Story [The Phantom of the Opera] "I Swallow the Day" | AA 50 Sentences Challenge/OTP Sonnets Roulette

Title: “I Swallow the Day”
Fandom: The Phantom of the Opera
Author: Mira_Jade

Genre: Angst, Romance
Time Frame: 1880 (mash-up of ALW, Leroux, and Kay canons)
Characters: Erik/Christine Daaé, Ensemble Cast

Summary: A love story ghost story tragedy in fifty parts.


Author's Notes: Hello, dear readers! Here I am, once again diving into the world of PotO for both the Angstmonger's Anonymous 50 Sentence Challenge and the OTP Thread's Sonnets Roulette. For the 50 Sentence Challenge, I am using set #2: Doom and Gloom, while, for the OTP Challenge, the sonnet I received was Evie Shockley's "black love". With those two prompts put together, how could my muse not be inspired as she was?

Towards that end, these sentences are intended to be a companion to my pervious Phantom works, "I May Be Dreaming Awake" and "My Spirit Longs With Thee to Rest". Beyond that, all I really have to note is that my approach to writing these stories is, as ever, a mash-up of Leroux's original novel, Susan Kay's Phantom retelling, and of course, Andrew Lloyd Webber's Broadway musical, all with a few tweaks and additions and remissions of my own.

As always, I thank anyone who may wander by to read, and hope that you enjoy!


Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, but for the words.

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"I Swallow the Day"
by Mira_Jade​

Veil

It was an impulse as much as it was an indulgence – taking the wedding veil from the costume rack in the cellars of the Palais Garnier – but, letting the delicate lace run through his fingertips, he indulged the fantasy (the dream) knowing it would ever be just that and nothing more.



Decoy

“Ange,” exultant eyes raised heavenward as he cast his voice from behind the mirror – but oh, surely such an insignificant lie could be forgiven for the joy that lie inspired – inspired in her; inspired in him?



Sinking

(but her angel was no angel in the end – only a man)



Leave

“As if the great La Carlotta Guidicelli would abandon her art at the command of an overreaching apparition – and such a tasteless and tone-death one, at that!”



Shackle

She was frozen in place, his mask held trembling in hand, unable to open her eyes and look upon that which she’d so woefully conjured into being (for such a face could not be real, it could not be, itcouldnotbe) and bound herself to through the reality of sight forevermore.



Wraith

“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” Meg gasped to hear her friend proclaim – and her hand flew to cover Christine’s mouth, fearing that the Phantom would come and prove the reality of his presence in no uncertain terms.



Doom

The boy was seemingly touched by Apollo – as fair-haired and blue-eyed and sun-skinned as any hero out of myth – but Erik felt his arrival as the shadow of Death, slowly but inextricably drawing its scythe.



Rotten

For when he, quite contrarily, had a face that better belonged to a corpse, years torn from the mortal coil, already half claimed by hell and branded by the devil to match . . .



Anguish

(he left the mirror shattered, in pieces on the floor)



Bereft

How could she make him understand that it was not wholly the angel that she mourned, but the loss of her friend as she’d once thought him to be?



Grieve

Her father would be ashamed of her, Christine felt whisper through her heart when her mind traitorously murmured that the man and the angel could yet be one, just the same as the man and the ghost.



Shallow

“You sang prettily tonight,” Raoul praised, pressing a kiss to her hand, and Christine found herself smiling for the weightless ease of his compliments upon her soul.



Waste

Where is the loss, he’d once challenged the Daroga to justify the morals of his god – for why should he value the human lives who’d never seen fit to acknowledge him as one of their own in return?



Sorrow

The Daaé girl had always been a quiet, timid thing – with a mind half lost to shadows as she existed just slightly apart from her fellow castmates – but for the spark in her countenance when she asked her to share all she knew of him, Madame Giry felt a moment’s foreboding (sorrow) for the tragedy playing out on a stage of their own making.



Toil

“I know you’re capable of better,” his eyes flashed in challenge – a matched penitent, chained to their shared god before sweet music’s throne – and, rather then nursing a wound for his critique, she found an impetus, and, when next she opened her mouth, she soared.



Starve

The smallest gestures enchanted him – the way she absently bit her lip when studying a complicated passage in a score, or how she played with the curls of her hair as they glided across the waters of the underground lake – he feasted on even the smallest crumbs of her, even as a voice inside hesitated, wondering to what ends he would ultimately go to sate his seemingly bottomless hunger.



