Christine Daaé
The Swedish Nightingale and Fairy of the North
If when the time comes, I refuse to go with you, well then, Raoul, you must carry me off by force!
Posts: 1,592
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Post by Christine Daaé on Mar 17, 2012 23:42:49 GMT -5
Everyone had dreams, whether they be in sleep or in the middle of the day, dreams of fond memories, or nightmares of their worst fears. Chances are, your character has had at least one dream during their time at the manor, or if not, they will soon.
Your task is to write a dream for your character that they have had or will have during their time at the Manor. The dream can be while they are asleep, or it can be a daydream, it can be happy, or a nightmare, abstract, or a past memory. Try to make it somehow tie in though to their time there at the manor. But whatever dream you do, be creative with it and have fun!
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Erik Lenoir
Hide your face, so the world will never find you...
Hide your face so the world will never find you...
Posts: 1,241
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Post by Erik Lenoir on Mar 18, 2012 21:13:40 GMT -5
At long last, Erik was able to sleep, he had found his lair...or was it really his lair...of course it wasn't, but he didn't care at this point. It looked like home and he would contemplate that later. He undressed and washed the dirt and dust off of himself, removing his mask, which was filthy from his sojourn in the dungeons below. He dressed himself in a nightshirt.
Surrounded only by the light of the candles that he always kept lit, Erik got into his bed. He pulled the covers over himself, after first removing the cover and setting it against the wall. He fell asleep almost immediately, but his rest was interrupted by voices.
Voices? How could there be voices in his lair....no one knew the way, except...except for a very few people.....Joseph Buquet was one of them, but he had done away with Joseph when he had become too much of a problem. It had taken only a quick jerk of the Punjab lasso to break the troublesome fellow's neck. He was an example to the rest of them, so that they knew that what the Phantom said, must be done...and that his words were not empty threats!
The other who knew the way to his lair was Madame Giry, the ballet mistress. As a girl, she had helped him escape the freak show where he had been held captive...and Giry had been a friend to him since then. She had been his courier, taking the notes to the managers and others stating his demands. There was no other way to run the opera house but by fear....the place was filled with incompetents. However, he did not think that Giry would betray his trust...
And of course, Christine Daaé and her lover, the Vicomte de Chagny. Would Christine have gone back on her word? He had let them go, on her account. Perhaps it was the Vicomte...he must have wanted revenge for what Erik had almost done to them....and yet...Erik had let them go...
And he had done a foolish thing. He had demanded that his own opera, Don Juan Triumpant be put on by the opera company. And he had found a way to sing on the stage with his beloved Christine. Ubaldo Piangi, the actor playing the lead, wore a cape with a hood that hid his face. Easily pulling the actor behind the curtains, Erik killed him and assumed the costume and the role. Christine discovered the ruse and unmasked him, to his horror, in front of everyone. So this was why he had to flee, and he had escaped...but to this horrendous Manor house where nothing was real and everything was twisted.
But the voices kept getting louder. Alarmed, Erik jumped from the bed and hurridly put on his mask. He put his coat on over the nightshirt, not realizing how ridiculous he looked. He slipped into his shoes hurriedly and picked up his sword. He ran out to the organ, which was situated somewhat near the lake. He hid behind a pillar as the voices grew louder. He could even make out what some of them were saying now...
...The Monster's Lair...so this is what it looks like.....Why does he burn so many candles? Does he love the darkeness because his soul is black? Did you see how ugly he is...what a horrendous face....he must truly be a monster for that face... The epithets kept coming. They made Erik angry, but also frightened. What would they do to him if they caught him?
He kept hiding behind the pillar and the crowd came into view. He knew he must escape, for they would surely find him. They were in several boats coming toward him across the lake. Erik leaped to a high platform in back and looked down on the crowd, hoping he was out of view.
