#murder in Provence

[allthemurders]

i’ve made a multifandom cosy crime discord server, and y’all should definitely join ✨✨

as well as the general channels, each fandom has its own chat, nsfw, and fanwork channels so you can get to know other people in the fandom! i’ll also add new fandoms on request if yours isn’t there atm 😊

[mywingsareonwheels]

So this is really one of the most important reasons for my enormous crush on Roger Allam:-

He’s a big, imposing-looking man with (when he uses it that way) a big, imposing-sounding voice. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen or heard him play a role without bringing an astonishing amount of vulnerability to it, and as many layers as the character will take (including far more than many other even really good actors would find).

He has made me care about Duke Vincentio in Measure for Measure, Prospero in The Tempest, and Falstaff in the Henry IVs, all of whom (despite - arguably - not being actual villains) I usually cordially dislike. And he does so without his acting excusing any of their actions: his Duke still fucks up massively towards Isabella and does some seriously dodgy things; his Prospero is still extremely problematic in his behaviour towards, well, everybody frankly; his Falstaff is still cruel and venal. But my Gods, he shows how much pain they’re each in, how frightened each of them is. His Duke has severe depression and is flailing about much of the time and you get the impression he will do his best after the end to make it up to Isabella, that he gets that he’s messed up; his Prospero is terrified of losing both Miranda and Ariel and is desperately traumatised by all he’s gone through; his Falstaff plays a mighty good game and fools most people but underneath he’s a scared old man who knows his own failings with a horrible precision and whose love for Hal is like putting his heart in the mouth of a lion(’s whelp).

He made me care about Rogozhin in The Idiot so much (again, without in any way detracting from how horrifying the man is) that he was part of what I was crying about when I got to the end of that radio adaptation.

I already cared about Bosola in The Duchess of Malfi (again, despite everything he does - but that’s what Webster asks of us and he writes it beautifully) and then... bloody hell. Absolutely broke my heart.

Do I even need to bring up his Javert? ;-)

And as for when he plays characters who are broken and who don’t do awful things (Valjean in the radio Les Miserables) especially... Holy Fucking Shit.

So no wonder that I have that terrible need to hug both Douglas Richardson and Fred Thursday (and goodness me but when Fred messes up he really messes up, and Douglas is... Douglas). Not to mention Antoine Verlaque, though there I’m mostly just awfully glad he has Marine to hug him. :D

What I always want from actors is, well, those layers. That depth. That compassion. That honesty. That nuance. That thoughtfulness. Sheila Hancock once described Roger as a vulnerable actor and I’m very vindicated by this; he just doesn’t look like a vulnerable actor but then that’s a huge part of what makes those performances so devastating.

And then when you bring in the incredible vocal abilities (including his ability to sound like he’s talking quietly while filling a large theatre unmiced <3), and the extreme versatility... yeah. No wonder I’m a fanboy. :D

Oh lord, is he going to make me care about Azazel in The Sandman series 2?! I mean if anyone could make me do so... [fear]

[irisreticulata9]

Marine is feeling the Christmas spirit and decides to try her hand at some festive baking for Antoine and Hélène. Her nearest and dearest are sceptical, to say the least.

[gaelic-diary-holder-returns]

Just finished Murder In Provence, a cozy english mystery about a French judge played by the same actor who played Inspector Thursday on Endeavor. It was a nice slow paced but interesting procedural drama with nice witty repartee which is a nice change from so many English cozies lately that are weird period pieces (i'm looking at you Sister Boniface)

[queensantiagoofthe99]

Murder in Provenence no context:

John Light in episode 3

That is all

[philleegirl]

2022 fic year in review

Total number of completed stories: 40 (woah!)

Total word count: 63,861

Fandoms written in: Death in Paradise, Father Brown (2013), Ghosts (TV 2019), Lewis (TV), MASH (TV), Midsomer Murders, Murder in Provence, New Blood (TV), Our Flag Means Death (TV), Queens of Mystery (TV), Shakespeare & Hathaway: Private Investigators (TV), Shetland (TV), The Brokenwood Mysteries  

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d expected? Definitely more fic and in so many more fandoms than I expected.

What’s your own favourite story of the year? This is actually really hard for me to decide because I played in so many new playgrounds this year and each playground has its own ups and downs. One I really liked and thought was rather clever was Just a Literary Device  (New Blood)

Did you take any writing risks this year? Oh lord, yes! I wrote more crossovers than ever: Death in Paradise/Shetland, Ghosts/Shetland and kinda Shetland/Van der Walk. I tried and failed to do NaNo, but learned a good deal. I wrote the first two fics in a fandom, which I found wild. I finally wrote a bit of the Robbie Lewis’s son/James Hathaway fic that I have always wanted to write.

Do you have any fanfic or profic goals for the new year? I want to finish Hearts (Shetland series) and give it the ending it deserves. I am working on a couple of fics for the Shetland Fic Fest. I also want to finish the Death in Paradise/Shetland casefic I started for NaNo. 

Most popular story of the year?  Of Reed Warblers, Cloud Gazing, and Butterflies (Ghosts) by Kudos, Don't Hide Your Love Behind a Hardened Mask (Our Flag Means Death) by Hits, and The Young Perez-Hunter Chronicles (Shetland) by Comment Threads. The last might be a little unfair since that is a Shetland fic and the fandom does tend to have full conversations in the comments. <3

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion: It is a tie between Provençale Quiche (Murder in Provence) and Just a Literary Device. I get that these are tiny fandoms, but I actually quite like both of them and would love to see both fandoms grow. Plus, they are vastly different fics, but I think they both have some merit and lovely moments.