Deprive

There was no sunlight this far beneath the surface of the earth – yet she stared at the massive painting of a sunrise breaking over a turbulent ocean that Erik had composed with his own hand, in his own way attempting to bring something of the outside world in to join him in his exile.



Bitter

“Because love for me must always be synonymous with sin, must it not?” Erik scathed when Nadir yet hesitated – and the Persian’s silence was as damning as any word spoken aloud in answer.



Virulent

He filled her with fear and repugnance and loathing – nothing more.



Maelstrom

(nothing more, nothing more, nothing more)



Forfeit

He didn't view his actions as any sort of iniquity: La Carlotta had been warned never to set foot on his stage again; thus, he could hardly be held responsible for the consequences of her transgression.



Brittle

His laughter was usually so brittle, mocking and jeering rather than sharing in any sort of jubilant emotion . . . but when he truly laughed, she found herself filling on the golden glory of the sound (and the sound alone) and furtively wanting more.



Stab

“Here, let me try,” Raoul grabbed the sheet of music from her hand, and began singing terribly off-key – in a way that was endearing (endearing) rather than grating upon her ear – to an imagined melody as he blindly read the language so exquisitely scripted in notes and staves across the page.



Shut

How could there be true joy without music, contentment without song, life without living, as she lived best?



Supplant

. . . and yet, how could she be expected to exist without the succoring light of day?



Voracious

From Italy to Russia to Persia and everywhere in between, he spun stories of his travels until her imagination stretched its yearning wings and she itched to follow – and, in a small way, through his words, she did.



Chase

It was perhaps a fool’s dream – and oh, but hadn’t life taught him better by now? – yet he found himself chasing the impossible once more as he set pencil to paper, wondering what a home with her could truly look like, in every way.



Catch

There was the slightest catch – an inhale of breath before the plunge – as the first note from the violin sounded its timorous cry, and then music blossomed to fill the air.



Release

Christine deeply inhaled the fresh air – Persephone, leaving the winter behind – and felt as if she could at last breathe as she turned her face back towards the sun.



Squeeze

His gloved fingertips came just shy of touching the skin of her throat as she sang – yet, in that moment, she could not remember a single (most valid) reason she’d ever had for fear.



Grind

“Obviously,” the Comte de Chagny looked down his nose at his brother, “this whole nonsense of singing will have to end if you truly intend to shame the family and marry the opera tart.”



Ruthless

Though she had no desire to ever see the face lurking beneath the mask again, there were times when she found herself staring at the mismatched tone of his eyes, unwittingly taken by the contrasting shades of ice-chip blue and burning amber gold – all before she swiftly tore those thoughts up at the root before they could dare pierce the soil for the sun.



Cunning

The two imbeciles who presumed to manage his theater may have thought themselves clever – yet Erik was all too happy to elucidate each and ever flaw in their logic . . . by any means necessary.



Betrayal

Horrified, Christine understood what was happening as the great chandelier above the auditorium rattled in a cacophony of crystal discord.



Mire

“A warm bath and a hot cup of tea will be just the thing,” the de Chagny housekeeper was a professional, at least, and did not eye Christine – shaking and glassy eyed with disbelief – with the confusion (revilement) of the rest of the staff.



Habit

She'd become used to falling asleep in her room far beneath the Opera House – and now, no matter how she tried, she tossed and turned against the luxury of satin sheets and feather-down pillows, unable to even seek solace in the oblivion of dreams.



Bones

The Phantom’s Opera was all revilement and loathing for the human condition (and pain, such pain) – but beneath it all was a genius that went entirely unappreciated by the cast that was only grudgingly beholden to give his masterpiece a voice.



Foul

Christine felt her hands curl into fists to hear La Carlotta scorn both the score and its composer – all before reminding herself that Erik was not hers to defend, nor did he deserve to find such a refuge in her (she owed him nothing).



Succumb

His voice twined around her in threads of silken gold, with molten splendor seeping in her ears to pool in the depths of her innermost soul, as, despite her misgivings, she raised her own voice, and met the glory of his song with her own.



Metamorphosis

He did not recognize his fiancée in the woman who had come alive upon the stage – and, no matter that he told himself that it was all an act, Raoul inexplicably felt tears touch his eyes to see Christine as she was perhaps always meant to be, in a way that he would never be able to touch for himself.



Listless

(for how many years thereafter would he spend, searching for her return?)



