#Raoul DeChagny

[dross-the-fish]

Since he came up today, Raoul during the events of "The Phantom of the Opera" and his older self in my 1918 AU. Now that he can grow facial hair he's gone with a full beard. Christine thinks it's a shame because it hides his dimples.

[eriksangel666]

It is a truth universally acknowledged that Kyle Barisch as Raoul can go kick rocks

[phantom-margaritas]

It wasn't supposed to be like this; it was supposed to be a simple dinner with the DeChagny family, yet here she was, standing in the grand mansion's living room, staring at her father's vinyl record, displayed like a delicate china plate upon the mantle. “Gustave Dade was one of our best sellers, his vinyl more than deserves a place on our mantle,” a honeyed voice said, accompanied by the weight of a manicured hand upon her shoulder. Turning around, Christine's stricken eyes met Mrs. DeChagny's. “I knew there couldn't be two Daae families in the same city,” Mrs. DeChagny smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. “You must be his daughter, Christine?” Next to the two women, Raoul looked on in increasing alarm.

From across the living room, Lisette spared an indifferent glance at her mother, younger brother, and future sister-in-law. Combing her fingers through hair so blonde it was almost white, she returned her attention to her phone and continued typing. Christine swallowed and, looking away, nodded her head in agreement. “Yes.” What was she to do in this situation? She remembered the years following her father's passing, the numerous attempts at keeping her father's lifelong work thwarted by those who "knew better," the despair of not being able to fulfill her father's dying wish, and the hours spent crying in the empty apartment. Yet here it was, the most beautiful music she fought so hard to keep, silenced and reduced to a decorative piece in a wealthy family's house.

What was she to do?

———

The dinner was a somber affair. Philippe, who had been nice enough when she met him all those years ago, was away on business. And while Raoul, sweet, dear Raoul, tried his best to facilitate the conversation, Christine was too troubled by her thoughts to form any proper response.

After dinner, Raoul took her on a brief tour around the mansion, but was called away halfway through, leaving Christine to wander through the halls alone. “I didn't know about the record, I swear,” Raoul had said before his departure, his hands wrapped protectively around hers, “I'll try my best to find out what's going on. Wait for me.” Afterward, as she traversed through the maze-like building, she turned her attention towards the sounds around her, and was perplexed by the sound of two people conversing in a room just slightly down the hall.

“…for once, you're doing something good for the family business,” a woman said, “I support this engagement, if anything, I'm ecstatic that she's marrying into our family. Do you know how big that is for Chagny Records? She's in the entertainment industry, specifically the theatre industry, which is a wonderful sector for us to expand into. Besides, once she marries you, we won't have to ever worry about her father's asset, since it would technically be hers at that point. I thought you’d be happy about me supporting your engagement.”

“Lisette, please,” Raoul pleaded, voice tinged with frustration, “can you for once consider how other people might feel about record labels taking ownership of their family members' hard work? I seriously can't believe you'd say something like that—”

Raoul's voice grew louder as he approached the door, and by the time Christine realized his proximity, it was already too late. The door swung open, and Christine came face to face with her fiancé, who stared wide-eyed at her. Behind Raoul, Lisette leaned and looked over his shoulder at Christine, and her blue eyes, the same shade as Raoul's, somehow looked colder as she gazed upon Christine. Stepping around her younger brother, she smiled at Christine's horrified expression. “Hello, Christine. I'm sure you heard our full conversation, but I just wanted to say that you have my blessing—”

Whatever Lisette said after that, Christine would never know, for she was already running down the hall, desperate to escape the spacious yet suffocating mansion.

What was she to do?

[milady-pink]

Rosewood Manor

Summary: After finding Firmin’s body the guests are given three options of locations they can look for clues in.

Warnings: death, murder investigation, morbid talk, strangulation, no blood

Word Count: 2370 || Dividers: @firefly-graphics

Complete Series

AO3

————————————————————

Chapter 5

“Game?! This isn’t a game, someone’s dead!”

Sorelli’s outburst caused the group to collectively shudder. They were standing around the ballroom, located in the center of the Manor; revealing Richard Firmin’s dead body. Poor Jamie, who found him, was still shaking while Christine tried to calm her down, putting her arm around her shoulders.

Raoul tried his best to reassure everyone. “Relax, no one is really hurt. Like the butler said, it's a game,” at the mention of his job title, Erik sneered ever so slightly, Christine thought she imagined it, “he’s probably in the next room breathing right as we speak. My guess is whoever figures out who killed him will win. Am I right?” At this he pointedly asked the masked man. He nodded before walking to stand in the front of the group, his back to the grand staircase. He looked downwards before setting his face straight, and disclosed how the game really worked.

“As I’ve mentioned at dinner the previous night, your host, Mr. Y, has invited you all to play a game of wits and intellect. For them, that meant a game of murder mystery solving. Just as the younger DeChagny brother has said, the winner will have solved who is the killer amount you; who is Mr. Y. If all of you are ready, I shall explain the process that follows the, ahem, finding of the body.” The chosen words caused an already shaking Jamie to quake excessively.

The group looked around to each other, questioning in their eyes if they wanted to know how this so-called “game” was played. But, seemingly hesitant, the guests jointly nodded that yes, they were ready to play the game.

“Well then. Whenever a body is found, three locations will be offered following. You can either choose to go to the morgue; to look at the body for further inspection into how the victim died. The victims last known whereabouts, in this case Mr. Firmin’s room. Or, if you should choose, the scene of the crime, in this instance that would be-,”

“-the library.” Squeaked an ashen Jamie.

