Hello there! This fic is a one-shot; I got the idea here other day and decided to write it down. This is totally based on ALW movie version and it is totally monologue. Hope you will like it for two reasons; first I have never done one-shots before and two this is totally been written from woman's point of view. I'm not a woman so sorry if I offend anyone, I don't mean to.
Grammatical and spelling mistakes are my entire fault as English is not my native language.
Disclaimer: I do not owe any Phantom of the Opera- characters.
A ROSE ON A GRAVE
As I watch him coming closer to the grave I can't help but to feel a little sad for him. Does that mean I have learned to forgive? We are talking about man who I wanted to die for so long, a man who kept my parents away from each others. Maybe I finally realize why my father didn't hate him anymore. Let me start from the beginning. May I introduce myself; I am Sophia Anna Destler, daughter of Erik Destler and Christine de Chagny, formerly known as Daae.
Maybe it's best if I tell little about my parents first. My father was born as disfigured from other side of his face. That is why he lived a very unhappy childhood and was sold as an attraction to gypsy circus. Treated as dirt he became bitter, violent and mentally unstable. For years he was beaten and abused, when finally in Paris he escaped by killing his "keeper". He would have probably been caught but a young ballet girl showed some sympathy and pity to him, and hid him below the Opera Populaire of Paris. In the catacombs he found a home for himself, where he could be safe from the world. My father was extremely talented musician and architect. He build his own home below the opera house and started thought of it as his kingdom. Every once in a while someone from the theatre would have seen a glimpse of him before he disappeared in the darkness. Very soon he was only known as The Phantom of the Opera. This suited my father well, as he hated his own name.
I think it was somewhere during the 1860's that my father met my mother. I think she was around 13 or 14 then, while my father was already in his 30's. My mother, Christine Daae, had been left as an orphan. She later on admitted that she was very naïve girl. If I remember correctly her father had promised to send an angel of music to guide her when he was gone. My mother had a natural gift for singing which was a talent my father soon realized. Being an artist he couldn't let that gift go untrained so he decided to train her. Only think was that didn't dare to contact her as person so he used his voice, which I forgot to mention was almost superhuman, to make my mother believe he was the angel of music. Did I already mentioned my father was little unstable?
Anyway it worked; my mother believed it and he tutored her for two, three years. She finally sung for the big audience on the stage of Opera Populaire in 1870 in the production of Hannibal. From what I have heard she was a sensation. My mother was 16 or 17 at the time and my father had fallen in love with her. I'm not sure how it happened; I guess that in some point during those years he watched and protected her he developed this obsession for her. So he really didn't take it well when mother's childhood sweetheart appeared. Viscount Raoul de Chagny also fell in love with my mother. My father became desperate and showed himself to her. I can only guess what happened when she saw his face, knowing my father's temper it wasn't pretty. Whatever it was it made my mother felt betrayed so she turned for the only thing reminding her of the time before my father: viscount de Chagny. They were soon engaged and my when my father found out…well, it made Waterloo look like picnic.
To cut things shortly I tell what peoples think is the ending: my father tried to force my mother to love him by making her chose between marrying him or him killing Raoul. In the end my father loved her too much to make her live with a monster, as he spoke of himself often, and let my mother to go with viscount. Now that is how the legend of Phantom of the Opera ends. But the story of my parents had just begun. Well duh, or I wouldn't be telling this story.
So after my mother went with de Chagny my father was a mess. He left the opera house, the only place he had ever called home, and moved to some quiet little apartment in Paris. He didn't take care for himself, probably tried to starve himself to death. When this had been going on about a month my father had the big surprise: he met my mother in the laundry room of that place, cutting her arm with a broken glass. You can imagine their both surprise to see each others. It seems my mother had realized he made the wrong choice. De Chagny family wasn't really eager to have an opera singer as one of them and it created tremendous lots of pressure. Combine to the knowledge that she had left the true man she loved behind; my mother had some sort of a breakdown. She had escaped and came to live there.
Well, I guess you can imagine the rest: two heartbroken, shattered peoples who love each others meet and soon find comfort from each others. How else would you explain me?
Unfortunately their happiness didn't last long. Viscount soon found them and demanded my mother to come back to him. Just to make you know: I don't believe Raoul de Chagny is a vile man, he just couldn't believe anyone can love my father. My mother, fearing that de Chagny would call the authorities to arrest my father, left my father for the second time. He didn't take it really well and I can imagine how hollow he must have been.
So my father didn't hear anything about my mother for months. Until one day, or night to be more specific, she came to him. She was then Christine de Chagny. Paris in those days was in a lot of chaos and aristocrats were being killed. She gave me to him; I was about month or two during then, saying that he must protect me as I am his daughter, not de Chagny's. I'm not sure that in what kind of state of mind my father was after that. My guessing is he probably killed some poor bastard who was on a wrong place at a wrong time. But when things in Paris started to really heat up we left. He heard that there had been attacking on de Chagny household and none of there had survived.