Most fun story to write: Als een feniks uit as gerezen (Shetland). I loved learning some Dutch and also creating a partner worthy for Billy was fun!  

Most unintentionally telling story: when i look at you… and i look, and i… and i’m home (Death in Paradise) As someone who has struggled to accept her sexuality for about a decade and only started telling people that I am Asexual, Biromantic in the last 18 months, I think that this was the most telling. Making Neville Demisexual was actually really scary for me cause it oddly felt like a confession. I am not sex adverse and write sex scenes infrequently, so it seemed like I was setting myself up for being called a hypocrite. However, that has mostly not happened and I am so happy about that! Being Ace/Biro is hard enough in real life, I really didn’t want fandom coming at me too.

Biggest disappointment: Not finishing NaNo. I am the type of person that when I set myself a challenge I finish it, so that was a rough failure for me. 

Biggest surprise: That I actually wrote in THAT many fandoms!! It is crazy to me. Also, that all but two of them are tiny fandoms, so while nothing was viral or blew up I have been getting Kudos almost every day. That is huge for me.

Um, since @greenapricot tagged everyone that I would have tagged, I will skip tagging for now, but if you see this and want to do go for it!!

[ladyfeliciamontague]

Watching murder in Provence because I love Nancy Carroll and as a French, it’s hilarious

[hazellion]

Murder in Provence

I read the books by M.L. Longworth ages ago, and loved them. Mystery and rich French people in the south of France... hard to dislike.

The show was alright; not my favorite, but enjoyable. I found the casting strange though. And Antoine and Marine's dynamic wasn't what I expected from reading the books. Signora Volpe with Emilia Fox has a similar premise and vibe, and I enjoyed that more than Murder in Provence.

[felicia-montague]

AU Flambeau and Felicia

MURDER IN PROVENCE (2022) Season 1, Episode 3

Nancy Carroll as Marine Bonnet and John Light as Marcell Vannier

[radradmarivy]

Women cannot trust any men, never. Not even the ones who they are married to nor the father of their children. I just saw an article of an elderly french man, Dominique Pelicot, who drugged his wife into a state of coma for 10 years and offered her to almost 80 men so she would be repeatedly raped by them over and over while he filmed it all.

This woman was his wife, the Mother of his three children and he did not gave a shit before offering her to other men on a special app for men who especifically were searching to have sex with non consenting partners. He gave her more than 400 sleeping pills, he could've killed her and did not give a fuck.

He just admitted it outright as soon as he was caught and he was only caught because he was seen taking upskirt pictures in the mall which led to an investigation. Not only that, he is now accused of the rape and murder of a female state agent and the attack of another state agent that could escape and the dna seems to match to his.

Almost 80 men were contacted for ten years. 80. From ages 23 to 73, nurses, a local councillor, a prison guard, journalists, a soldier, a firefighter, a civil servant and only 50 were identified. They all knew what was happening, they had a system to make sure the poor woman couldn't tell what was going on and now they claim that Dominique "tricked" them.

From all the men Dominique contacted only Three refused to participate but still didn't do anything even though they knew about the crime.

We can't trust no men, none of them. Look at all the "nice normal men" That participated in such an abhorrent act that now pretend to have been tricked into despite the apps/forums being proof they KNEW what was going on. These men used their upstanding profiles in the community to commit a crime constantly for ten years without being suspected and will probably try to use it to escape punishment.

We have to send all our strength to Giselle, the victim, who not only is taking all of them to justice but who also doesn't want the trial to be on closed Doors. She wants everybody to know what happened to her to create consciense, to make sure the perpetrator's faces are known. She is so strong and her and her children deserve the world.

[allthemurders]

crime shows i’ve watched

— every crime show i’ve watched, in alphabetical order! main fandoms are marked with a star

at some point i will finish all the ones i got partway through and then forgot about. maybe

agatha christie’s poirot

⭐️ agatha raisin

⭐️ annika

beyond paradise

broadchurch (s1 only)

brooklyn nine-nine (haven’t watched past s6 ep16 yet)

⭐️ death in paradise

⭐️ father brown

hidden // craith

magpie murders

⭐️ midsomer murders

miss marple (bbc)

⭐️ murder in provence

⭐️ only murders in the building (haven’t watched s4 yet)

professor t (haven’t finished s2 yet)

⭐️ return to paradise

⭐️ shakespeare & hathaway

sherlock (bbc) (haven’t watched s4 ep3 yet)

⭐️ silent witness

⭐️ sister boniface mysteries

the bay (haven’t finished s4 yet)

the long call

⭐️ the mallorca files — posts on @the-mallorca-files

trigger point (haven’t watched s2 yet)

unforgotten (haven’t finished s5 yet)

vera (haven’t finished; not sure how much left)

wallander (haven’t finished; not sure how much left)

[ashstfu]

sunbathing in a beautiful villa in the provence listening to piero piccioni, eating freshly cut dragonfruit + cherries & reading agatha christie’s murder on the nile ☀️📚💓

[leclsrc]

This req is gonna sound weird but do yk that scene in friends where ross is hugging rachel by the legs? on his knees? could i have a charles drabble w/ that? ty!

the final frame – cl16

You and Charles move in together, among other things.

auds here... this req is from before christmas hahaha. i do not watch friends so i scoured the internet for this ‘scene’, i hope i was right and i hope i did this req justice! this is the last one for now and i’ll hopefully reopen them fr in a minute. title from this

The night’s colder than you anticipated, a cool draft sending goosebumps up your forearm as you inspect the fillet of salmon in the oven. You step forward, off where you’d been leaning on the island, to heave the window shut—the act usually requires all your strength—but Charles bounds into you from behind, pressing insistent, laughing kisses onto your neck.