Erik continued like normal, which for him would be icy, “yes, the office library. I shall give you all five minutes to decide where you want to investigate. You may not change locations once you are there. What you learn about the murder you may choose to share with the others, or keep to yourself. The choice is yours, and the best sleuth will be rewarded. Best of luck.” He finished the explanation as to what follows a murder with no emotion in his voice at all, which was extremely disturbing given the circumstances. Following his speech, the lithe, masked figure makes his exit, leaving a confused, and thoughtful group behind.

Christine didn’t know what to think of everything that has happened and unfolded up until now. For one thing, she knew without a doubt she would not be visiting the morgue. Seeing Papa was bad enough, I don’t think I can do it again. So, that left the crime scene or the last known whereabouts. Christine didn’t think there would be anything useful in Firmin’s room, so when Erik walked back to the group with two maids in tow, she chose the crime scene.

Back in the library, Christine tried her best to detach herself from the situation. She tried not to think about the fact that someone had been laying in the next room dead. No Christine, pretending to be dead. Real or fake, it was enough to irk Christine and get into her brain that something like that was seen as a game. A carpeted thud made Christine turn her head quickly, only to find Jamie picking up a book that she predicted Jamie had dropped. As for the other guests; Carlotta, Andre, and Piangi chose to explore Firmin’s bedroom, while Sorelli and Raoul willingly chose to go to the morgue.

“I’m kind of surprised you chose the library, seeing as how you were here first.” Christine said to Jamie, trying to walk on eggshells around the subject matter.

“Honestly, I just decided because you chose it. I-I think you’re pretty nice. And I know you better than anyone else here.” Shared the scared blonde, making Christine feel sorry for the girl. She quietly promised herself to help Jamie if she can, at least include her if alliances are made. Christine replied to her with a smile before arriving at the office door.

“Are you ready?” Christine asked, “I’m sure you could just sit this one out if it’s too much.”

“No, I’m ready. I don’t want to be useless and just sit by like a scared little girl.” Jamie replied, stealing herself.

“I’m glad to hear it, it's very brave of you.” Christine honestly told her. She grasped the door in her hand and pushed open the door.

The office was smaller than the library, a window to the left showcasing the front lawn and its elegant landscaping. In front of the window was a dark wooden desk, intricate designs carved into it, with a comfy-looking vintage office chair tucked in between. The walls were lined with books on shelves, similarly to the library, save for the wall across from the door the two girls currently stood in. It looked to be a large tv bookcase, with shelves empty save for a few statues, and one shelf with what looked like a safe; the door of which was open. Christine started walking over to the safe, with Jamie in tow.

“Hmm,” remarked Christine while looking at the safe, “we must have missed this when…th-the first time, that is.” Still trying to tread carefully, for both of them, as to why they were just now noticing the open safe.

“Do you think Firmin opened it?” Jamie asked, looking at her colleague with questions swimming in her brown eyes. “And if so, why didn’ he take anything else?”

She was right, Christine noticed. The safe was open, but there sat some pretty valuable items; three stacked gold bars, some neatly piled hundred bills, and scattered jewelry. Huh, why would he leave all that?

“That is weird,” stated Christine, voicing her puzzlement, “but obviously there was something that he deemed important enough to break open a safe for. Maybe something obscure?”

“Or personal, that it would only matter to him.” Put forth Jamie, brows furrowed thinking hard.

“Yeah, maybe. We can ask one of the people who went to his room if there was anything significant there.”

“Good idea. In the meantime, how do you think he opened it? Did he know the password? ”

“Hmm, let’s look around for more clues.” Ventured Christine, closing the safe door with a soft clink. Before turning around to start searching, Christine noticed a strange symbol near the safe’s dial. It looked like a large circle, with three smaller circles connected by the larger one, in the shape of a triangle.

Hmmm, wonder what that means

“Uh, Christine?” Jamie ventured. She turned to face Jamie, and noticed she was hovering over an open book sitting on the office desk. Christine sauntered over to see what her partner had found.

The book seemed to be about the psychology of human nature overall; including different religions and cultures of the past and present world. But the page it was left open on, was talking about the Bible along with good and evil. Then it starts talking about the philosopher Seneca and his virtues that define the human experience.

“It’s missing a page.” Jamie said, pointing at how the corner page numbers go from

347 straight to 349.

“Looks like it was ripped out.” Christine ran her finger down the torn paper left in the book. “I bet it had the code to the safe on it, or something close to it.”

After a few hours of rooting around for clues in their respective locations, the guests of Rosewood Manor regrouped outside on the patio. There was a table set up with sandwiches, pasta salad, and fruit salad, all plastered up. To drink was water or lemonade for the California heat. Everyone wandered outside for lunch and to, hopefully, learn some clues of how Firmin died. Once everyone grabbed some food, the mingling started.

Following getting some pasta salad and some fruit, Christine decides to take initiative and goes over to Raoul, the only other person she knows, and tries to get some information. Just as Christine was sitting down, Sorelli walked over to them.

“Hey Sorelli, what’s up?” Wandered Christine in a friendly voice.

“Nothing much. But, uh, can I join?”

“Join what?” Raoul questioned.

“You know, join your team. You guys are making an alliance, right?” She asked, with one of her dark eyebrows raised.

Looking at each other Raoul and Christine shrugged shoulders. “I guess we didn’t think about it but, yeah, I guess we could team up.” Answered Raoul, to which Christine smiled and nodded her head in response. She was happy to be in his presence again, making new memories in their young-adult lives. Hopefully after all of this madness, we can stay in touch.