The madding crowd, in a state of frenzy to find the murderer, rushed onto the shore. Erik thought he was out of sight, when suddenly a man with a wild look in his eyes appeared next to him. "You! You're the murderer!" he said in a low manacing, accusing voice, pulling the sword from Erik's hand. "You shall pay for your misdeeds!"
How the man got him down from the platform Erik couldn't remember. Erik's coat was pulled off, his hands were bound and his mask was yanked off unceremoniously, along with the hairpiece. His false nose fell to the ground. The crowd gasped at his appearance, then resumed their frenzied cry to hang him by his own lasso....
Erik wasn't sure whose scream it was that he heard, starting softly and rising in pitch until it died a strangled death. He opened his eyes and sat up in shock in his bed, realizing the scream was his own. He was covered with sweat from head to toe , but it had been only a dream....a dream caused by...a guilty conscience? Since when did Erik have a conscience? Perhaps since Christine's kiss? Since she had showed him the power of unselfish love? He hung his head in shame, tears forming in his eyes...he had truly escaped death by coming here. Was it a blessing or a curse? One could only wait and see...
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phantomsdarkangel
Full Member
No thoughts within her head but thoughts of Love
Posts: 194
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Post by phantomsdarkangel on Mar 20, 2012 18:27:20 GMT -5
Christine wasn't getting too much sleep the first days of her being in the Manor. But, whenever she was able to fall asleep, all she had were nightmares. Every night, a different one. But, there was one that shocked her the most...
She was walking around the manor, looking for a way out. When she found a door, her hopes went up but, whenever she tried to get the door open, they would vanish right in front of t¿her. However, two of the door she found didn't vanish, but they were locked and she couldn't open them.
The manor seemed to be getting smaller and smaller around her when she found another door. In the verge of tears, Christine walked up to it and found that, to her surprise, it was open. But as soon as she pushed the door open, a white light surrounded her and she jolted awake, teary eyed and breathing heavily.
Of course, her current daydreams are about Raoul and how everything was going to work out. They were going to run away from the manor, not return to Paris -go to Italy, instead- and they were going to be happy, not caring about anything else. That's what she wanted now. And that's what she was going to do.
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Post by ladybarbossa on Mar 26, 2012 19:49:06 GMT -5
Rest did not come swiftly. Nor was it ever peaceful. One could not call her nighttime visions as dreams or nightmares. But they were most definitely vivid! Often she would be exhausted when she woke. Leaving her without any want other than to continue sleeping. What brought on such nightly visual mind endeavors? No doubt all that she had been experiencing as of late during her conscious hours. The most recent vivid night adventure was most disturbing.
It was the French countryside, near a small town. A grand house was being built. Many good people, as that is what it felt like, surrounding the fresh construction. Much chatter and cheer yet, there was no cheer or goodness. A terrible loss and void sudden made it so isolating. Distance seemed real as this new house still being built suddenly shot out of her view, likewise the French countryside. The whole of the green landscape and familiarity was taken away in an instant leaving nothing but a strange void.
Darkness it seemed and yet dark figures. Something of a swirling void with skeletal figures in cowls that flashed into view then out. Twirling around and around wondering how to get out, where could she escape.
Next she knew, she was in bed. Laying there with her Lover, a dark shadowy figure. It wasn't Raoul, just a dark shadow figure of a man whom she could not figure out. It seemed they were about to make love until the shadow man vaporized before and over her. She got up slowly, dressed in nothing but a sheer white chemise that reached to the floor. So silky, so thin, there was no part of her that was shielded, all of her body was on display for any who was near. but there was no one there in the darkness of the night. She strode forward away from the bed, uncertain of how she got out of the bed in the first place... the walking felt like she wasn't moving at all with white curtain sheers swirling, whipping, twisting, fluttering all around her now as she walked out to a balcony.