“C,” you say, giggling yourself, a hand coming up to stroke at the nape of his neck. “Stop, there are people in the next room.”

He bites on your jaw a little and you laugh. “Next room, babe. Like, right in the next—just two metres—!”

Laughing still, he finally lets up and effortlessly shuts the window himself. He pecks another kiss, just on the tip of your nose, murmurs I love you and lets it settle into the herb-smelling air. “Are you tipsy?” You ask, teasing. He winks.

“No—really, though,” you press a little, lacing your hands together. “You’re fine?”

“Totally.” He smiles. “Bit nervous.”

“I was, too,” you start, squeezing his hand, “until I remembered these are literally just our friends. And they’re stupid, and they’ll probably love us even if we announced we murdered someone.”

He nods and smiles, slots your mouths together. When he pulls away, he murmurs, “I love you. You look beautiful.”

Really, you’re just in a two-year-old dress from a flea market in Provence, and your hair is dry and ratty and tied into a bun, but you appreciate the compliment. He’s being genuine, eyes gliding over you with ease as he presses yet another kiss to your cheek; you loop your arms around his neck, smiling up at him. This is so foolish, you think, to be so idiotically in love like this, but it’s Charles, and it makes so much sense.

“You’re glowing, really.” He doesn’t give, still spouting compliments like a broken fountain. 

“You suck.” You’ve never been good at accepting compliments, which seems ironic because you’re with a man who loves words, loves to tell you how much you mean to him, muffled by skin or said through a mic or in French or Italian. You tug him closer. “Should we go?”

He pauses, exhales. “Yeah. Let’s.”

Your friend group has gathered here, at Charles’ place, under the pretense that you’re trying to finish the ridiculously expensive bottle of wine Charles had purchased from France, but really, it’s for you both to announce your moving in together. Little milestones like these have always been celebrated by your group, and this is no different; tonight, Max has even volunteered to fix the clock that permanently reads 12:38 on Charles’ flat’s mantle.

You lead the way from the kitchen into the living room, where everyone is engaged in some kind of chatter or activity. Lily’s legs are draped over Alex’s lap and she’s coaching him through a Rubik’s cube. Lando is busy telling a joke to Carlos and Isa. And Max is three feet off the ground fiddling with a clock, turning deviously to ask: “Where have you two been?”

“Shagging,” you reply with nonchalance. 

“Your hair’s still perfect,” Lily says disapprovingly. “Don’t lie!”

You roll your eyes, stifling a smile as you lean into Charles’ arm that’s wrapped itself around your shoulders. In the future, you’ll tell yourself you should’ve noticed his clammy hand pressed against your arm, or turned and noticed his blank stare, his too-nervous gait. So many signs, you’ll think, and you ignored them all because you felt so damn happy. “Okay, I’m lying. The truth is…”

You turn to him, brows raising. “…you wanna go?”

“I wan—do you?”

“Sure, if you—”

“Just tell us!” Lando yells impatiently, sitting straighter, abandoning the joke in favor of this. “Tell us. Now!”

“Okay, um, we—well, a few months ago we decided we kind of. No, we definitely wanted to live together. And, to save you all the sexy details of getting leases and looking around Monaco for flats—we got one just two weeks ago. So this is—what it is, is it’s, uh, really a dinner to celebrate saying bye-bye to Charles’ flat. Okay? Right. Okay.”

You pause. The room erupts in whoops and cheers—many utterances of the word finally! float across the room. Immediately Isa and Lily are standing, demanding to see pictures of the new place, directions they can input into their cars and phones so they know exactly how to get there. Carlos, Lando, and Alex all cheer, offer alcohol as housewarming gifts. Max nearly drops the clock.

And this is it, you think, the rest of your life’s been decided. With this group, and your Charles, and the flat that will be yours by tomorrow morning.

—

Your house doesn’t feel much like home.

You know it’s an unfair statement, that it’s only really been two, three months of living together. But something has shifted, something you cannot name no matter how hard you try to. It’s just as cold tonight as it was the night you were in Charles’ old place announcing this one, but everything feels different now.

The move had started excitedly, with you sending near daily updates to the group chat with Isa and Lily, of paint swatches and ship-ins from IKEA. They sent flowers, came over to inspect the place, and so did everyone else—Max returned the now repaired clock, nailed it onto a spot on the wall the entire group agreed on. Slowly, bit by bit, the place began to feel like it was yours. 

But the nights without Charles grew long, and the days with him at work or at the gym or at a media affair—some of which he’d easily denied in favor of you before—grew more frequent. The flat, big and wide and lofty in an affluent neighborhood, felt bigger when he was gone. You were alone, a stranger in your own house, without him. 

