PHANTOM OF THE OPERA
Yeah... don't ask me why I was so compelled to write this fanfiction Lovechild. I'm not saying that this fandom is completely horrible. I actually still like it after the two years since I "discovered" it. What disturbs me so much about this is the four months of fangirl-overdrive where I listened to the cast soundtrack over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and OVER until I got to the point where I memorized the entire two-and-a-half-hour thing, sang twelve-minute songs in the shower every morning, wrote the lyrics everywhere in my notebooks, binders, school planner, etc., AND even got to the point of creating this Lovechild, nearly driving my friends away from the fact that I was clearly fangirling way to much (except the one friend who fangirled as hard as I did over the exact same thing).
So, to the friends who may be reading this, I am so sorry for the uncomfortable moments I Amy have caused. To the rest of the CVON world, let's get this over with as I present the creative Thing of the Week:
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THE DAWN OF NIGHT (I even added a heart at the end of the title. Dear God, why???)
The Viscomtesse lay writhing in her bed. Nine months after everything had faded into memory, the bulge inside her was starting to emerge. She screamed as pain shot through her body. A flock of midwives flew around the room, gathering bits and pieces for their nest of comfort for the suffering woman. The Viscomtesse was drowning in a red ocean of pain, slowly consuming her as time crawled agonizingly by. It wasn't too soon, however, until she heard a heavenly voice calling out to her.
"Christine."
"Oh, God, no!" She screamed as another wave flooded her with vivid memories: memories of her father, playing the violin with such grace, memories of her as a child, memories of those wonderful days down at the seaside with a much younger version of her husband.
Memories of the Angel of Music singing softly into her ear as she fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.
Another wave hit her, and Christine was dancing again, graceful and beautiful. She could smell the wood of the stage, the aroma of makeup, the scent of talent and refinery. She remembered everything, from when she first sang in front of an audience, and everything past when Raul first proposed. Painful memories of heartache, painful memories of fear, and painful memories of love for another, a strong love, a passionate love.
Painful memories of the Angel of Music.
It was he who had helped her so that her voice would bloom. He had molded her into his image and had made her who she was today: Christine, Viscomtesse de Chagney, world-renowned singer and one of the most respected women in Paris. He discovered her, a diamond amongst sedimentary, and helped her grow, seducing her with his mysteries, his heavenly voice, his ghostly mask. That mask... Even now as she closed her eyes, Christine could still see the ivory whiteness of that mask, blindingly white light coming down from Heaven. His crystalline voice rang through her senses as if he was still there. Her heart raced as she remembered his beautiful voice, the sad lilting melody of sadness.
He had told her that he loved him (HER) and she had cast him aside.....
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So, this is it. It's not as bad as I originally thought as I transcribed it from the piece of notebook paper it'd been written on, although I still stand by my claim that the Lovechild-ness of this comes out in some of the overly-fanfic-y descriptions that make me want to puke out my lungs, and the second-to-last paragraph got a little less artistic as it progressed ("the sad lilting melody of sadness"... XD).
There was more to that last bit, but it was an unfinished sentence about how Christine was sad and how she regretted breaking the Phantom's heart, etc., etc. I wanted to finish this thing where she remembers what happened at the end of POTO, and how she went back to the Phantom the night of and had amazing, passionate sex together, creating the baby that's causing all of the "waves of red pain". The baby (Gustave, for those Phans out there) was the Dawn of Night, the inspiration for the wet-dream-of-my-fangirl-soul title of this Lovechild.
Also, for the Phans, this was written before I knew that "Love Never Dies" existed, or at least until I figured out what the plot was. Nevertheless, I still like these two musicals/operas/whatever-you-want-to-call-them, no matter how much the reminders of my fangirl past can make me uncomfortable. Who knows? Maybe I'll even manage to finish this damn thing, maybe even revise it. Only the future can tell.
p.s. Here's the song that explains what I wished I had the balls/attention span to write:
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