“So, Christine, what did you find in the library?” Sorelli began, jumping right into the important stuff.

“Well me and Jamie…” She trailed off. At the mention of Jamie, Christine realized that she was sort of breaking the promise she made herself. So, she looks around the patio and spots one petite, wheat haired woman sitting by herself near Piangi, Carlotta, and Andre. Jamie looks downwards, with a forlorn look on her face, then up making eye contact with Christine. She smiles warmly and waves her over, which makes Jamie’s eyes go wide, only to stand up and quickly walk over. She took a seat next to Sorelli on the lounge chair opposite Christine and Raoul’s. What once was three, now is four.

“Hi Jamie, I was just about to tell these guys what we found in the library’s office. Now that you’re here, chime in if I miss anything.” Christine told her, wanting her to feel welcomed, to which she nodded. “So, as I was saying, Jamie and I found an open safe and a book with a missing page.”

“An open safe? What was inside?” Pondered Sorelli.

“There was some jewelry, uh, a lot of cash, and, get this, three gold bars. Like, real ones!” She exclaimed.

“Woah, that’s weird.” Remarked Raoul.

“Yeah, rich people are weird.”

“Well, yeah, that, but also the fact that he didn’t take anything.”

“Tell them about the book Christine,” added Jamie, “and the page too.”

“What book?” Questioned Sorelli, taking a sip of her lemonade.

“There was a book sitting on the desk, completely open, and the page that was there was ripped out.” Jamie spoke with such energy, seemingly like she bounced back from this morning, making Christine smile.

“What about you guys,” Christine asked, “what was the morgue like?”

Sorelli and Raoul shared a look, obviously with hesitance plainly visible on both of their faces.

“Well,” Sorelli started, “for starters it’s in the house.”

That shocked Christine, and clearly frightened Jamie. A moment passed as the two girls tried to figure out what that meant.

“I’m sorry, in the house? H-how?” Wondered a very confused Christine, asking because Jamie looked frozen in place.

“There is a morgue in the house, it’s down in the basement. That weird butler brought us down there and opened a door with, you guessed it, Firmin laying on a metal table wearing nothing but a blue paper gown.” She said in a grave voice.

“Yeah, his clothes were placed in bags on a metal cabinet next to the table.” Recounted Raoul.

“Did you check his pockets?” Christine asked, sitting on the edge of the chair.

“YES!” Exclaimed the two of them.

“I don’t remember what the text was saying,” Raoul went on, “but there was a page with a couple of symbols on them.”

This time, it’s Jamie and Christine who share a look.

“Can you remember them?” Inquired Christine.

“I do, but it might be hard to explain them.” Raoul answered.

“Maybe you could draw them!” Excited Jamie. “We can get you guys some paper and pencils and you can draw the symbols.”

“Okay, did you find something like that in the office?” Sorelli wanted to know.

“We did, on the safe. We think it might have something to do with how Firmin cracked the code and opened the safe.” Affirmed Christine.

After going back and forth with the various knowledge that the four of them shared, they came to a few realizations; one, was that Firmin was strangled after Raoul and Sorelli found dark bruising, ahem, makeup, around his neck, another was that Firmin broke into the safe for something that wasn’t the regular jewels and riches.

“I bet he hid the stolen item in his room.” Stated Sorelli, at which point she looked over at the other group.

“How do we find out what it was? I doubt those guys are gonna offer up clues willingly.” Retorted Raoul.

At that moment, Piangi got up from the small table and chairs that their group occupied, and went back to the serving table for thirds.

“I have an idea,” said Sorelli, “I’ll be right back.”

Sorelli made her way over to the sandwiches, next to Piangi, and looked like she started a friendly conversation. Almost as quickly as she arrived on the scene, Carlotta swooped into Piangi’s other side. She thread an arm through his, and started to pull him back towards the safety of their table. Sorelli came back to the lounge chairs with more lemonade, but no luck.

“That pompous peacock got to him before he had a chance to share anything useful.” Sorelli grumbled.

Throughout the rest of lunch, the four of them continued talking about finding some paper to draw the symbols that were on the missing page. They also discussed how they were going to get information about what was in Firmin’s room. All the while, eating and talking, Christine noticed that Jamie kept stealing glances at Sorelli next to her. Hmm, maybe a little crush?

All too soon, lunch ended and the group dispersed.

[confessionsofanoperaghost]

Yes I would also like a The Terrors version of Raoul deChagny👀👀👀

Not shocked to report that thus far, Book!Raoul is, in fact, still a little bitch.

But I'm very fascinated that he was supposed to be a sailor? Where's my AU where Raoul is, in fact, subjected to the horrors of Arctic Expedition?! I demand it.

[ncvaflows-archive]

@dechagnys STARTER CALL 

         ❛ça fait plaisir de te revoir, victome. ❜ the eldest grand duchess was as socially polite as was dictated in front of the others that might see the two conversing. her french was as graceful and flawless as any french-woman’s might be. however the regal greeting was immediately dropped the second she and the victomte strolled out of the very public parlor room and down the hall of his brother’s chateau. her poised stature now turned into one matching her age as delight glimmered in sapphire eyes while looking to her companion with a bright smile. 

❛i really am glad to see you again, raoul. you must tell me all you’ve been up.❜ paris was the pinnacle of society and while she did miss her russia- she was glad to be visiting her grandmother here and visiting a family friend. 

