicked away from him, as Raoul went for a fatal strike.
I could not tell you how the words came from my mouth, or even how my motor functions suddenly operated without my knowledge. All I knew now was that my phantom was lying on the hard snow of the cemetery, as my childhood friend Raoul De Chagney stood over him, sword drawn, and I was between them, laying on the Phantom so as to prevent Raoul from making that strike, without injuring me in the process.
“I won’t let you do this!” I said through tears, gazing up at my best friend from the age of six. Raoul’s confused eyes looked down on me, while the Phantom underneath me was taking deep breaths from exhaustion.
The confusion in my friend’s eyes turned to anger. “Christine, he’s a monster, you said so yourself! He’s a murderer! He deserves to die!”
“I know!” I cried, the tears flowing freely now. “I know, ” I said softly again, laying my head on the arms still rested on the phantom’s chest. He remained silent.
Quickly I composed myself, asked Raoul to put away the sword, and stood, refusing the hand he offered me. The phantom followed my actions and stood beside me, a little behind, facing Raoul.
With one last look to his rival, Raoul grabbed my hand dragging me towards his horse, “Let’s go, Christine.”
We hadn’t moved more than three feet when I pulled my hand back, stating “I’m not leaving, Raoul ”, and took back the three feet to stand beside my phantom, placing my hand in his left one. I heard, not Raoul, his barely audible gasp. I hoped my dear friend would understand the message with this, forgoing my need the state the words, which I don’t think I could have done at that point.
“So this is where your heart truly lies?” Raoul gazed at me confusion and sadness in his kind blue eyes. I barely nodded in return, tears restricting my view.
And with that, Raoul turned away, mounted his horse and rode out the gates, not looking behind once. Despite the fact I did not love him as much as he wished, I still did love Raoul. He was my oldest friend, a person I shared precious memories of my father with, and my heart bleed with what I had done to him. I resolved to seek him out at a later stage. I couldn’t leave it like that.
Now however . . .
With Raoul gone, I dropped the Phantom’s hand and moved away wiping the tears from my face. A white handkerchief appeared in front of me, held by a black leather glove. I took it and cleaned my face. “Thank you” I murmured, meeting his eyes for the first time in this whole debacle. Those eyes also held confusion, but it was hardly visible through all the love that was present.
He took a deep breath, followed by “Christine, I .. ” in his beautiful melodic tone.
I stopped him from saying anymore by placing my hand up. “Please, before you say anymore, monsieur, I would like to speak.”
“By all means.” he answered.
Taking a breath, I began.
“You lied to me.” I stared at his face with, I hope, anger purely visible. “You betrayed my trust. You played on my foolish desire to have an angel from heaven watch over me on my father’s death. You twisted it your own uses. I gave you my mind blindly.”
Instead of looking abashed at my words, or showing any hint of regret, the was no change in the expression I could see on his face.
“However, I in turn betrayed you. And in doing so, my own heart.” I told him, and at this, I could see shock on his face.
“I hurt Raoul also, by promising myself to him. But I was so upset to learn my Angel of Music; the inspiration of my voice, a promise from my father, was nothing but a lie.” I told him with vehemence.
Here, I plainly saw hurt.
“I agreed to marry Raoul because he was the one real thing left in my world, the one thing I could depend on. I overlooked the fact, however, that to marry someone, you must love them with your whole heart and soul. And my love didn’t belong to Raoul. It never did.”
At this, he stepped closer to me, merely a few inches between us, cupping my cheek in his gloved hand, affection shinning out of his beautiful green depths.
“It was yours all along.” I told him, and with that, I closed the distance between us, placing my lips on his for the first time. At first, he was shocked, unmoving, but then quickly accepted the kiss and reciprocated.
When he pulled away from the kiss, only to embrace me strongly in the comfort of his arms, I felt happier than I had been since my father’s death. I wrapped my arms around his waist and laid my head on his shoulder. There was still a lot that needed to be said and done between us before we could deeply trust each other without question, but for the moment, this would do.
“Christine” he sighed into my hair, and my joy at that simple act caused happiness to once again brim over inside me.
I lifted my head to look him in the eye. “I missed hearing you say my name.” I said, and reached up for another kiss.
We stood there in the graveyard, with the snow falling delicately around us, for a while, happily embracing and kissing, overjoyed to be in each other’s presence one again.
Some time later, something occurred to me. I pulled away from his arms, only to interlace the fingers of my hand with his. “It has come to my attention, monsieur, that it is not proper for a lady of my station to be meeting with a gentleman like yourself, when she does not even know your name.” I informed him with a smile.
He laughed, and it was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard. “I suppose not, mademoiselle.”
His enchanting face looked down at me. Mask or no mask, it was enchanting. “My name is Erik.”
“Erik.” I tested it on my own tongue, approving. “Well, monsieur Erik, now that we have that problem resolved, would you care to escort me home?”
“It would be my pleasure, Madame.”