No, not a balcony. But a stone rampart that was like a ledge. Flat out to the edge, as she walked there uncertain as to why she was going there. Her toes just barely on the edge as the bold winds beat over her body, caressing her, whipping her, thrashing and grabbing at her sheer chemise, threatening to either catch her up or throw her off the rampart. Likewise her beautiful hair was lost to the wind's caress and playing. Gazing down at the void and darkness. The out at the void and darkness. Hearing voices. And yet, not feeling the wind either. It was strange and unreal. Yet felt real.
Felt very real when the rampart crumbled from under her, dropping her into the great dark abyss. She continued to fall, it was never ending. And though she was falling, she felt peace until she felt the dread so suddenly.
In a vast spacious room of white plaster walls, a dim light that illuminated the room but came from no where. That room moved and caused such incredible vertigo as the walls shot away from her, making it look longer and larger than what it was. Or her become larger to the point the room was tiny and she saw it in a different perspective.
Nothing made sense. As now she was in a town, plenty of people whom she did not know and yet they were familiar. Daily routine it seemed until some 'friend' decided to fancy and marry another gal who was selfish and spoiled. Suddenly she became the victim of circumstances as she tried to protect friends but was accused of sins. Finally, she felt herself fall apart and weaken. No longer the beauty she once was. And she sank.
That is when she heard His voice call out to her "Christine. Christine," and a shadowed, cloaked hand reaching out for her. "Christine."
Snapping out of the dream her eyes opened a moment after she became aware that she was in her room, that she had a dream. So vivid and strange were they, she dared not to think about them at all. This Manor gave her wild and vivid dreams. No, she won't ever think about them even though she could never get them out of her mind.
Took some time as she laid there to go back to sleep. Trying to think good, happy thoughts. Before her next vivid dream whisked her way to another realm of thinking, a new dimension of realism.
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Raoul Christophe de Chagny
I?m here, with you, beside you, to guard you and to guide you.
Love me, that's all I ask of you
Posts: 414
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Post by Raoul Christophe de Chagny on Mar 27, 2012 17:54:41 GMT -5
For some reason he was wading through some sort of lake of sorts. Everything around him was black, as he was surrounded by darkness. Something in the lake moved past his feet, sending a shiver down the back of his neck but he paid it no mind. He had to keep going. He could not remember why, but he had to keep going. The sandbar in the lake dropped off and soon he was treading for his life. A light flashed directly ahead of him…probably from a lit lantern, so he swam after it. He was only wearing his shirt, his trousers and suspenders, and his socks—his shoes, waistcoat, jacket, and tie were discarded on the distant shore carelessly.
With strong and eager strokes he propelled himself through the water, gasping for breath every third stroke as he paced himself. He had been swimming since the tender age of five, so naturally he was quite good at it. He did not know how wide the lake was—fairly wide, as he was pretty sure he had been swimming for a good fifteen minutes or so. His arms hurt and his body was trembling from both exertion and the cold, but his limbs kept dragging themselves through the water, distancing himself from the shore behind him until finally his hands grabbed onto a wooden pier that jut out into the water like a knife. He gripped the edge of the pier tightly and pulled himself up onto the dock. He wanted to fall upon the dock and just lie there, catching his breath, but there wasn’t time for that. He had to go forward; he must move on. So he limped off of the pier and broke into a jog, heading directly for the light. His ankles and feet were damp from both the swim and the water that drained into the tunnel he was in, his straw-colored hair had water dripping from its ends, and he was soaked to the skin. The whole scenario reminded him of when he was fourteen and he retrieved Christine’s scarf from the sea.
Christine! That was why he was here…he had taken her. He had to free her. He began walking forward again, but was stopped when he heard something drop above him. He looked up as he saw a red object fly down and past him, and then down at his chest in stunned confusion when he saw a rope. Oh God… “Nyah!” he cried out when he felt the rope tighten, hands instinctively clawing at his neck. There was maniacal laughing ringing through his ears, and the voice repeated the phrase, “Keep your hand at the level of your eyes!” He did not even think to consider what that meant, his feet kicking out uselessly as he was dragged backward. “Christine!” he managed to choke as the man jerked him sideways, throwing the rope over something. He tried to wrestle the noose from his neck, to no avail. I did it all for you and all for nothing, he lamented silently as the black obscured his vision, followed by a sickly crack.