[soyouthinkmyeyesarefine]

[hoursofmazenderan]

Chapters: 4/?
Fandom: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Raoul de Chagny/Christine Daaé, Meg Giry/Nadir Khan
Characters: Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Christine Daaé, Raoul de Chagny, Meg Giry, Nadir Khan, Carlotta Giudicelli
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Inspired by The Great Gatsby, The Great Gatsby References, Alternate Universe - The Great Gatsby Fusion
Summary: A 1920s AU that loosely follows the events of the Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald.
Nadir Khan arrives in New York City to forget. Forget pain. Forget horror. Forget death. Raoul DeChagny has an image to maintain. Christine DeChagny is lost. Erik Destler needs something to live for. However, as more time passes, each character finds themselves intertwined in a web of secrets and lies they cannot escape. CHAPTER 4!!

[opeletmejustdraw]

10 Fandoms 10 Characters 10 Tags

Thanks for the tag @blueboobi This was easier than I thought and this is in no particular order. 1. The Riddler - Batman 2. Montgomery (Scotty) Scott - Star Trek 3. Raoul Vicomte DeChagny - Phantom of the Opera 4. Princess Caroline - Bojack Horseman 5. SeaHawk - She-ra 6. Caduceus Clay -Critcal Role 7. Uncle Iroh - Avatar: The Last Airbender 8. Fred Jones - Scooby-Doo 9. Josh Levison - Being Human U.S. 10. Jules Callaghan - Flashpoint

@make-me-imagine is the only one I can think to tag... (psst. it's me What-if lol)

[russicnrat]

@dechagnys​​​  /  ✦✧ :  musicals ask : phantom of the opera !!

favourite character: raoul, but i gotta say firmin & andré’s stupidity owns half my heart

least favourite character: carlotta

favourite obc cast member: probably michael crawford ( honourable mention: ramin karimloo from 25th ;) )

favourite current cast member ( if applicable ): i’ve yet to see the current cast, but i have high hopes for john riddle!!

favourite song: angel of music or masquerade

least favourite song: wandering child... it sounds great, but the fact that the phantom is coming onto her while also passing as her father feels a little wrong

favourite act ( if applicable ): act ii

favourite ship: christine & raoul by default? ( soft, but often too sappy )

least favourite ship: i feel like i can’t endorse any ship with erik only because my guy has got some issues to sort through first

if there is something i would change about the musical: the music & costumes are *chef’s kiss*, but i often feel like most of the characters lack development apart from their relationships. personally, i think the characters come off as bland when there’s definitely time & space for more personality. & it moves a little slow for my taste too.

rating: 7/10

[dross-the-fish]

Fascinated that you made Raoul black, is there a reason?

I liked the idea of having a Raoul who was also something of an outcast making all three of the main characters isolated in their own way. In my AU Raoul is specifically the child of a French father and a Haitian mother. His mother was descended from an independently wealthy family of gens de couleur libres (Free people of color) from when a portion Haiti was still called Saint Domingue. The large age gap between him and his siblings is due to his mother being a second wife, making him a half-sibling to Philippe. He occupies a strange social sphere of having enough wealth and power that no one can outright insult him to his face but he still finds himself ostracized because of his status as the mixed-race son of a second wife. Spoiled in some ways, deprived in others. There are no expectations or responsibilities placed upon him, he is permitted a leisurely existence provided he stays quiet and doesn't do anything to draw attention to himself or sully his family's name. During his youth he met Christine and her father, two of the very few people to be genuinely kind and welcoming to him. Part of why he clings so hard to Christine is because in some way she was his only real friend. Raoul has spent nearly his whole life being surrounded by people and feeling entirely alone. Being genuinely loved and wanted by someone other than his immediate family is a big deal to him. Like in the book he has his moments of youthful pride, jealousy and stubbornness but I've tried to re-frame them in a way that adds a little more depth and nuance to the character and his emotions.

In my 1918 AU he and Christine are happily married and have children. He has not forgiven, nor forgotten what Erik put him through and is less than pleased to find out he's still alive.

[swedemoved]

@dechagnys​ sent: how your muse responds to unconditional love. / what items can be found in your muse’s pockets?  / how your muse responds to anger. / how often does your muse get sick? ↳  𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙷𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙲𝙰𝙽𝙾𝙽𝚂, 𝙰𝙻𝚆𝙰𝚈𝚂 𝙰𝙲𝙲𝙴𝙿𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶! 

𝙷𝙾𝚆 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙼𝚄𝚂𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝚂𝙿𝙾𝙽𝙳𝚂 𝚃𝙾 𝚄𝙽𝙲𝙾𝙽𝙳𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝙰𝙻 𝙻𝙾𝚅𝙴

mmm she responds okay? ish? anyone admitting any kind of love to her makes christine kiiiiiinda wanna crawl under a table and die but, y’know. she’s able to accept it pretty easily, reciprocation is another vein entirely. mainly surprises her more than anything? she doesn’t ever seem to expect or anticipate being loved. not with raoul, not with erik, not with anyone except for maybe her father. she cherishes it, though. christine holds those moments close to her heart.

𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙸𝚃𝙴𝙼𝚂 𝙲𝙰𝙽 𝙱𝙴 𝙵𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳 𝙸𝙽 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙼𝚄𝚂𝙴’𝚂 𝙿𝙾𝙲𝙺𝙴𝚃𝚂? 

lots of things, honestly! some staples are her rosary, francs, and usually some kind of spare ribbon. needle and thread occasionally, specifically when she knows she’ll be headed to rehearse; en pointe shoes need to be darned, and also, quick costume fixes for herself and the other girls. she also keeps a bit of spare parchment on her person, just in case. 