You can’t pinpoint anything.

You can’t pinpoint the when, the how, the why, the if. To you, everything is vague, and that’s the worst part: how can you fix something you can barely understand? You haven’t shared a cup of coffee in ages, and the most you see of him is half his foot departing the front door in the morning. It could be work, it could be the preparing for the season, but in six years of being together nothing’s felt quite like this. You wonder if it’s deliberate. 

But your texts to Isa and Lily stay the same. Cream or eggshell? Cerulean or slate? And when they ask about Charles, you ignore the bite of guilt and lie instead. C and I just had brunch, he said eggshell, but the truth is, you’re the one settling on eggshell. You’d asked him ‘cream or eggshell’ three weeks ago and he said he’d think about it but he didn’t come home until four, and he hasn’t answered it.

He gets in on Saturday night earlier than usual, eyes dark with exhaustion. He’s wearing a suit, and you don’t know why. You can’t place half the places he’s been lately. His texts are choppy, standoffish. Here. Leaving soon. I’ll see you? “Hi, baby,” he croaks when he sees you nursing wine at the kitchen counter.

“C,” you say quietly. “Hi. When did you get in?”

“Just now, I was driven.” 

“Oh.” You pause. “Want a glass?” You raise the bottle.

He seems to hesitate, stopping in his tracks a bit before nodding defeatedly and pacing toward you. He presses a kiss to your forehead, then your cheekbone, then finally your lips. You relish this, because you haven’t had it in so long. This intimacy, this affection, this kiss that isn’t pressed onto you while you’re asleep and he comes home with apologies flowing from his lips.

You pull away, pour him a glass of red. “Isn’t it crazy to think we have a home now?”

His smile flickers a little, and you notice. You try not to sound nosy when you pry. “C,” you say, the lump rising in your throat. Here you are, celebrating one of the happiest chapters of your life, but Charles won’t even meet your eyes. This is it. After months of not knowing, you think, you have to know. Now. “Are you okay?”

The wine is only half-poured. He sighs shakily, shakes his head.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He sounds so, so far away.

“You’re scaring me,” you say, laughing. But you sound more nervous than amused. He sounds nervous, too.

“Baby,” he says suddenly, like a dam in his mind has broken and everything is spilling out, all the damage, all of it, and it’s washing onto you like a massive wash of water. “Baby, I—I fucked up.”

You cannot withstand the wave. Your eyebrows knit together. “Tell me,” you insist. Even more surprisingly, he crumples to his knees, hugs your thighs and leans against you. You press, anyway. “Talk to me, C. Please.”

“You can’t fix this,” he says resolutely, “you abso—you can’t.”

“I will,” you say. “I love you.”

“I slept with someone else.” This is a great, big, terrible feeling. You really can’t fix this. You’re back to being clueless. Your heart stops, and so does your breath, heavy and heaving. Words are dry when they try to leave your throat, leap off your tongue. Your hand, threaded into Charles’ hair, pauses. You feel him crying, but you feel nothing else.

“You what,” you ask. It’s so dry, everything is desert dry. A whisper, a breath, a murmur in the cold kitchen.

“I’m sorry.”

“C,” you say, and you can’t even cry yet. You’re stunned, struck with dizzy disbelief. “Was it—when, like, last season…?”

His silence answers you, and you stumble backwards, out of his grasp. You shake your head, like you’re trying to quell the tears, the lump in your throat, the nerves in your stomach that threaten to bubble over.

“Don’t say this year.” You shake your head, over and over, shaking and shaking, like it will rid you of the conversation you’re currently having. You think of the paperwork, of the nearly dropped clock, of signing the lease, of eggshell and flowers, of housewarming gifts yet to be unwrapped.

Tearily, you muster, “Don’t tell me, C. Don’t fucking do this to me, please. Don’t.”

“I barely even know her,” he says. “Once. It happened once. It meant nothing.” Your soul crushes, shot and wilted.

“No, it meant everything,” you say angrily. You’re angry now. Angry and sad, and furious and boiling with rage. You’re everything. You’re a house fire, right here in the flat. 

And you stand, feet bare on the tile, thinking about how you’ll have to live with this forever, branded like an ugly stamp. You loved and he did not. Get out, you say. Get out and don’t come back, I don’t care. Don’t fucking come back. You shove him weakly, but he gets the message, ushers himself to the coat rack. You’re not even yelling. You’re just breathing heavy, shaking your head, like you’re denying this ever happened.

You only cry when he’s left, loud, exruciating sobs. He wrestles himself outside still apologizing, saying he’ll be back tomorrow. You’re torn between hoping he will be and hoping you never see him again, crumpled to the hardwood of your brand new house, knees weak, heart weaker. You don’t get up until morning. 

[onenicebugperday]

@philoursmars submitted: Ceyreste (Provence) : des abeilles embêtées par un frelon (asiatique ?)

Philoursmars

ps : I wish you the best for 2024 !

Thank you, and same to you! And yes, looks like a yellow-legged hornet, aka Asian hornet, Vespa velutina.

Edited to add: this is NOT an Asian giant hornet aka the atrociously-named “murder hornet.”

