Seal My Fate•Phantom of the Opera Fanfiction

Chapter 2: Welcome to Your New Home

Hello again!

This chapter is pretty short and involves a lot of thinking. It'll pick up after this, I promise.

Feel free to comment! I'd love to hear your thoughts. If you feel like voting, you can do that, too, I guess.

I still don't own The Phantom of the Opera or its characters. If I did you would know who I was.

:)

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The beds were more comfortable than I expected. They were rickety, and the mattresses weren't exactly soft, but I could sleep. When Madame Giry pulled the covers up to my chest, I felt at home. But I wasn't.

The longer I stayed, the more I longed to return home. As appealing as the idea of becoming Christine Daaé had sounded, it wasn't worth the sacrifice.

I wanted to run into my mother's arms and tell her I was sorry. We'd disagreed on quite a bit, but I could tell that she loved me. The fact that it took permanent separation for me to realize that was devastating.

I wanted to find Ava. I wanted to tell her how much I appreciated her listening to me. What about the accident? Was she okay?

I had a sister, who I hadn't spoken to in years. How was she doing? Did she still hate me for what I did? Did she even remember that I existed? Did it even matter, now that I didn't exist in that world?

I wanted to go home. I wanted to sing my heart out in the shower. I wanted to stare at my laptop and write the night away. I wanted to sing, I wanted to dance, and I wanted to dance for my friends. For the people I knew. The people I loved. Heck, I wanted to be trapped at home, laughing with the rest of the world at how miserable the quarantine was. I wanted to hear my name again. I wanted to go home.

"Christine?" Meg whispered.

"Oui ?"

"Do you miss him?"

I smiled, despite the fact that it was dark and she couldn't see me.

"Very much."

I couldn't tell if that was a lie or not. I'd never known Christine's father, so I couldn't miss him. Of course, Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again always made me cry, but the resulting pit in my stomach wasn't nearly as grave as that of a girl who had truly lost someone precious.

But, at the same time, I was sort of in the same boat as Christine. I had lost my family. I had lost my home. I was trapped in a place that, though it fulfilled all of my performer's dreams, could never replace my home. I began to cry. It started out as a whimper, so as not to let Meg hear me, but when she seemed to be asleep, I let myself sob.

Days turned to months, and I slowly grew accustomed to my new identity, my new life, and my new friends. With every day that passed, Madame Giry felt more like a mother, and Meg more like a sister. But every night when I went to bed, I would cry myself to sleep. If someone saw me, I would pretend that I missed "my father," and they would hug me, thinking they understood. They didn't.

I didn't mourn Gustave. How could I mourn a man I'd never met? I mourned the life I knew before. I mourned the life that, had I explained, no one would believe had ever been mine. I felt guilty that I had wished for this. I had wished to be Christine, hadn't I? That was perhaps the biggest regret of my life. And I had to mourn it alone.

Until one night, when I wasn't alone. The moment I closed my eyes, I heard a soft whisper. The first time, it sounded like a faint ruffle of the wind, and I quickly dismissed it as wishful thinking. The second time, it was clearer.

"Christine."

The little intonation allowed by a whisper was filled with emotion. Sympathy. "Someone sees you," it seemed to say, "someone understands." Unlike the real Christine, I knew who it was. Day and night, I did my best to stay in character, but there was something in that voice, however quiet, however ominous, that seemed to be inviting me to let go, to be my true self. As nights passed, I came to expect the whisper.

Soon, it wasn't just a whisper. Instead, a gentle song echoed off the walls and through my head. The tune told stories of peace and joy. The lyrics told of flowers and fields and trees. The voice, though—the voice told a different story; of pain, of heartbreak, of sorrow and longing. I understand you, it said, I know pain, too.

And that was how I lived. I spoke to the voice occasionally, but he spoke to me every day. I grew to trust him, to like him, to depend on him. He never did anything other than speak, of course, but he never let me down.

I felt safe. I felt like I could be myself. I couldn't dispose of my old self by hiding it, but by showing it I was able to let go. I was loved here. I had a family, I had friends, and I had ambitions, all tied up with an opera ghost. I didn't have to forget my old home, I just needed to accept my new one. I was Christine Daaé.