𝙷𝙾𝚆 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙼𝚄𝚂𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝚂𝙿𝙾𝙽𝙳𝚂 𝚃𝙾 𝙰𝙽𝙶𝙴𝚁

badly. really, really badly. she’ll either cry instantaneously or get just as angry and blow up. there’s absolutely no in between. if the anger is directed at her, she’s more likely to cry or break down. if the anger is from an outside source, she’s more likely to get just as angry as the other person and they can sit and stew together. christine feels everything very, very intensely. 

𝙷𝙾𝚆 𝙾𝙵𝚃𝙴𝙽 𝙳𝙾𝙴𝚂 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙼𝚄𝚂𝙴 𝙶𝙴𝚃 𝚂𝙸𝙲𝙺?

not that often? she gets springtime and summertime allergies. lots of comical sneezing. when christine does get sick, she gets really sick. like, confined to her bed sick. unable to move sick. you won’t see her for weeks. it doesn’t happen much, thankfully. 

[romanyova]

        ❝  well,  you  and  your  brother  certainly  seem  to   have  little  in  common  aside  from  your  surname,  ❞   she  comments  as  her  eyes  follow  the  older  dechagny’s  figure  waltzing  towards  the  ballerinas,  resisting  an  eyeroll.   (  two  sides  of  the  same  coin  ---  that  how  the  saying  goes,  doesn’t  it ?  ).   ❝  i  don’t,  however,  know  him  well  enough,  so  don’t  assume  my  opinion  on  him  can’t  change.  ❞

@cognoscente​​  - for  raoul  de  chagny !   starter  call.

[milady-pink]

Bride of the Living Corpse

Summary: Christine reflects and finally admits to herself the feelings she has been harboring for her teacher, but is it too late to tell him? As they say, true love never dies.

Word Count: 4482 | Graphics: @firefly-graphics

Warnings: Graphic depictions of death/ corpse, another character death, post-mortem, necrophelia if you squint

Part 1 Part 3

Nothing could compare to the agony that Christine currently felt.

For the past two and a half hours she has been sitting on an elegant chaise lounge in the DeChagny’s parlor room. As much as she wanted to listen to whatever Raoul was droning on about, she found the swirls of the floral pattern on the chaise far more interesting. Unfortunately Christine has wanted to leave the decadent manor the second she left the comfort of her carriage and stepped foot into the grand foyer.

When she first got up in the morning all she could think of was getting to reconnect with her dear childhood friend. Christine couldn’t stop talking her dresser’s ear off about how much fun the two of them used to have on the beaches of Perros-Guirec, about the joy they had during his violin lessons with her late father, hearing tales of the dark north, Little Lottie, and the goblins that lived in the grassy hills. The poor carriage driver could barely hear her joyous ranting about how she thought reuniting with her old friend seemed like a sign that their souls were meant to cross from the whistling of the chilling October wind.

All of the happiness left Christine when the dashing young Viscount started to talk. Slowly, like a dying oil lamp losing its light, Christine started to grow increasingly bored with the topic of conversation. It wouldn’t be fair to say she wanted to leave immediately he parted his mustache from his bottom lip, but it certainly struck Christine within the first hour that the carriage was most likely no longer waiting for her to make an escape. After the formalities of greetings and friendly, yet chaste, hugs, the river of conversation seemed to have suffered a drought. They sat awkwardly by, Christine on her chaise lounge and Raoul on a loveseat opposite her, staring anywhere but at the other person and trying to find something to talk about.

They had tried the weather, how the night was so cold and if sleep was able to come for easily; which fizzled out quickly when both parties stated the cold was indeed frightful, but a warm bed is the best remedy. Christine asked about his sisters, leading to Raoul stating that they were married and living their lives happily with their families. Raoul tried asking about Christine’s father, which ended quickly when she revealed he had passed away. By that point there was little to no hope in saving the afternoon, at least until a servant brought out a tray of tea and finger foods for the pair. Somehow, invigorated by the cucumber sandwiches and sugary black tea, Raoul started on about the Games of the VI Olympiad that had started in April and its 22 nations, 2,008 participants, 110 events, and countless other numbers and facts that Christine tried desperately to block out.

If she was to be honest should he ask, which he never did, Christine would have to say she didn’t even know there was an international sports competition happening as they spoke in England. Although she loved ballet and getting her heart rate up, Christinefound no interest in talking about other people participating in a sport you don’t even know how to play.

So here they sat, Raoul going on about France’s two gold medals in fencing and how Eugène Grisot is to be one of the best archers in history, all while Christine picked dead skin from her fingers in desperate search for something entertaining. While her partner kept yapping on about technique and sports drama, it gave Christine the proper amount of time to regard the two men in her life.

First there was Raoul, sweet, dependable, boring Raoul. When they were young all time spent together was fun and glee; even on the gloomiest of days, Raoul’s head of blonde hair acted as a halo of what the day was to bring. He had always been her sunshine, even when they moved apart, Christine would think back on those days spent on the beach playing with the boy who had rescued her red scarf from the frozen ocean. Now, however, Christine thought she was going to go insane from boredom if she had to listen to his ramblings about France winning a gold medal in “water motorsports” despite only being added to the games since 1900. It seems like that adventurous young boy from childhood has grown up into the sport enthusiast sitting before her.

