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Rossignol	By : Savaial Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 5240 -:- 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-Rossignol
- 2-Two
- 3-Three
- 4-Ch 4
- 5-Ch 5
- 6-Ch 6
- 7-7
- 8-Ch 8
- 9-Ch 9
- 10-Ch 10
- 11-Ch 11
- 12-Ch 12
- 13-Ch 13
- 14-Ch 14
- 15-Ch 15
- 16-Ch 16
- 17-Ch 17
- 18-Ch 18
- 19-Ch 19
- 20-Ch 20
- 21-Ch 21
- 22-Ch 22
- 23-Ch 23
- 24-Ch 24
- 25-Ch 25
- 26-Ch 26
- 27-Ch 27
- 28-Ch 28
- 29-Ch 29
- 30-30- Epilogue
- 1
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Paris looked so strange to me. People rushed by without hurrying, clutching the accoutrements of their jobs or hobbies. They all seemed so free, so intent on life. It was too much to process all at once, too familiar and too alien simultaneously. I leaned back in the carriage, laying my head on Raoul's shoulder. My brother stroked my hair and whispered soothing words in my ear, but I didn't listen very hard. I didn't have to make sense of his meaningless chatter; he cared and that was enough.

No one had mentioned Philippe yet, and I was too tired to ask. I didn’t care very much anyway. Philippe had always treated me like I had no feelings. No doubt he couldn’t be bothered to join his brother and save his sister. All he’d ever cared about was ballerinas and family business. Still, I’d like to see him. He could have changed by now.

"We're here." Christine reached over to pull the hood of my cloak up, smiling tenderly. "We have to hide you."

I nodded in response.

We exited the carriage to stand at the side of the Paris Opera. I had never laid eyes upon it in the complete stage. Christine fumbled in her dress pocket for a moment, fishing out a large and cumbersome looking key. As a unit, both she and Raoul looked side to side, scanning the street for people. When none came into view the young woman thrust the key into the lock and turned it forcefully. The iron groaned in protest as if it hadn't been used in a very long time, but finally released its tumblers. I was pushed inside the door and into total darkness before I could draw a breath.

"Take my hand Celeste," Christine bade softly, her voice echoing crazily off an invisible expanse of stone. When I obeyed she gave me a reassuring squeeze. "We're going slowly since you don't know the way. Pull on my hand if we go too fast.”

Down and down and down we went. Raoul's lantern flared to life on the staircase, but I still could not see very well due to the hood of my cloak. The air smelled dank, salty, it hung in my lungs with stubborn solidity. I wondered about this man, Erik, who would have lived in such clinging damp. Then too I wondered why Raoul would find such a place suitable for me. Surely no one could exist long in this bone-chilling cold.

And it seemed even colder to me. I hadn’t had the drugs for a week now. I was weak, jittery and lethargic. I wanted to sink down on the cold, damp stone and sleep like a dead thing. If Raoul kept pulling me from place to place he’d kill me.

Eventually we left the staircase and began to travel on level stone. The sounds of our breathing reverberated so harshly off the walls that I could not even hear myself. I could tell we were in a vast chamber, though I could perceive little but vague shadows and tall pillars, and that we were getting closer to whatever body of water lent it's breath to the air. Soon we were forced to travel single file along a narrow stone bridge over that water. Possibly my imagination was to blame, but I could have sworn I saw the shapes of bones littering our path. Animal bones surely, no one would inter the dead underneath an opera house.

"Here's the place." Christine released my hand to nervously wipe her sweaty palms across her skirts. "I don't know about this Raoul, I never could find the door on my own. Erik always-” She stopped, her breath hitching in her throat. "I wish he were still alive. He would have been able to help us, though I don't know if he actually would have."

"We didn't part on the best of terms, no.” Raoul agreed, coming forward to run his hands over the stone barrier before us. "But Christine darling, he did have friends. That Persian fellow, Al-Zhir, he liked him well enough. He didn't betray him without some reservation."

"He didn't betray him at all Raoul, he was trying to keep him out of trouble." Christine joined Raoul at the stone, her delicate hands feeling along blindly. "Oh, it hurts me to know his genius died down here. The world would have lauded him if only-” The woman gave a little sob, shaking her head. "People are so cruel, and I was no better than anyone else. I was worse in fact."

"You can't make it up to him now darling," my brother whispered kindly, though the effect was ruined by the acoustics. "You can only apologize to his ghost and hope he hears you.”

"Oh but I hear you quite well."

Christine screamed at the voice and Raoul whirled. I turned my head slowly in fear; the voice had come from directly behind me.

A white mask floated over my head, the eyes inside it glowing amber. I stepped back with a surge of terror, bumping into Raoul.

"You tripped every alarm I have," the voice continued. "Now you stand here trying to break into my home. Such deplorable manners! One usually sends a note before dropping in."

I had never heard such a voice. I almost forgot my fright just listening to it. It was the distillation of all that was beautiful, and it rolled from the darkness like morning mist in autumn.

"Erik," Christine breathed. A note of reverence coated her tone. "Erik, is it really you?"

A seputuric chuckle oozed out around us, wrapping me in coldness even more pungent than the air.

"In the flesh."

I sensed a movement. Suddenly the white mask began to move, drifting by me without a sound. Raoul and Christine backed up at the figment approaching them, playing the Red Sea to an ethereal Moses. A grinding noise shattered the awesome quiet. Muted, golden light burst forth.

The figure of a man in a cloak coalesced against the backdrop of flickering illumination. He was tall, I noted instantly, tall and broad at the shoulders. He wore a fedora. I watched his long arms unfold from his body, a graceful unfurling. "But where are my own manners? Please, do come inside." The man gestured behind him, the brim of his hat moving with a motion of welcome. "It is far too damp out here to converse for long."

Christine was the first to move. "Thank you Erik," she murmured softly, bravely walking past the imposing outline of darkness. Raoul hesitated only a moment before following her. I stood frozen, unable to bring life back into my body. Raoul noticed my immobility at the same time as our host and turned back. Before my brother could come out for me the man at the door held out his hand. "I won't hurt you Mademoiselle, don't be afraid." he said. "You are perfectly safe in Erik's home."

I could not resist him. Some indefinable tone, some mysterious promise of reward lay in his soothing arrangement of syllables. I moved forward, laying my hand in his glove without further thought. His amber gaze considered me thoughtfully, with a palatable, frightening intelligence. I saw reddish streaks near the obsidian pupils, the mark of primeval blood. He led me to stand beside Raoul, releasing me.

The breath I hadn't realized I held came rushing out.

The stone door swung shut.
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