[wonder-worker]

Marie of Blois and Louis II of Anjou, building on a foundation laid by Louis I and Clement VII, refashioned [Johanna I of Naples] as the founder of their new dynasty. They deliberately obscured their distant kinship to her, Marie and Louis I both depicting themselves as her loyal children. In her efforts to secure Provence for her son, Marie elaborated on this kinship, obscuring what was merely a legal relationship beneath her self-identification as Johanna’s “natural” daughter. In so doing, she played on the representation of Charles of Durazzo as a matricide: His behavior was unnatural, making him an unnatural son, while her devotion transformed her into a natural daughter. The word “natural” was thus polysemous, employed to mean both that Marie was Johanna’s biological daughter and that her behavior was appropriate while Charles’s was inhuman, unnatural. She deployed the emotional language of kinship to depict herself as a fitting successor to the murdered queen, whose virtue she enhanced and whose history she ignored. Charles, through his faithlessness, had forfeited any rights he might have had to Johanna’s throne, while Marie—the representative of Johanna’s designated heir and her faithful daughter—earned the right to it through her love and outraged grief. At the same time, she asserted her right to be Provence’s regent, representing the relationship between her family and Johanna as transcending legal nicety, binding them together in a spiritual kinship that obliterated any doubt as to the second Angevin line’s legitimacy.

— Elizabeth Casteen, From She-Wolf to Martyr: The Reign and Disputed Reputation of Johanna I of Naples

[free-for-all-fics]

Phantom of the Opera (1943 Film) Prompts! Pls tag me if you’re inspired by any of these ideas and I’d love to read it! 🎭🧡

1. Erique Claudin was madly in love with you in his younger years. He was a very handsome and eccentric man with a great talent for music. You soon became lovers and later told Erique you were with child as soon as the doctor confirmed it. Not wishing your baby to be a bastard and raised out of wedlock, you and Erique made plans to marry as soon as possible, before your stomach could possibly give you away. You later bore a beautiful daughter, Christine. Erique had composed a song for you during your courtship and later added a part for Christine after her birth. When she was little, Erique would play the violin while you’d rock her to sleep and sing an old lullaby that you both knew from Provence.

Unfortunately, you died when Christine was still very young, devastating Erique. He didn’t know what to do without you. You were dead and he was clueless when it came to raising a girl all by himself. Due to his demanding job in the Opera House Orchestra and your untimely death, he didn’t have the proper means to take care of Christine, who was only a baby or toddler at the time. He couldn’t raise her himself, so he either sent her to live with your family or put her up for adoption. Either way, he made sure she went to a good home. Whether it was your maiden name or her adoptive family’s name, she took the name DuBois and never knew of Erique’s true connection to her.

As she grew up, she resembled you more and more each day. Erique never found another love after you. Twenty years of you being gone, and he wished every day you were still with him. When Christine began her singing career as a chorus girl in the Opera, he put his entire fortune towards her education, anonymously funding her singing lessons. She was blessed with the gift of her mother’s voice and every time Erique heard her sing, he heard you. After he’s dismissed from the Orchestra due to his hand injury, he has to withdraw his support from Mademoiselle DuBois only for a little while, just until he can secure another position. But a series of tragic events lead to him committing murder and his face being burned by acid. A man who’s suffered so much loss would do practically anything for the love of his daughter, even kidnap her and try to force her to stay with him in his home in the underground sewers forever. Christine is the last vestige of you, his darling wife, and he can’t bear to lose her.

He tells Christine that he’s her father and he loves her. She’ll now sing all she wants, but only for him. He keeps a portrait of you in his lair and tells Christine all about her dearly departed mother as he reminisces on his much happier memories of being an aspiring musician. He was young and didn’t have much money or commercial success yet, a starving artist. But what little money he had would always be spent on a ticket to the theatre, just to see you. He was in love with you from the moment he first saw you on stage, so his earnings were well spent in his eyes. He could live without food or a roof over his head, but he couldn’t live without you.

“She was in a repertory company. the same actors and actresses doing different plays, a different play every night. First time I saw her, she was a singer who had a broken heart, a lot of sad songs. Had everybody in the theatre crying, whole ocean of tears.”

“I don't think I'd like that.”

“Yes, you would. Everybody did. Next night, she was a dancer. Whirling around the stage, sparkles in her hair, lighter than thistledown. Took my breath away just to watch her.”

“Dressed like that?”

“Yes, child. Artist didn't paint her as pretty as she was.”

“Did you see all her plays?”

“Every one of them. Not just once. The theatre was my courting place. I sat right in the middle of the front row every night, where she could see me. After, I went backstage. Was four days before she even said hello.”

“Oh. Then what?”

“Then it was the wonder, the glory, sunshine, and lightning all at the same time. After we learned we were expecting you, I came to the Paris Opera House to join the Orchestra. With my salary, I built us a house. I then went back and asked her to be my wife. When she said yes, I was so happy I was dumbstruck for an hour.”

“Why did she go away?”

“It's none of your business why.”

“I'm sorry.”

“She tried to retire and stay home to focus her energy on raising you, but there was nothing here but the house...No theatre, no people...no company except for the birds singing. As much as she loved you, she wasn't used to it. I didn’t get home from the Opera House until late in the night. She got the lonesomes so bad she couldn't stand it. Uh...she went away for a little...back on the stage again.”

“In Paris?”

“Ohh...other places. Mostly Paris. Uh, standing around here talking, the spiders will be gaining on me. Be cobwebs in here thicker than before. Come, sit. Listen while I play for you. Did you know I wrote this song?”