This made Christine think even more, about her future to be specific; if she could barely stand thirty minutes without losing her mind with Raoul, how was she supposed to spend the rest of her life with him? Although a young woman, Christine knows the position she was given in today’s society having grown up struggling for money with her father. It was a common wish for many of the ballet rats and chorus girls, including herself, to dream of a rich sweetheart to take them away from the city and marry into a life of luxury, regardless if they loved their partner or not. At least for Christine, the idea of marrying a man whom she did not love was a terribly hard thing to wrap her head around; lucky for her she was awarded a visit from two opposing suitors. One was the blonde headed boy previously mentioned, someone Christine certainly saw herself happy to marry even if it meant marrying a friend rather than the love of her life. Now, she didn’t even think she could enjoy a life of luxury with her dear friend Raoul given how little they enjoy the same things.

Which brings us to suitor number two: Erik.

Oh sweet, tempered, and beautifully talented Erik. Their first meeting and subsequent deception was less than admirable, but once Christine was given a chance to think about his actions and his apology for lying to the heartbroken girl, she found herself drawn even more to him. No longer the mysterious angel heaven sent to her by a deceased father, rather a disturbingly thin man in a dark suit who wore half a mask to hide his facial deformity. She wanted to know more about him, how he came to be living underneath the opera house, and especially how he learned to write and play such beautiful music. It felt like he truly was an angel despite not having the facial features of one. Ah, yes, his face. Now that Christine has seen it numerous times, even suggesting during lessons that he remove it for comfort's sake, Erik is still ashamed of his biggest sin and insecurity but at the time she ripped his mask from his face, she saw the real monster encompassed within him. A red hot anger, one so terrible she feared for her very life that night, arose through his tall frame and sprung from his mouth spewing insults and threats at her all the while stomping around his home like a child.

Looking back, knowing what she knows about his life, Christine would have reacted the same way. She really was lucky that the Persian, Nadir, had stopped by to surprise his friend and stumbled upon the scene; without him she wouldn’t have been able to escape from the house and row herself across the underground lake. It took weeks before Christine was able to look Erik in the eye again, after what he had called her. Even after that their lessons never were the same, not until she asked him to take off the mask, assuring him she was not frightened of his face; that it was his anger she feared. To this day she remembers the way his amber eyes, bright and shining from the candle light, softened when he realized the true reason for her distance. He apologized profusely, but Christine maintained she would only accept his apology if he took his mask off; which he did, with great trepidation. To his great surprise, however, Christine merely smiled at him and dared to bring a hand up to his ruing cheek, gently stroking her thumb across. So overcome with emotion was he that the poor suffering man dropped to his knees in front of her and grabbed at her skirts, bringing them to his deformed face and crying, wailing about how perfect she was and that he didn’t deserve her.

She thought she had killed him when she kissed his forehead.

Their lessons were never the same after that, having grown so much closer than ever thought possible. These thoughts of her maestro and how special he made her feel, his music that he wrote and played just for her, the feelings he evoked in her, made her grow sad knowing their last words had been those of anger and quite, possibly jealousy.

After spending great time lost in thought about the men in her life, Christine knew; she could never spend the rest of her life with Raoul, they had grown too far apart. He would always have a special place in her heart, but as of right now, she couldn’t envision a very happy future together if they couldn’t enjoy ten minutes alone together. Yet with Erik, she could spend everyday for the rest of her life with that curious man, not a word exchanged, their home only filled with music and the sounds of the crackling fire. They talked of everything from music to architecture, philosophy and different cultures and religions. Christine truly has been enlightened that the feelings he made her feel were those of love and longing.

And that is exactly what she told Raoul.

Running from the carriage to the Rue Scribe entrance, Christine had to pick up her skirts so as not to trip over them. She was a woman on a mission; to express all of the love she has found within herself for Erik to the man himself. For not another moment could she bear to think of him wallowing away down in the depths thinking she did not return the affections he showered her in every day.

Poor Erik, who never felt such a basic human kindness as a kiss to the forehead, the mere thought of his beloved student rejecting his love would surely kill him.

Making her way across the underground lake, Christine was so caught up in her thoughts and feelings for her true heart's desire, it didn’t come to her attention that she wasn’t breaking out in her usual sweat around her collar from the musty air that usually permeated under the earth. So caught up for fear that her favored maestro would be so distraught he wouldn’t even spare a glance towards her direction, Christine also failed to notice the chill that greeted her, or the bits of frost that decorated the crust of the lake.

Finally having reached the shoreline, Christine didn’t even take the time to ensure the boat would stay put, carding little is the two of them were stuck together in the little house, forced to spend every day in each others company and every night cuddled up beside the fire in the Louis-Phillippe sitting room. Upon entering the house however, Christine had the sinking feeling that those nights spent beside a fire would be a distant memory.

For starters, the door had been left wide open, very bizarre since Christine’s dearest maestro hates any and all possibilities for the outside world to make contact with his own. The next thing Christine noticed was the complete and utter disarray of his most beloved possessions; staff paper ripped to shreds and thrown about haphazard, ink spilled and soaked into the authentic Persian rug, having watched the woman who’d woven it for the Shah, or the broken plaster and canvas paintings that he himself had made in all of his artistic talent. Ruined. Everything was ruined, rendered completely useless.

