**Claire waves** 'Allo, and welcome to my insanity. As you can see this is my first Phantom fiction. I just saw the play last weekend and I am already head over heels for it. Anyway, please review and don't flame me- fire is bad for pyromaniacs like me.
WANDERING CHILD
DISCLAIMER: If I owned Erik you think that I would be writing fanfiction about him?
Chapter One: But in this labyrinth, where time is blind…
Excerpt from the diary of Erik-
Although it had been over ten years since Christine left, the pain was still fresh. She was my first and only love and yet… I couldn't hate her, I wanted to but I just couldn't. It was almost pitiful. But how was I to know that my life would change that day?
***
A young girl, barely thirteen, stepped into the Opera house. Her gold, honey-like eyes had a great measure of awe in them, as she gazed upon the beautiful place where her mother once sang. The thought of her mother made her eyes dim. Anyone that had been watching her would have been shocked at the amount of change in the girl in such a small period. Her father had disowned her for playing "demon music" and for refusing to stop playing. It hurt more than the young girl cared to admit, she hadn't seen her beloved brother, Tobias, or her mother, or visited the grave of her sister, Jillian, in months.
But she was happy she escaped the wrath of her father… she was sure that he would have killed her that night had she not run away. It had taken her two months but she was here, in Paris, for the first time, to ask for shelter from one of her mother's old friend.
And the thought of her mother made her heart ache at the betrayal. Her mother, once a brave fiery woman, now reduced to a common mother and wife who hung on every word of her "honest" husband. When her father had sent her to her room, screaming at her saying that she better be out by daylight, her mother had stood there, done nothing. She held unto her son and stared. Not one concern for her only LIVING daughters rapidly bruising face or her bleeding lip. The rage spun up. How could she not have seen the monster her husband was! The rage was making her cheeks flush but the girl took deep breaths and calmed the storm inside.
She walked up to Meg's dressing room, lightly knocking on the door. She hadn't seen Meg since Jillian's death last year. The door opened and when Meg saw the girls bruised and tear-stained face she quickly accepted her into the room and into her life. She knew Meg wanted a story, and the girl hated to have to lie to her but it was necessary. Some stories are not meant to be told.
And her story was just as sorrow filled as her mothers…
But unlike her mother, Marguerite Daae, she called herself now- refusing to take her "father's" last name- was strong willed, and would not break quite as easily… or cleanly.
***
Good? Bad? Okay? I don't know until you review, so whether you think I should burn this embarrassing piece of crap or place a shinny gold star on it and continue- please tell me.
WANDERING CHILD
DISCLAIMER: If I owned Erik you think that I would be writing fanfiction about him?
Chapter One: But in this labyrinth, where time is blind…
Excerpt from the diary of Erik-
Although it had been over ten years since Christine left, the pain was still fresh. She was my first and only love and yet… I couldn't hate her, I wanted to but I just couldn't. It was almost pitiful. But how was I to know that my life would change that day?
***
A young girl, barely thirteen, stepped into the Opera house. Her gold, honey-like eyes had a great measure of awe in them, as she gazed upon the beautiful place where her mother once sang. The thought of her mother made her eyes dim. Anyone that had been watching her would have been shocked at the amount of change in the girl in such a small period. Her father had disowned her for playing "demon music" and for refusing to stop playing. It hurt more than the young girl cared to admit, she hadn't seen her beloved brother, Tobias, or her mother, or visited the grave of her sister, Jillian, in months.
But she was happy she escaped the wrath of her father… she was sure that he would have killed her that night had she not run away. It had taken her two months but she was here, in Paris, for the first time, to ask for shelter from one of her mother's old friend.
And the thought of her mother made her heart ache at the betrayal. Her mother, once a brave fiery woman, now reduced to a common mother and wife who hung on every word of her "honest" husband. When her father had sent her to her room, screaming at her saying that she better be out by daylight, her mother had stood there, done nothing. She held unto her son and stared. Not one concern for her only LIVING daughters rapidly bruising face or her bleeding lip. The rage spun up. How could she not have seen the monster her husband was! The rage was making her cheeks flush but the girl took deep breaths and calmed the storm inside.
She walked up to Meg's dressing room, lightly knocking on the door. She hadn't seen Meg since Jillian's death last year. The door opened and when Meg saw the girls bruised and tear-stained face she quickly accepted her into the room and into her life. She knew Meg wanted a story, and the girl hated to have to lie to her but it was necessary. Some stories are not meant to be told.
And her story was just as sorrow filled as her mothers…
But unlike her mother, Marguerite Daae, she called herself now- refusing to take her "father's" last name- was strong willed, and would not break quite as easily… or cleanly.
***
Good? Bad? Okay? I don't know until you review, so whether you think I should burn this embarrassing piece of crap or place a shinny gold star on it and continue- please tell me.