“No.”

“I did. That’s why I wanted to teach it to you, but it was not to be. These aren’t just notes, there’s something hidden in the music. These notes here, they represent you. They find their way into every song I play. This phrase…this is your mother.”

“Are you in the song?”

“Somewhere, but it’s not important. You and your mama are all I can hear when I sit down to play.”

2. Erique becomes creepily obsessed with you, a young woman who works in the Opera House and reminds him of Christine’s mother. He may or may not have been able to marry Christine’s mother, but he loved her greatly all the same. He tragically lost her either through her death or her falling out of love with him, and has since never been able to get over her. You encountered him a few times in the foyer, on the stage, or outside the Opera, but that’s all. You were so busy with your daily work that you didn’t have much time to acknowledge him beyond a polite hello in passing. Erique was deeply offended and driven into taking further action with you after being criticized by Signor Ferretti for his love of you. He believed that Ferretti spoke out of turn and dared to insult not just him, but you as well.

“Claudin, if you don’t mind me saying so, you’re a fool. A man of your age might secure a young girl like her if he happened to be the director of an opera company, but a poor violinist…”

How dare he doubt your love or the piano concerto he wrote for you! He may be a man of forty-eight years and past his prime, but you never treated him differently from other men just because of your significant age gap. You smiled at him in passing, happily accepted all of his courting gifts which he spent a fraction of his fortune on, etc. It was Signor Ferretti who was the fool for failing to see how deeply he loved you and how you loved him in return! Unbeknownst to Erique, you mistakenly thought his anonymous gifts were from another potential suitor, a handsome man who was closer to your age. You’ve never thought of Erique in such a way, but he’s too delusional in his fantasies of you to realize this. He secretly has a marble bust made in your likeness that he keeps in his room so he may gaze upon your lovely face while he’s composing. But soon the marble bust isn’t enough. He needs to have the real thing.

Following his first act of murder and tragic disfigurement from the acid, he begins his reign of terror as the Phantom. He steals the master key to the Opera House and, with that key in his possession, he can open 2,500 doors! To say nothing of thousands of closets and cabinets. He can hide everywhere, the entire police force couldn’t find him here. He unlocks your door and sneaks into your bedroom while you sleep. You’re in such a deep slumber that you barely stir while he strokes your cheek, moves your hair out of your face, and presses his nose against your skin to inhale the sweet scent of your perfume. Oh, his love! His wife! He leaves you with a brisk kiss and disappears back into the sewers. He has such big plans for you! Wonderful plans!

You start to notice a man’s shadow following you, but it always disappears before anyone else can see him. You start to hear a man’s voice speaking through the walls. From what he says, he sounds lovesick and it creeps you out. You try to warn others but no one else believes you except Vercheres. You develop insomnia and deep feelings of paranoia because of your fear and anxiety. When an opportune moment presents itself, Erique kidnaps you and takes you to his underground lair in the sewers, drugging you to ensure your cooperation. While you’re asleep, he puts a wedding ring on your finger and a matching one on his own. His young bride is a vision! So very beautiful, so very lovely!

“You’ll stay here with me, my wife, won’t you? It’s been so lonely without you but you’ve returned to me at last, haven’t you? We’ll be together forever. Now you’ll sing for me, and I’ll play. It’s beautiful down there. Beautiful. Come now, my darling one.”

“There's a piano in the Opera foyer. Let's go there. You play, and I'll sing for you.”

“But you don't understand. We can't go back there ever. It was I who made the chandelier fall. I for you, my love. But I warned them. I told them there'd be death and destruction if they didn't let you sing. Come. See? Didn't I tell you it was beautiful? You didn't know we had a lake all to ourselves, did you? They've poisoned your mind against me. That's why you're afraid. Look at our lake, dearest. You'll love it here when you get used to the dark. And you'll love the dark, too. It's friendly and peaceful. It brings rest and relief from pain. It's right under the Opera. The music comes down in the darkness, distills it, cleanses it of the suffering that made it. And it's all beauty. And life here is like a resurrection.”

He forces you to play along with his deluded fantasies, often believing you’re his lost love and calling you by her name. You’ve tried to tell him you weren’t her, and sometimes it works. In his moments of lucidity, he calls you by your real name. Those hours or days are much more bearable for you. Other times, however, his behavior is unpredictable and trying to break him out of his fantasies has yielded disastrous results that have frightened you terribly. You’ve had to tread very carefully not to set him off because his personality can flip at any moment. Claudin as the Phantom talks in an extremely gentle, husbandly manner to you and almost never raises his voice to anyone, which makes him even more chilling with the murders he commits.

“Is that any way to talk to the father of your children?”

“Children? What do you mean children? We have only one child.”

“No, my darling. We have many children.”

“My god, what have you done? Tell me, what have you done?!”

“Would you like to see our daughter? Would you like to see our Christine? Would you?”

“Yes!”

“My darling daughter, your mother has returned to us. Come, give her a kiss.” He’s kidnapped at least three children; a boy, a girl, and an infant. The girl resembles Christine when she was a child. Same colored hair hanging in ringlets, same eye color, same porcelain pale skin and red cheeks. He’s trying to recreate the family he wanted but could never have before Christine’s mother either left him or died. Oh, God.