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

Sitting in the center of the mess, in all of its disfigured glory, was his most cherished possession; the organ. Wood, splintered and rubbed raw of its lacquer, lay all over the mess of papers and broken plaster. The plush velvet bench that Christine dreamed countless times of sitting next to her teacher, resting her head against his bony shoulder, ripped down the middle with its feathered guts strewn across the sitting room; so much so that a few feathers had stuck and dried to the once wet ink splattered on the floral wallpaper. Stepping over the larger pieces of wreckage, Christine looked around at what destruction her seemingly gentle and soft-spoken love was capable of. Under her boot, a piece of paper caught her eye, having found the needle in the haystack considering the surrounding area. Reaching down to pick up the paper, Christine realized what it was the second it came into view. Written in spindly and intricate red lettering were the words;

Don Juan Triumphant

All of those sleepless nights, hours spent writing blindlessly by candlelight, years of working on the one thing he hoped to be remembered by, destroyed. Carrying the page close to her chest, Christine made her way once more through the destruction, stopping just before the ripped bench and shattered organ. Staring down at the gash, feathers peering out in a great contrast of white against blood red, Christine’s eyes started to well up. For reasons she cannot name, looking at this scene of complete chaos from hours passed, she felt an immense sadness towards her teacher. No matter how hard he tried to make himself, and Christine, believe that he was more than mortal, claiming he needed less sleep and food than the average man, that was all he really was. A man. A man who craved nothing more from life and God than to be welcomed into a space where others could appreciate his talent and personality for what it was, not asking to change anything. To love a woman and take her out for walks in public without anyone batting an eye. But because he was denied and denounced so much from so many people for so many years, an anger took solace within him, planting itself when he was a child, growing as he did into the fury that lives there now, feeding off of his deep fear of resentment and loneliness that encompassed his frail body.

Christine, far wiser beyond her years than anyone would give her credit for, knew that he was but a scared, scarred man who wanted nothing but to feel secure in knowing not everyone was out to harm him, physically or emotionally. Overcome with the sadness she felt for the man who so desperately wanted to be an angel, she wept softly into the destruction a broken whisper.

“Oh, Erik”

Uncomfortable and unnerved by the silence, Christine reached a shaking hand, the chill of the room finally setting in, and pressed her delicate index finger on a key, yearning to hear the music that happily haunts her on the surface and in her dreams. The note, remarkably still working but sadly far from in tune, rang out loudly into the house’s cold void.

Just as she was ready to leave the poor man to his peace, not wanting to hurt him more than she has, a low noise could be heard. Recalling the sound, Christine had good reason to think it came from the hallway that led to the two bedrooms and grande bathroom. Deciding to investigate, she followed the sounds to the dark hall, wrapping her arms around her torso to find some sort of warmth in this frozen land. The darkness made Christine fear she might have simply imagined the sound, so she decided to call out, hoping for a reply.

“Erik?”

Nothing.

But then.

“Mmmm…”

Surprise swept across Christine’s face, knowing for certain that her mind did not lie to her about the first noise. It was muffled and mumbled, but it was a sign and she had no idea for what. Again not wanting to over step her welcome in such a private man’s home, she called out yet again, seeking something more to urge her into the depths of his domain.

“Erik…are you alright?”

Again the muffled voice subtly hummed, but for Christine it was as loud as sirens. She urgently feared that he had gotten sick or caught a cold from the chill that drifted through, and his lack of response was his way of asking, begging her to nurse him back to health. With hurried steps she made her way down the lightless hall, ghosting her hand against the wall to ensure she was going in the right direction, making her way to his private bedroom. Christine’s hand hesitated to grasp the door handle, fearful thoughts handicapping her movements.

What if he believes her to be Monsieur Khan and demands she leave his home the second his eyes land on her? What if he is sick and would rather suffer than face her again? What if he never wants to see her again? With all of these thoughts, and many more, swimming around her head Christine had to find the strength within her to alleviate these worries. If she entered his most private domain and told her to leave, she would harden her nerves and help the man regardless if he wanted it or not. She would nurse and warm him up, all the while saying that he can refuse her company for the rest of his life after he was better; no matter how much that would pain her. So, with nerves steeled and shoulders squared, Christine grasped the handle tightly, turned, and pushed open the door.

The room was darker than the hallway, darker than the back of Christine’s eyelids, what little light seeped into the room illuminated a small path that stopped at the box in the center of the room. The coffin. That dreaded wooden contraption that her dear unfortunate maestro insisted he sleep in instead of a warm, soft bed so he could live the life appropriate for a living corpse. As she searched for a candle to light, Christine promised herself that she would make him change his ways and live a life for a proper man with all of the indulgences that he deserves.

After a few moments of searching, Christine found a single candle that was melted to an old end table, one of the few items of furniture in the makeshift catacomb. Finding a match beside the candle, she grasped it with nimble fingers and struck it against the table, evidently giving the room the much needed light it longed for to scare away the monsters from the dark corners. With some illumination, Christine made her way over to the coffin and began the arduous task of lifting the lid. The heavy wood made the job hard, but not impossible, for a young woman of Christine’s size and strength. Why her masked love chose to encapsulate himself entirely from the outside world, she would have to ask later.

Finally shoving the wooden lid off of the box, a loud thud rang out as it slammed onto the floor. Before getting to reunite with her beloved teacher, the most rancid smell, like that of rotted meat, hit her harshly and caused her to stumble backwards with her hands covering her nose. Taking a minute to clear her lungs and coffin of the dreadful air, she was left wondering for the umpteenth time why such an intelligent man would disparage himself and force his body to sleep in a wooden box made for the dead. The sounds of pained groans caught her attention, looking back at the box itself. Unfortunately for Christine, so caught up in her pitying thought for Erik she failed to notice the scratch marks left on the inside of the coffin’s lid.