We moved to Italy. I spent my childhood in a small village not too far from Rome. Though I may have been named as Sophia Anna de Chagny he gave me his name as he was my father. He started as an architect and soon had job offers enough to support us both. As a father he was very protective. Even though he may have started this because of my mother he very soon just started to be a father. He took me to beaches and parks with him. He never felt really comfortable in public places during the day time but he did it for me.
When I was eight years old we moved to Rome because he had started to have more and more work offers. I remember one time he had worked late in the night and was sleeping to almost midday. I didn't wake him up but instead made breakfast to him…well, you know eight years old making breakfast. It turned out to be a mess and I started to cry because I was unable to bring breakfast to bed to my own father. He found me crying in the kitchen but didn't get mad for the mess. Instead he hugged me and told that I was the first person who had ever even considered doing something so nice to him. For the rest of the day he was happy so I guess I did succeed.
Basically everything I could learn I learned from my father. He teach me to write and read, to draw, to speak different languages and so on. As he was "do-it-yourself"- man I became very much like him. That usually made many other children very jealous when they had problem they couldn't solve but I could. When I was 12 one boy named Massimo pushed me and called me a smartass. My father saw this and he pulled Massimo aside and whispered something to his ear. I still don't know what it was but none of the children tried doing something like that again. My father also tutored me to sing, I guess he saw mother in me when I sung.
I don't remember when the first time I saw his face was. He wore a mask a lot and refused to take it off if there were more peoples near than he. As I said I don't remember when it was I first time saw his face but I think I must have been very young. He learned that I wasn't repulsed by his appearance so he didn't keep mask if we were alone.
I learned the truth of my parents when I was 15 years old. My father and I were taking a vacation in Grease and had just returned to hotel when I heard him taking a sharp breath and then he took my arm and we went to our rooms as fast as one could. He wouldn't tell me what had upset him so much until very late that evening. I sat on a sofa next to him listening while he told everything about his life, my mother and what had happened. He told me his past that he had kept in a secret, fearing that I would think of him as some monster. That silly man, didn't he already knew that I loved him?
The true shock came when I learned what had upset him earlier. He had seen my mother there. He had seen her, the love of his life holding viscount de Chagny's hand. They had both survived but Raoul de Chagny had been injured. He was sitting in a wheelchair, not parallelized but he could walk only barely. They had two little sons. I have two baby brothers!
I had no idea what to do. Father was doing his best to stay out of sight but I was intrigued. I didn't know her so I wanted to meet her. I did finally on a breakfast in a café. Well, actually she sat down to my table. She had recognized. It seems that viscount had noticed me and innocently said how much I look like her. When she had seen me and my eyes, my father's eyes, she immediately knew who I was.
We had a long talk. About what had happened, I had never felt myself so mature before then. She told me how she and de Chagny had fled to England, how he had wounded and she had taken care of him. Christine de Chagny always loved her husband, their marriage was not unhappy by any means. Still I saw the look in her eyes when I told my father didn't have any woman in his life. It was a look of sadness. And love.
She wanted to walk with me back to my room, but what she truly wanted was to see my father. I didn't say anything against it. They had never properly said goodbyes and it was high time to do so. I lead her to our hotel room. She was already shaking by the time we got to the door because we heard my father clearly playing violin. I opened the door and let her in. I didn't follow nor stayed listening. By the time I got to the stairs I notice music has stopped.
I return few hours later. My father is sitting alone in the room. His eyes are red and I can see the trail of tears on his face. But his expression is relieved; as if some heavy weight has finally been taken from him. I go to him and hug him. I don't know what else I could do. Except maybe kill Raoul de Chagny, so there wouldn't be anything between them. It's very obvious that they love each others. I want de Chagny to die, to go away, and to disappear. But that won't happen and it makes me cry.
As far as I know that was the last time my mother and father met. But they stayed in contact. Every month they send each others a letter. That made 12 letters from both each year. Every time her letter arrived father was like little boy on Christmas expecting to get his present. I wonder if my mother was like that also. But no, they never met again. And my father never married again.
My father, Erik Destler, died in 1906 at the age of 71. Doctors couldn't really tell what he was doing for. My father only commented that he was tired. By that time I was married and had three children; two boys and one girl. My father had one last wish for me; that I would somehow arrange a small diamond ring to my mother when she dies. It seems she had given it to him when he was still the Phantom of the Opera. My mother Christine de Chagny died 11 years later.
It is now 1919. I am 47 years old. I walk to my mother's grave and I make a silent pray. I place a red rose with diamond ring to her grave. The rose is like the ones my father gave to my mother in their youth. I pray that they are happy now. I pray that they can finally be together now.
My thoughts are interrupted when somebody comes closer to the grave. It is Raoul de Chagny but I no longer hate him. I know he is now feeling the same pain my father felt for so long. I watch from shadows as he puts a music box to the grave. It looks very much like the ones my father made. I wonder if it is the original one. Then he sees it; the rose and the ring. And he recognizes them and starts to look around the cemetery. Is he looking for my father?
Don't worry, Viscount Raoul de Chagny. My father isn't here anymore. His with my mother and they are finally together. Something tells me that he is thinking exactly the same. And he seems relieved also.
Well, love it or hate it? My first one-shot I don't know did it work. Review to me anyway.