3. Unbeknownst to either of you, you’re Christine DuBois’ twin sister and are both daughters of Erique Claudin. You were separated at birth after your father put you both up for adoption. Your mother was dead or otherwise gone, and Erique was clueless when it came to raising two girls. While Christine is an aspiring singer and sings in the chorus, you’re an aspiring ballerina and dance in the ensemble. Despite your respective talents, neither of you are given much opportunity to shine. You’re both kept to the background and overshadowed by the prima donna and prima ballerina. You both encounter Erique a few times in the foyer or on the stage or outside the Opera. He showed concern for Christine when he noticed she wasn’t on stage during the Act Three curtain call and asked if she was sick. Similarly, he does the same with you when he notices you’re missing from the stage. Why weren’t you there? Forgive him, but he’s been here so long that you - everybody and everything connected with the Opera is so much a part of his life. You weren’t ill, were you? You’re not in any trouble? Oh, it’s impertinent of him, he knows, but uh…

When Erique suffers an injury to his left hand that prevents him from the use of his fingers and negatively impacts his performance, he’s dismissed from the Paris Opera Orchestra. He no longer has the means to anonymously support either of you. Claudin has secretly spent all his fortune on yours and Christine's education, and he has no money left to go towards his forced retirement. He has to withdraw his financial support from both of you only for a little while, just until he can secure another position. But Signor Ferretti refuses to tutor Christine any further without proper compensation and your ballet instructor is the same. Why should either of them assume Claudin’s burden after he spent all his money on the two of you? The girls mean nothing to them.

But your careers mean more to Claudin than anything else. Neither you nor Christine can afford the lessons on your own. A month’s salary wouldn’t be enough to pay for one of your lessons. Desperate to provide for his darling daughters, he hopes to have his piano concerto published and receive a substantial advance for it. But a misunderstanding leads to Erique committing his first murder and getting his face burned by acid. This sets off a series of unfortunate events that turns him into the Opera Ghost. A man would do practically anything for the love of his daughters, even murder anyone who would get in the way of their careers.

He later tampers with Biancarolli's drink to make her fall asleep and unable to sing. Christine, her understudy, has to take her place on stage. Erique also sabotages the current prima ballerina by putting glass in her ballet shoes or otherwise breaking her feet/legs by creating a terrible accident on stage so that she cannot dance and you have to take her place. He’ll help both of you reach your full potential and you’ll become a great and famous ballerina, as Christine will become a great and famous singer. Biancarolli, who suspects that Garron and Christine are responsible for drugging her, orders Raoul to arrest them. The prima ballerina suspects you of causing her injury and orders your arrest as well. But Raoul says he cannot because there’s no evidence. Biancarolli and the prima ballerina both say they’ll forget the affair only if both you and Christine are replaced as understudies and your performances are not mentioned in the papers.

Both Biancarolli and the prima ballerina are later murdered, along with their maids. They’ve been strangled to death by the Phantom to make room for the unsuspecting Christine and you to take their places. He later kidnaps both of you and takes you down to his lair in the sewer tunnels, revealing that he’s your long-lost father and you’re sisters. Words cannot express how sorry he is for disappearing from your lives and not being able to watch you grow up. If he could’ve raised his daughters himself, he would’ve kept you both in a heartbeat. But he didn’t have the means to raise two girls alone, and needed to give both you and Christine your best chance. So with a heavy heart, he gave you both up to be adopted by other families when you were only a few months old. Now reunited, he wants all three of you to be together forever. A happy family, as you should be.

“You’ll stay here with me, my children, won’t you? It’s been so lonely without my girls but you’ve both come to me at last, haven’t you? Now, Christine, you’ll sing for me. Y/n, you’ll dance for me. I’ll play. We’ll be together forever. It’s beautiful down there. Beautiful. Come now, my little ones. There, you’re not frightened now, are you? You know I’ll not harm either of you, don’t you? How could I harm you? I’ve always helped you. Haven’t I?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, you’ve always helped us.”

“Of course I have. Biancarolli knows. The former prima ballerina knows. She wouldn’t let you sing. She wouldn’t let you dance. They didn’t know how much I love you. Now they know. But it doesn’t matter now. Nothing matters except us. Now you’ll sing and dance all you want, but only for me. You will, won’t you, my darling daughters?”

“Of course…Father.”

4. You were born into a wealthy and well-connected family. Your father took the family on a tour in Europe where you were introduced to an English-born Parisian hostess, with whom you bonded. She was a stimulating hostess who didn’t care for her appearance, and while her ideas didn’t always agree with those of her guests, she was incapable of boring anyone. Her behavior was exasperating and eccentric and she had little respect for upper-class women, whom she regarded generally as inconsequential. She generally rejected female company and spent her time with male intellectuals. She made an exception, however, in the case of your family and you in particular. She demonstrated that women could be equal to men, an idea that you hadn’t learnt from your mother.

You were respectful of your family's opposition to you working as a nurse, only announcing your decision to enter the field. Despite the anger and distress of your mother and sister, you rejected the expected role for a woman of your status to become a wife and mother. You worked hard to educate yourself in the art and science of nursing, in the face of opposition from your family and the restrictive social code for affluent young women. After being confronted by two potential suitors who demanded you choose between them, you chose neither and pursued your nursing career unhindered by marriage prospects. You’re now working at the Opera House, as a literal theatre nurse. You take care of the performers and other staff in cases of fainting spells, accidents, sickness, or injury. Unlike your predecessor, you’re young, beautiful, and sweet-natured.