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Erik Carriere
For I am blackness itself...
"When you sing, I live in the heavens, and when you do not, down below." ~ Erik Carriere
Posts: 359
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Post by Erik Carriere on Apr 24, 2012 23:45:09 GMT -5
Erik went to bed early that night, feeling tired from doing nothing in particular. And in his dreamland.....
Erik was in a vast white room filled with emptiness. It looked just plain white, as far as the eye could see. He started to walk in a random direction for each direction looked entirely the same. And for what seemed like quite a long time, he finally saw a person up ahead. He began to run towards the figure, little by little could he tell who the person was. The person was turned around.... had blond hair that kept down... and Christine! Erik finally got up to her and turned her around and..... it was the wrong Christine! It was the Christine he first met in the manor. She looked at him with a look of annoyance and slowly Erik began to back up, only to back up into another person. He turned around and it was another blond woman that was not Christine. Then more and more and more began to show up out of nowhere and he was being swarmed by blonds that looked close to his Christine, but they all looked annoyed and upset with him, but the worst part was that all was silent. The ear painful silence, not a single sound! There then was his last hope to see Christine, was a girl who was turned around just as the first Christine had been. Frantically he pushed away the other blond haired Christines out of his way, trying to reach the Christine who was slowly beginning to walk away from him as he walked forward. He tried to yell to her, scream out her name and get her attention but there was only silence. Finlay he was able to push his way out of the crowd of Christines and reached the strayed Christine and turned her around. He had began to lean into a kiss for whom he thought was his Christine but then suddenly jumped back. The person then suddenly turned into Carlotta who looked at him and the only sound he heard was her banshee scream!
"OH GOOD GOD! NO!" He yelped out when he woke up. He could have sworn that he could still hear the horrid scream of that awful woman. Little did he know that it was the night that Carlotta had arrived to the manor.
~THE END~
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Raoul Jacques de Chagny
We Have All Been Blind!
"Christine, don't think that I don't care, but every prayer and every hope rests on you now..."
Posts: 73
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Post by Raoul Jacques de Chagny on Apr 30, 2012 20:02:55 GMT -5
Raoul paced. Thoughts ran through his head, but he didn’t have an answer for any of the questions slapping him. He muttered sleepily, “Good God, what am I to do?” He rubbed his eyes and sat down on the edge of his bed. Before he knew it however, he fell against the pillow and closed his eyes, letting sleep take over him.
He awoke at an old opera house. He looked around, the halls were dimly lit and he could hear a beautiful voice singing. It was his Christine. Excitement ran through him and he hurried through the halls, following the voice as it grew faint. He stopped and listened, his heart pounding. The voice came again from around a corner just ahead of him. Christine! His heart sang, I’m here, Christine! He didn’t speak, but hurried toward the sweet voice.
Just as he got close the voice faded off and he swore softly. “CHRISTINE!” he yelled, “Christine my dear, it’s me Raoul!” Her voice grew louder and he prayed that he’d catch her this time. Raoul ran around the corner and saw a shape slip around the corner. Agony ripped at him, was Christine avoiding him? Was she just teasing Raoul with her mesmerizing voice? He ran around the corner and Christine turned to him, the smile that was playing across her lips fading.
“Christine, dearest, it’s I, your love!” He told her, frowning at her response and going forward to show her that he was only who he said he was. She flinched away from him when he reached out to brush back the deep brown hair falling into her face. He let his hand fall down to his side; hurt flickering through his sky blue eyes. He murmured, his voice thick with heartbreak, “Christine, do you not know me?”