Turning her attention to her maestro, Christine knew she had guessed correctly after seeing him for the first time since the bone chilling night. The poor man had indeed caught an illness, and a terrible one at that. His usually thin and grayish skin had become a ghoulish blue-green colour, spreading from his forehead to his collarbone before being covered up by his suit. The skin on his hands, the same sickening colour as his face, had developed sores of dark purple, almost black. And his face, though hard to see through the tears the offensive smell caused, was worse than what the stagehands described to scared chorus girls. His usual sunken eyes and thin lips had exaggerated through the night, the gaping hole that served as a nose had dark red substance around the nostrils, presumably to be dried blood. His lack of hydration has caused prominent lines and wrinkles to form all over his now leathery skin; Christine could almost count every muscle and ligament.

“Oh, Erik! You poor thing, we must get you some food and drink. Maybe a fire to warm you too.”

The sweet young thing told all of this to the being that used to be Erik, now nothing more than what most people feared he was; a living corpse.

Too disillusioned was she to believe that the dead could rise again, Christine reached her hand towards his forehead to try and determine if he had a fever and if so how far along it was. As she searched for any warmth, made harder with Erik’s persistence of his hands trying to push her away, all she could feel was the same icy chill that reminded Christine of cold marble.

“Erik please, we must get you to a fire.” She tried to explain, but was soon dismayed when his skeletal hands came to her shoulders, grasping at her, trying to bring her closer. The only thought Christine could make out was that he was no longer mad at her; indeed, he must have come to the same conclusion she had and wishes to make up for lost time. Flustered, with her cheeks burning and heart racing, Christine wanted nothing more than to close the gap between their lips and seal their love for good, to ease the hunger she saw growing in her dearest’s eyes. The only problem was the nagging feeling that she should wait, get him healthy again, or at least out of the blasted coffin first. But emotions ruled the kingdom of both male and female bodies, especially when it came to matters of the heart. Christine braced herself, gasping from arousal, before ending the distance and melding her lips to his. For months she had imagined what they would feel like against her own; thin yet soft and palatable for her own. The reality was a bit different, but not unwanted to her daydreams; although it was in haste, he certainly had a life inside of him that surfaced, moving his lips every which way across her own, seemingly wanting to taste every inch of her he could reach.

Too enthralled by the soaring kiss that she was receiving from her uniquely gifted maestro, Christine chose to ignore some of the more disturbing aspects of the kiss. For example, the unearthly taste that came when he opened his mouth poking out his gummy tongue in search of her own. The metallic taste and muddy texture would be enough for any young woman to start running the other way; but the lack of experience for the soprano caused her to believe this was the normal reaction. What she could not ignore, however, was the sharp sting that came from her lover, tugging and pulling on her bottom lip in a determined effort of making her his.

Christine was starting to get startlingly excited over the idea that her teacher might continue things further, with his hands grasping her shoulders and waist with such intensity that she feared he might rip the dress right off of her. The only sound she could hear, and was positive he did too, was the rushing of blood in her ears and the constant pounding of her heart, not to mention the thumping pulse between her legs. Not the various groans of pleasure coming from the ruined mouth of the thing holding her. So caught up in the rush of the moment, Christine pulled her head back so as to gasp in a breath of fresh air that was lacking from their kiss. As she gasped in breast after breath, her inamorato continued his path of love bites and careless kisses across her neck, décolletage, and stopped to affectionately nibble on her shoulder; which his greedy hands exposed. Stirring within Christine was a hunger she knew only his expertise could extinguish, having been the one to ignite the rivinous flame, she could still taste his dribble that had made its way into her mouth; mixed with the bits of blood that seeped out from his bite. All of his ministrations, combined with the emotions running rampant through Christine’s virginal veins, caused tears to well up in her eyes; the sheer amount of love she felt for this man and his desires for her was too much to handle.

All too suddenly however, the seemingly loving bites he was leaving on her shoulder soon started to hurt more than she thought they should have. Whenever she would converse with the older girls, more experienced than the young chorus girls like herself, they told stories of lovers soothing bites with laps of their tongue on the offended skin. Erik, it seems, is a rather aggressive lover leaving no room for Christine to escape his onslaught of nibbles. Which soon changed as, having found himself in need of the supple flesh under him, the blunt force of his teeth broke through the unblemished skin and tore away a piece to chew on as if it was merely a piece of undercooked mutton. The scream that emitted from her lips sounded and echoed into the air, so loud and so pained, it was to be the last note the soprano ever made. Blood immediately started to run down Christine’s shoulder and onto her dress, staining it a deep crimson almost reaching her knees with the steady flow.

The pain was so great that she started to sway on her feet, having lost an entire crater of skin that only left exposed arteries, muscle, and some tendons free for viewing. As Christine started to realize her mistake her pupils dilated, her vision overcome with a warm light and the most beautiful music she had ever heard reached her ears, reminding her of her father’s violin, music that she only ever heard when she was in the company of the living corpse. Her last thoughts were how she would finally be with her love, her dear maestro and true angel, Erik.

Eternally.

[dechagnys]

blogroll  of  hypothetical  muses  i’d  eventually  like  to  write:

rules:  name  3-10  muses  you’ve  considered  or  would  like  to  write  in  the  future!

annie warbucks-bennett   ( annie the musical )

grinpayne trelaw   ( the grinning man musical )

jesper fahey   ( leigh bardugo’s six of crows )

any shakespeare muse   ( literally any play )

your  current  muses  (  optional  ):

raoul de chagny  (  phantom  of  the  opera  /  dechagnys  )

mina harker   ( bram stoker’s dracula  /  murrayes )

lucy barker   ( sondheim’s sweeney todd  /  bloodywidow )

meg giry   ( phantom of the opera  /  littlestgiry )

tagged  by:  @sjalvandra

tagging: steal from me !!

[countess-destler]

Matt Leisy as Raoul DeChagny