Void

This time, as the earth threatened to swallow her once and for all – to swallow her as the Phantom had devoured every trace of Erik – her fury rose higher than her fear as she stood toe-to-toe to battle both his ghosts and her own.



Creed

This was the creed that had been placed upon him since birth: a monster could not be a man, and less than human meant, by its very definition, that anything ugly and deviant and other was not privy to the basic most rights of humankind: rights to peace, rights to happiness, rights to life . . . rights to love.



Shed

. . . and so, the monster he would be.



Dim

His vision was blurring around the edges – and, for a single, horrible moment, Raoul wished it would end, if only to give that creature one less string to control her by . . . for that was the only reason she kept going back now, was it not?



Mirage

The dream faded and gave way to reality – but then, this had only ever been his dream, rather than her own, and so . . .



Strangled

Would she ever forget that despairing cry that rent the night as she left, torn from the unfathomable depths of an irrevocably broken voice?



Gaze

. . . or those eyes?



Deceit

“I gave you my mind blindly.”



Endless

That first kiss may have turned a monster into a man, but the second kiss was solely for she – herself – and Christine knew, even as she pulled away – that he would continue to haunt her for the rest of her days.



~ MJ

 

Ooh, this was splendid, and it brought me right back to this beautiful story of doomed love! So much beautiful imagery, so many beautiful contrasts that are so well suited both to this group of 50 Sentences prompts and to the Shockley sonnet: Carlotta with her empty flamboyance vs. Christine with her genuine musicality, the Apollo-like Raoul vs. the monster-like (in his own view) Erik, the sun vs. underground, and of course the constant battle in Christine's mind and heart between Erik's repugnance and all the things that make him so compelling: the many talents, the fine voice (contrasted with Raoul's off-key caterwauling), the keen understanding of the darker underside of humanity, the eyes. I don't know whether in your combined universe, as in the Leroux book (at least as I recall, as it's been a while), Christine eventually ends up with Raoul after all, but I kind of like the way this story leans toward an Erik endgame with that scrumptious kiss scene at the end. I would totally believe she won't remember any of Raoul's kisses in quite the same way, and that their kissing styles are different in a way analogous to the difference between their singing voices... OK I'll stop there! Absolutely gorgeous job with both prompts; I love how well they turned out to suit each other, and how perfect your choice of characters and scenes was for both!

 

I know: look at how fast I am doing replies this time! But I was itching to chat about a few most excellent points mentioned in your comments, and figured that my doing so may have the added bonus of answering questions from other readers who may not know the source material as well. So, here I am to geek out like a true phangirl.

Aw, as always, your kind words honor me! Thank you so much for saying so!

Your comment absolutely made my day, I have to let you know! Yes, this - all of this is exactly what I was looking to explore in these sentences, and what draws me to the original story time and time again.

Lol! So far, I Swallow the Day and I May Be Dreaming Awake follow canon pretty closely. My Spirit Longs With Thee to Rest is set about five years post-finale, and starts deviating from canon with Christine leaving Raoul to begin her own journey of self - which is a plot I would someday love to return to and explore more in full. I like to think that, somewhere in the future of this 'verse, at the end of that journey, she'll find an Erik who's been doing some similar such growing and soul-searching of his own, but, we'll see.

Ironically, though, Teh Kiss is completely canon, and a scene that has stayed relatively consistent across versions. (Leroux's version is the darkest, with very little cause for E/C shipping to be found.) But, in a nutshell across depictions, Erik gives Christine an ultimatum: stay and marry him, or Raoul dies. Christine answers with a kiss, and, for that moment of shared humanity, Erik can't go through with his threats, and he lets Christine and Raoul go. After all, true love is selfless, and, ultimately, that's what wins.

If you're curious, here's the finale from the Broadway musical, with Ramin Karimloo and Sierra Boggess starring as Erik and Christine (they are Erik and Christine to my mind for both the power of their voices and how much emotion they convey with their acting ), and it's . . . well, intense isn't a strong enough word, and it devastates me every time.



As for what happens beyond that . . . I don't know if I should tag this as a spoiler or not, but, just in case you or anyone else doesn't want to be spoiled.