“Monsieur le Vicomte de Chagny,” she spoke, softly not saying his name or gazing upon his face, “I feel nothing when I look upon you, dear.” She moved her gaze to his face as if to prove her point. Her face was indeed expressionless and it broke poor Raoul’s heart. “I live in the music of the night now, dearest,” she murmured, “with my Angel of Music.” As if called by some strange force the Phantom, masked with that strange white thing, stepped from the shadows.
“I am your Angel of Music, come to your Angel of Music!I” He sang, a wicked grin forming on his pale lips. A nefarious laugh echoed throughout the hall as Christine nodded and stepped forward, without looking back at the Vicomte, grasping the hand of the Phantom.
For Christine didn’t look back, she hadn’t seen the small tears of heartbreak on his cheeks or the desire flaring in his eyes. “Christine…” he murmured, his voice just a breath of air, slipping away not loud enough for anyone but his own self to hear. The Phantom, masked and ever horrible, and Christine, lovely, beautiful Christine, vanished into the shadows and Raoul was left standing alone to deal with his broken heart.
Drenched in a cold sweat, Raoul jolted forward, eyes wide. “That WICKED man!” he shouted into the darkness of his room at the manor. He jumped from the bed. “How dare he steal my Christine!” He growled, clenching his teeth until his jaw ached. He hurried from the room, forgetting –or perhaps he just didn’t care- to close his door. He was going to find that masked man and get the fool to tell him where his Christine was. If it was the last thing he did.
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Post by Carlotta Celestia Giudicelli on May 12, 2012 3:43:50 GMT -5
Carlotta was back in Tuscany, sitting out in the vineyard with her canvas and paint pallet, trying to picture the world through an artist's eye, as Signore Giapetto had often told her to while painting. The way that an artist viewed the world, there were not simply objects and their colors – there was the colors of the light and the air, and each of these colors had its own emotion attached to it! They were all around – one only had to look. It was the ability to observe and take in these extensions of the reality's existence and to funnel them into ones art that made one truly a great artist. This was what Signore Giapetto had taught her was the most important aspect of painting, and the same theory applied to her singing as well. It was what one must do in order to truly be a great artist.
The sun was beginning to set and the light growing dim when Carlotta spotted a figure moving toward her in the distance. Upon closer examination, she could see that it was none other than Signore Giapetto himself! She went out to greet him and saw that he was holding something – an envelope from the looks of it – in his hand.
“Buona sera, Signore,” she said, greeting him, but he just shook his head and smiled at her, holding out the letter. Carlotta was confused. Could he not speak? It was quite unlike him not to greet her with his warm, loud, Italian fondness, calling her 'bambina cara' and planting a sloppy kiss on her cheek. But there he stood, without a word, just holding the envelope out for her to take.
Although still confused, she reached out and took the envelope from him. It may have been very strange, but she trusted Signore Giapetto above anyone else. She opened the envelope and took out the message inside and read silently. What it said bewildered her to say the least!
La Carlotta,
Your days at the Opéra Populaire are numbered. Christine Daaé will be singing on your behalf tonight. Be prepared for a great misfortune should you attempt to take her place.
Why, it was the exact note she had received only the morning before! She looked up to ask the old painter why he was giving this to her, but saw that he had vanished! How very odd this whole thing was.
The sun continued to set, and it was beginning to grow dark, so Carlotta went and gathered up her painting supplied then headed in toward the home where she grew up as a child. When she entered the place however, it was not in her old home where she found herself, but instead in the foyer of the Opéra Populaire, just in front of the grand staircase.
Confused, to say the least, the diva trudged up the stairs toward the manager's office. When she arrived, she saw the two new managers there. The shorter one, Monsieur Firmin, was sitting on his desk and appeared to be either drunk, hung over, or both. The taller one, Monsieur André, seemed to be quite upset about something. She diva cleared her throat in order to catch their attention and the par turned to look at her.