You met Erique Claudin and knew him only as a violinist in the orchestra. You encountered him a few times in the foyer or on the stage or outside the opera, but that’s all. He seemed eccentric but harmless. But over time, you found yourself wanting to take care of him. You’d notice how he’d keep odd hours and would hardly eat anything. Why doesn’t he get himself something to eat before the opera instead of keeping himself up all hours? You notice he has the same soup night after night, week after week. The Opera House staff gossip, falsely believing that his overdue debts is caused by him being a miser, and they complain about it.

“What that man does with his money is none of our business. If he wants to hoard it and starve to death, that’s his affair. But we hear he hasn’t paid his landlord for six weeks, and that’s as long as they’re going to wait before they toss him out onto the street.”

“What if he hasn’t any money? Maybe if they’ll be patient only just a little longer…”

“He hasn’t any money? After working for the Paris Opera all these years? What nonsense! What does he expect to do with his money? Bury it with him? If he does, they’ll dig him up and steal it. If he thinks he’s going to add a few francs to his fortune at the expense of others, he’s very much mistaken.”

An artistic genius he may be, but he wasn’t well-learned in the arts of the kitchen. He didn't do much more than toast cheese over bread and add a slice of already cooked meat to it since he couldn’t afford much else. So you cook him better, more savory meals using whatever’s leftover in the restaurant and still fresh enough. There was a roast chicken in the pantry and a previously made broth you found on the stove, so you made do with what you had. You made him another soup, but one that was full of cooked meat and vegetables. Sitting beside it on a plate was a chicken sandwich. You were unsure if he even drank tea, but still made him a cup with sugar cubes and cream on the side in case he wanted to add either.

Erik devoured the whole thing in seconds. Quickly setting the bowl of soup aside, he picked up the sandwich and savored the taste of the chicken, bread and mustard as it all came together inside his mouth. When that was finished, he happily over-sugared his tea and drank it down, feeling contently full for the first time in years. You worried he’d get a stomach ache and make himself sick from eating so fast, but you’re glad he enjoyed it. It seems he doesn’t eat a great deal, and that worries you. He should be eating and sleeping well since he works so hard. He’s very grateful to you.

“You’ve been very kind, you’ve been very patient. You’ll be rewarded for it, I promise you! Now please leave me alone.”

After Erique suffers an injury to the fingers of his left hand, he can only play simple melodies perfectly. He goes to you for help and you examine him. While you may or may not be able to determine the cause, you offer to provide physical therapy sessions, free of charge. You know he can’t afford medicine, but maybe this’ll help him a great deal. Perhaps his injury is only temporary, perhaps it’ll get better, but the aim of the Paris Opera is perfection. It’s with a heavy heart that the managers have Erique dismissed from the Orchestra. He’s been with the Opera a long time - twenty years. You wish you could do more to help him. You’re happy to care for him and he’s happy to play music for you in return, to show you his progress following your physical therapy sessions. He never sought more than a casual acquaintance with you but you become friends and, despite your significant age gap, you fall in love.

But then he commits murder and acid is thrown in his face, driving him to go into hiding in the labyrinthine sewers of the Opera House and begin his reign of terror as the Phantom. In his desperation to protect you and repay you for your kindness and time spent devoted to helping him convalesce, Erique would do anything for you, even murder. He’s so desperate for love and friendship that he may even kidnap you. Fortune had smiled upon him the night that you came to the Opera House, and he had savored every moment he had shared with you. You were his loyal caregiver and companion, when so many others had cast him aside. You had cooked for him, talked to him, and even laughed with him whenever he managed to gather the courage to tease you about something. You even allowed him to snuggle close to you as you read - never before had he enjoyed reading so much as he did with you. How could he possibly let someone come and take that away from him now? His darling daughter, Christine, will never care for him in his old age, but maybe you can. In your years working as a nurse, you’ve probably seen lots of gruesome and grisly injuries such as gunshot wounds, infections, amputations, etc., so he hopes you wouldn’t faint or reject him upon seeing his disfigured face. Even if nothing can be done for the acid burns he’s suffered, he still dreams of spending the rest of his life with you by his side.

5. You succesfully bring to the present time Erique Claudin, a violinist from the 19th century, with a homemade time machine. In the split seconds between when Raoul fired his gun and the underground sewers were collapsing, you saved Erique’s life by sending him here before he could be crushed to death from the falling rocks. The underground tunnels are caved in, and nobody would ever try to move all that rubble to recover Erique’s body. He was presumed dead and Christine was rescued. In his time, only his mask and violin were left behind. You try your best to hide and protect him from exposure while he’s given a second chance at life. He may choose a different name or alias to go by. Modern medicine, technology, and makeup may help him either fix his face or acquire a mask that almost seamlessly blends into his skin more, covering his acid scars and giving off the illusion of a perfect face. His unique talent, behavior, and personality puts him in the spotlight, making it only a matter of time until he’s discovered and what you’ve done comes to light. Annoyed by the current primo uomo of the modern day Paris Opera House, a group of stagehands plot to scare him away and give his position to the young understudy with a shared identity - the Phantom of the Opera. Oh no.