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The prison of his mind	By : Prisonofmymind Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 1994 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The prison of his mind
- 2-Chapter 2: The bird is finally freed from her cage
- 1
- 2
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Synopsis: Hannah Collins' parents were one of the many innocent killed that night the chandelier of the Opera Populaire fell. Now, she is off on a clandestine mission to see that justice is appropriately served to the man who she knows is responsible for all of her hardship: The Phantom of the Opera.

Author’s Note: It should be noted that while I have read most books on the Phantom of the Opera some of the details soon fade from memory. While I have made my most ardent attempt to have the facts the same as the books, I am not Gaston Leroux and my grammar is less than perfect. Obviously there will be creative license, but I hope to keep many of the core characters from the books true to their form. That being said, I hope you enjoy my work of fiction, as it helps to make the dull days of my real life just a little more interesting. Also, the title is a work in progress and any ideas will be very well received, as well as reviews (I know, an awfully obvious hint).

And so Dear Readers, here it is.
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Chapter 1: The seed of escape is planted

Darkness. It was always darkness. It would always be darkness.

It was cold also. So very cold she shuddered deeply, causing her entire body to quake under the thin sheets covering her. The window was open again. Francis. Surely it was he who had done it again. He was always looking to make trouble for her.

She rose from her creaking bed to the window in her usual six steps, to the whipping crescent curtains of the window that she could not see, but hear. The footsteps that had been timid not so long ago were stronger, more deliberate.
Before putting her hands to the window, she let her face out into what she assumed was the sunlight morning. She heard the faint remnants of birds chirping, the smell of the fresh and crisp morning air. She took a deep breath, letting it fill her lungs as she smiled.

When the window was firmly shut seconds later, and the room settling into a warmer temperature, Hannah decided to get ready for the day. She tried not to grin.

"Hurry up!" came the churlish call from down the stairs, from her Aunt. Evidently she'd done something to vex the old cow already. No matter. on another day such as this, she would already be delving into despair.

But not today.

"I'll be right down!"

She tried in vain to keep the smile from her face, but it was hard. She imagined it would be hard for anyone doing the same ritualistic chores on a day that they knew they would be free.

She wondered if she'd be able to get through breakfast without giggling out loud. Francis would undoubtedly tug at her hair during breakfast, he would kick her shins under the table and act the angel when her mother questioned Hannah's outburst of pain. It was highly unbecoming of a young man approaching thirteen.

Francis himself though was not completely to blame for his countless lack of tact and manners. He had been quite the anomaly in society today. With Hannah's Uncle Ferdinand dead since only a year after Francis' birth, Josephine had taken to spoiling the child to death, almost to make up for the lack of fathering. Francis had been born to her late in life, for she was almost approaching forty-eight soon this year and had been dubbed the 'miracle child'. This did nothing for the boy's continually growing ego.

But even spoiled rotten Francis could not break her spirits this morning. She was elated at the knowledge that she would be escaping from them soon. How she had planned it, every meticulous detail. It was almost maddening making her bed that morning, as if she would really be returning to it in the evening.

A knowing hand went to the chair under the window, five steps away. She pulled her work dressings on and felt around for her boots. Francis was highly keen on moving them about slightly, just to make sure her life wasn't hard enough. She found them soon enough and had just pulled them on when she heard her Aunt's second warning call. There would not be a third.

Slowly she made her way to the doorframe, trailing her hands along it slightly as she made her way down the wooden staircase...Eleven.. Twelve...thirteen...ah, the bottom. She reared into the kitchen where the familiar aroma of eggs and bread were invading her nostrils.

"You're late."

The cold voice from her right was so icily familiar she held in a sigh of misery. Her Aunt Josephine. Her Aunt Josephine that had taken on the 'cripple' when her brother and wife had been killed, not even five years ago when Hannah herself had been fifteen. Her Aunt Josephine that beat her within an inch of her life when she'd done something wrong no matter how small. The Aunt Josephine, that after today, she would never have to see again.

"I'm sorry ma'am."

But she wasn't sorry. She was never sorry when she said it to her. Again that grin was getting hard to hold back. It was taking quite a bit of effort on her part.

"What's the matter with you?"

The voice was dangerous, and small quakes of panic rumbled in the pit of Hannah's stomach at the sound. "Pardon me?"

"You're moving your face about in such an unattractive manner." The voice was low, waiting. "Stop it this instant, it's shameful."

Before she could answer there was a sudden whooping cry from behind her, and Hannah sidestepped out of the way a moment before Francis came hurtling into the kitchen, clomping down in his chair and demanding he be served first, as if there would be any debate about it.

"Mother?" the voice was shrill, much to shrill for a boy his age. "The carnival is in town, William and some others are going, may I have some spending money to take with me?"
Ah, spending money. Something Hannah knew little about. She had saved her money though over these years. She had saved every cent she'd earned doing menial tasks for neighboring houses. The tireless hours spent cleaning and sweeping until she believed she would collapse to the ground and on one odd occasion, had.

Breakfast was a solemn occasion, even though Francis took this as an opportunity to blabber on about whatever happened to pass through his mind at the time, be it boring or intriguing (which it rarely was) while Hannah tried to keep her eggs down.

She thought listlessly of the chores she was to be tending to today, and how they would drag by. Scrubbing, mopping, sweeping, polishing, mending and the list went on. Her Aunt was talking now, in her native French, which had taken Hannah so long to grasp and respond fluidly.

Her Aunt was a notable figure in French society of these days, and whilst she had no formal title, she was one of the most well off women known for miles around. Known not only for her riches alone.