She took a few steps forward, opening her mouth to address them, but a trap door opened in the floor directly beneath her and she plunged through into the abyss.
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Post by ciera800 on May 14, 2012 17:48:36 GMT -5
Christine sighed happily thanking the lord above she finally had a place to rest though she blushed upon remembering she had a roommate, one that she trusted despite their being of the opposite gender. She smiled contently and snuggled into the bed under the covers and before she could manage a simple thought she was asleep.
The next thing she was conciously aware of she was in Erik's parlour....but how was that, and why was she sitting upwards, had erik moved her for some peculiar reason or other, why had he not simply awoken her? She rubbed her forehead and looked at her surroundings she could hear noise nearby and standing up she walked towards it, into the forest area. She had always wondered how he had gotten an entire forest into his lair but she had never been able to ask him out of proper prudency.
She began to gaze at her surroundings when suddenly something caught her eye, erik was standing there by a small pond and upon what she assumed was his sensing her presence there he turned to face her, smiled, and extended a hand for her to take, an invitation for her to approach.
Her childish energy as always came to life and she ran towards him excitedly. Upon reaching him he brushed a stray hair out of her face and motioned to the pond which she obediantly gazed into.
The sight the pond beheld shocked her. There she was, ten years old working as a maid for the De Chagny family! Her eyes became transfixed upon the scene, the various interactions she had shared with the son phillipe, playing the piano, singing, running outside.....it was all there!
Suddenly there she was singing at the country fair as was usual in those days before the opera and phillipe approached her obviously not recognizing her for there was no recognition in his face, just that of a man who sees a rather handsome girl and determines to meet her. He told her of the opera....he said she was good enough to become the new leading lady and that he could make it happen for her at the opera house he was patron of. She had oh so foolishly beleived him and her heart bittered at the thoughts, he had in truth, been trying to get her to spend the night with him.
Suddenly she saw him at the bistro talking with carlotta.....that's right he HAD been trying to help, but due to the change in managers she had been misplaced by no fault of his and suddenly the pain was back, the pain of torn love.....
Almost immidiatly she heard footsteps beside her and jerked her head up to see the very man who caused her so much stress right next to her, phillipe was on the left, erik was on the right. She felt absolutely torn, without saying anything they were asking her to choose and she couldn't! She hit her knees crying and her heart burst.
Christine woke up in tears sobbing but quieted down immidiatly lest she wake erik. This manor had revealed to her things she would have rather remained ignorant of and deep down she wondered if it would have been for better.....or for worse?
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Post by Gustave de Chagny on May 24, 2012 13:30:02 GMT -5
Gustave was standing on the pier in Coney Island, where he had come with his mother and father so that his mother could sing in Mr. Y's Phantasma. It was a wonderful, beautiful place here, full of strange machines and freaks and sweet treats, and all sorts of fun things that a ten year old boy absolutely loved! One goal that little Gustave had had for the time here on Coney Island was to learn how to swim. This was the reason why he had come here to the pier.
The little boy gazed down at the ocean water below him, so cool and swirling and deep. He could not help but to be a little afraid of the site, not knowing how to swim, himself. Perhaps this was not exactly the safest of places to learn. Or perhaps it would be better to go back and to ask his father to teach him how, assuming that his father was in one of his better moods and would be willing to plat with the boy.
Gustave was just turning to leave and go back to the hotel with his mother and father when a strange, frightening figure in a hooded cloak came up to him and stared at him with it's faceless gaping place where there should have been a head. The boy tried to peer behind, to see if there was a way to get around the figure without disturbing it, but the figure grabbed his wrist and Gustave cried out. “Mother! Father!”
No one came. Gustave was all alone with this strange and frightening thing... The hooded figure took him and lead him closer to the edge of the peer, not stopping, not slowing, until finally, it tossed him into the water and the poor boy was swirling around, flailing in an attempt to stay afloat.
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