Spoiler: How the Story Goes

That's that, end of story as far as Erik and Christine are concerned - or at least in Leroux's version. Kay and ALW's versions are both a bit . . . messier. Or, at least, ALW's version is if you count the sequel. (90% of Love Never Dies is . . . unfortunate, to put it kindly, and I tend to ignore its existence but for the 10% that feeds my shipping soul, and even that 10% is very much a guilty pleasure. ) According to ALW, Christine tried to move on with Raoul, but, ultimately, ran away just before their wedding. She found Erik in Calais, about to make the crossing to America for a new life. One thing, erm . . . led to another, and all before these two could actually talk about their feelings or the future or anything of substance, really. Erik had another fit of conscience in the night, and left while Christine was still sleeping, not wanting to ruin her life for her decision to stay with him. She then returned to Raoul, who took her back, not realizing that she was pregnant. Ten years later, the trio meets again, along with a very strange and musical little boy to complicate the plot even further. I know, this is so soapy and it only gets worse, which is why I tend to ignore LND in my own writing.

In Kay's version, Christine also comes back after the "final" scene. She does things properly and actually marries Erik, but he dies only days later - he's sick most of the last act of this particular novel, which has always felt like a copout to me. The good thing about Kay's writing, though, is that the entire epilogue of the novel is told from Raoul's POV and so incredibly poignant for being so. Kay's Raoul is where I tend to base my depiction - you really get the sense that this boy just wants to be a knight in shining armor, and he's in love with the idea of that dynamic as much as he is Christine herself. (How much of Christine does he really know or understand in order to be able to love, in any version, is something that I will always explore in my own work. ) Raoul is aware of all of this, but he still marries Christine anyway. Eventually, she dies young from health complications herself, and while they're happy during their time together . . . they're not passionately in love, you know? Raoul continues to raise their son, guess whose son he really is, and the last scene of the novel is Raoul attending the opera with a grown Gustave, who's beautiful and talented and the best of all three of his parents, and it hurts in all the good ways, for all that it's a bit on the soapy side as well. But Kay is a good enough author to pull it off.

So, yeah . . . to answer the complicated question of what comes next.

I swear that I did a spit-take for this comment, and then I laughed out loud. But, for all that this is a bit of tongue-in-cheek, insert-Violet-Crawley-gif loling, this is another complicated element of Raoul/Christine versus Erik/Christine. To quote Joel Schumacher, who directed the 2004 ALW film, even if I'm paraphrasing from memory: "Christine's relationship with Raoul is her romantic awakening as a teenager, while her relationship with the Phantom is a very deep, very soulful, even sexual connection." That maybe says it all.

But, far from being a good thing, when you put it in context, her attraction - on every level - is even more terrifying from Christine's POV. She's a young woman living in the 19th century with devout Christian beliefs and morals. Female desire was still viewed as a sin at the time - let alone desire for a hideously deformed, much older man who has lied, extorted, murdered, and generally terrorized everyone at her place of employment for years now. Her feelings are absolutely those she should run from - especially when she has Raoul right there, offering her a safe harbor in the storm. Contrarily, Raoul is a good, sweet boy - one whom her father knew and approved of as a child, to add another layer of emotional complexity - and her feelings were good and sweet for him to match, as was acceptable by the standards of the society in which she lived and the parameters of her faith.

Good and sweet and safe, I should perhaps reiterate - which is another very real element to this infinitely tangled story that shouldn't be forgotten. Though ALW's version completely glosses over (more wasn't really possible in the stage format without a lot of tweaking ) all of the time Christine spent with Erik beneath the Opera House, especially in Kay's version, you get the sense that Christine used that unspoken threat against Raoul's safety to allow herself to have those moments together. She was the martyr, the sacrifice, and to tell herself that she had no choice was also to excuse herself to do what maybe she shamefully wanted to do all along. She could continue her relationship with Erik as her tutor, all without calling it a friendship, let alone anything more, but only if she maintained that she feared and reviled him at the same time - all until that tenuous balance snapped, of course, and then the story barreled on to its tragic conclusion.

But, all the while, there's still that very deep, very soulful connection, and it does make it seem like every scene with them together is just a spark wanting for flame.

. . . aaand, since I'm already knee-deep in sharing my pheelings, may I also humbly recommend Ramin and Sierra performing the titular song from the musical to convey the, erm, the vibe I like to capture with Erik/Christine better than words can express? The acting says as much as the song itself here.

And I can't thank you enough for your kind words again - both here, and on all of my PotO stories, which I really need to go back and reply to, now that I am reminded. That's definitely going to be on my to-do list for the weekend, but, until then!

Thank you so much!