Hannah had first heard of this when going to the market one day. It had been a bright morning in which she could feel the gentle rays of the sun on her bare forearms and face, and it made her feel lighter. This, like many things in her life, was not to be a lasting occurrence.

"There's that blind girl of Boraux's." had been the rude, whispered remark, as if she'd been born deaf as well as blind. "Poor wretch. Parents were killed in that awful incident at the Opera Populaire some years ago. Been living with Boraux since then, no doubt as her slave."

"Oh my."

Hannah's eyes had grown wet then, her own cane thumping shakily past the now silent figures. She could feel their gazes on her back as she scurried past them. There was nothing more she hated than pity.

"She lives with that dreadful tyrant?" The other had whispered just as Hannah had diminished into the morning light, "Poor thing."

The moment of depressing nostalgia was snapped as Francis finished his breakfast moments later. Hannah could hear him talking with his mouth full about some trivial play date he had with one of the neighboring boys and how he would be back in time for supper as he pushed himself away from the table, causing Hannah's glass of milk to upset, which in turn had pushed her Aunt even more of a spiteful mood.

"Francis! Keep your slacks clean!" Josephine had warned in a softy trilling tone as Francis' rapid footsteps had diminished down the carpeted hall, "I don't want any of those people thinking you're some common little street urchin."

Hannah suppressed the urge to grind her teeth at the remark as her Aunt offered a contemptible laugh and lit her traditional morning cigarette. Hannah knew it had been a jab at her parents. Her mother, who had never been good enough for Hannah's father, Josephine's 'perfect' brother. Her father had been a worldly and eligible man, and her mother had been nothing but an artist of many mediums as had her father been before her, but ultimately what people like Aunt Josephine referred to as: "A drain on society."

But as fate would have it, her parents had met, and they had fallen in love, and above all of the height of society, Hannah's parents had gotten married, had her, and been completely content as they were. And now they were gone. Oh, how she missed her parents. At times like this she felt as if there was a tremendous weight upon her chest, suffocating her into submission.

"There's something odd about you today." The purring quality to Josephine's voice was gone, replaced with a flinty steely sound. "I don't like it."

"I apologize if I offend." Hannah offered meekly, hoping she sounded like she meant it, which she never did. The tears of recalling were long since dried, and she stood shakily before offering a small nod in the direction of her Aunt's voice. "I shall begin my chores then."

"Do."

And so she had turned, her hands slightly in front of her (Her Aunt Josephine didn't permit the cane in the house) and made her way into the other end of the house. It was much too large a home for three people, ridiculously huge her father had always muttered when they'd come to visit, which wasn't often. Hannah knew it was set on the top of a hill, and that it was awe inspiringly beautiful, but Hannah had little interest in such details. She cared little for outward beauty and was more interested on what lay within.

A few hours later she had made it to the ballroom, where she was polishing the candlesticks that were set upon random tables. Hannah had the entire layout of the mansion in her mind, and it helped to make the job go faster. She wasn't nearly done. Already her uniform was sticking to her back, and strands of hair had fallen loose of their plaits and were beginning to fall into her unusable eyes.

Suddenly, a small tune popped into her mind, a song her mother had sung to her when she was younger. The words were long lost on Hannah, but the tune would never fade. It began as a low hum as she swept the corners of the room, and had slowly turned into a clumsy dance with her imaginary partner.

"Why no, I've never danced before." She said coyly to her ghostly companion and smiled gently. Her mother had always told her she had a marvelous smile. She twirled slightly, as if her partner was turning her expertly. She was so exhilarated about today, it was almost impossible not to enjoy this brief moment. This moment of complete elation that no one could taint.

She giggled gently, and was about to go on with another comment to her broomstick when a bang of a door opening had her start and drop her broom. It clattered loudly in the echoing ballroom, scaring her.

There was a sharp rap of footsteps behind her, and as Hannah turned in surprise, she felt a heat filled pain smack against her cheek, sending her to the ground. She felt a red flash of pain go up her middle as she fell onto her tailbone. The familiar aroma of cigarettes and petal scented perfume invaded her nostrils.

"What have I done?"

"You ignorant little wretch!" Josephine cried out in anger, the words so very hate filled, "You've scuffed up my floor with your idiotic dancing."

"I'm sorry ma'am. I didn't mean to. I never meant to make more work." Hannah whimpered, holding her cheek and biting back the warm tears at her eyes. "I-"

"Oh stop your whining, girl." The cold woman snapped. "Stand up immediately and fix this mess. After all I've done for you over the years, I expect just a little help back. Always daydreaming and shirking your chores. Have you no sense of decorum?"

Hannah said nothing, and simply let her head fall forward slightly. She bit the insides of her cheek to quell the storm of fury that was building up within her.

"I thought not."

There was a small huff of victory from the older woman as she stomped off, undoubtedly off to fix herself something to drink, as was her custom on uneasy days such as this. Hannah simply waited for the slamming of the ballroom door before covering her face with her hands, trying to suppress her furious cries.

She felt such hatred. Such anger. Such injustice.
This was a familiar feeling to Hannah. Injustice had been a way of life for many years. Hatred and anger seemed to be her daily companions. But as much as Hannah hated her Aunt, and oh how she did, there was one person, if he could be called that, in which the word hate paled in comparison to the inner rage and fury she had towards him.

Him.

The man who had killed her parents and had sent her to this unending hell that lasted five horrifying years. The man for whom she was escaping in order to find, the man she had dreamt of finding. The man she intended to hunt down and destroy.

The Phantom of the Opera
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The prison of his mind