Phantomoftheopera Fanfiction - Tumblr Posts
Helen Draiz
I do not own The Phantom of the Opera. The book/musical/movies belong to their rightful owners. I only own my characters.
CHAPTER 2
Camille waited anxiously for Helen to return, stitching up the dress as best she could as she waited. When the brunette finally did return, Helen’s smile dropped and her handbag was thrown onto her bed.
“Well..?” Camille pushed gently, jumping back when the 21 year old spun her head in her direction, glaring daggers. “I take it he didn’t propose?”
“No!” exclaimed Helen, starting to remove the frilly dress and obnoxious heels. “Am I doing something wrong? Does he not want to marry me?”
Camille stood up from her bed and helped her remove the dress and corset. “Of course he wants to marry you Helen! Maybe he just forgot the ring tonight?” she suggested.
Helen could feel tears threatening to spill over. “No man forgets the ring if he’s planning on proposing. He carries it around everywhere he goes.” she mumbled, sniffling.
Camille placed her hands on Helen’s shoulders, spinning her to face their only mirror. “Look at you Helen. How could he not want to marry you.”
Helen stared into her reflection, her bottom lip quivering. She placed her hand on her stomach, suddenly feeling very ill. “Then why won’t he ask me?”
Camille stared at her friend through the reflection and wrapped her arms around her waist, resting her chin on her shoulder. “I don’t know…” she whispered, closing her eyes as she gave her best friend a hug from behind.
Helen and Camille stood there for a few moments before they finished undressing Helen for her night attire. Camille hung the dress back up, as Helen examined Carlotta’s dress, draping it over a chair when she thought it was decently sewed back together. Helen then threw on her night attire, wrapping herself in her robe afterwards.
Camille, once again, gave her best friend a hug before wishing her sweet dreams. It was nearing late in the night which meant most would be asleep by now. Helen tapped out a few candles so Camille could get some sleep before grabbing her journal and fountain pen.
She quietly stepped out of their room, shutting the door. She stared out into the looming darkness, smiling slightly at how quiet it was. She crept through the dark twisting halls of the opera house until she made it to a set of stairs leading to the boxes. No one knew that every night, after an eventful day, she stayed up most of the night to write in none other than box five. The so-called Opera Ghost’s box.
She carefully climbed up the stairs, running her hand, along the wall, counting each box.
Four…
Five…
Helen smiled as she pushed back the curtains for the box, sliding into one of the seat’s. She sighed, looking out at the stage, watching the ghost light flicker on the stage. She placed her candle on the small table beside the seats, opening her journal.
She fiddled with her pen, wondering where she should start writing. Should she start with her getting berated at for not wearing shoes? Maybe when Carlotta quit?
Helen hummed to herself as she thought. She took her pen down to her paper and dated the page, deciding to start from when she woke up. A few things did happen to her throughout the day, but the most exciting were during the rehearsal, when everyone was awake, not just the maids and other people like her.
She sighed quietly, letting out all of her emotions onto the pages, her hand cramping when she made it to the part about supper. She closed her eyes, twisting her wrist around to relieve the pain.
Suddenly, she was left in darkness as the candle went out. Helen felt her body freeze, trying to think of a rational reason why the candle blew out. Surely it must have been the breeze from her moving her arm. She gulped before reaching into her robe’s pocket for a match.
“Mademoiselle. I must ask you to leave.” said a voice from behind her.
Helen felt her face go stark white. So the stories were true. The Opera Ghost was real. “Oui (yes), monsieur.” she mumbled, blowing on the last page she had written, to dry it, before standing up. She turned, holding the journal to her chest as she turned to face the voice. “I am sorry for intruding. I am usually alone in here this late at night.”
The voice remained silent, urging Helen to gather her things more quickly. She did so with no haste. Once all of her belongings were in her hands, she stepped around the seat heading for the door, when she suddenly bumped into a solid...nothingness.
She gasped, taking a step back and looking at where she was walking. She tried to reason with herself that maybe she ran into a wall because it was so dark but...there was no wall there.
She shakily held out her hand to see if she was mistaken but that’s when a hand wrapped around her wrist and tugged her into the shadows. She prepared to scream before another hand found its way to her mouth, covering it.
“I wouldn’t do that mademoiselle.” growled the voice.
Helen squirmed, trying to wiggle out of his grip, but a hand suddenly found her throat, wrapping around it with a vice grip.
She choked for air, her hands flying to the hands around her throat. A loud thud as her belongings fell to the ground. She tried prying the hands away from her delicate throat, tears pooling in her eyes.
“P-Please…” she choked, taking one of her hands and hitting the chest of the culprit as a last defence. “Let...go…”
The hand left her throat right as she felt herself slowly passing out. She fell to her knees, covering her mouth as she began to have a coughing fit. Her unruly hair fell around her head as she coughed harder and harder until she could somewhat breathe easier.
She looked up at the figure in front of her, her tears now falling down her cheeks. “Merci (Thank you)…” she stuttered, lowering her head to the ground to try and relax.
The figure took a step towards her and crouched down, lifting her to face them, gripping her chin. “Be thankful you are not dead child. Now...are you going to talk about what happened tonight?”
The voice sounded like a man’s. One she had heard before but couldn’t put a face to the sound.
Helen slowly shook her head, gulping. “N-No Monsieur. I won’t...I...I’m sorry…” she gasped, closing her eyes as she rubbed her sore throat.
“I won’t tell a soul…” she mumbled, wincing when he gripped tighter to her chin.
“Not one soul?” he pushed, his gloved hands digging into her skin.
“No sir...not one...please...I’ll leave you be.”
The man before her, as a way to help calm her, gently ran his other hand over her brown locks. “Why should I believe you?”
Helen whimpered as his free hand dragged down her jawline and to her bruised neck. She had no answer for him. Why should he believe her?
“Are you going to answer, child?”
The girl felt more tears drip down her cheeks as she stared up at the man. “I-I do not have...any...er..an answer for you, sir.”
The man clicked his tongue, peeling his hands from her. “Then I guess I will have to watch you,” he replied. Helen could feel his eyes stay on her as she struggled to calm down. “Or maybe...yes perhaps...I should take you with me?”
Helen felt her eyes bulge and her body shift backwards. “T-Take me where Monsieur?”
The man stood up and sighed. “No...you shall stay up here.” he said to himself. “ You shall continue your duties. But I will be watching Mademoiselle.”
Helen stared up at him, her hands resting lightly on her neck. “W-What should I call you Monsieur?” she asked hesitantly, her hands searching for her belongings that she had dropped.
The man hummed, crouching down and taking a hold of her journal, returning it into her hands. “Some say The Phantom of the Opera, Phantom for short. Other’s say Opera Ghost. Choose whichever you like.” he replied, finding her fountain pen as well and placing it in her hand. “I hope we never meet like this again Mademoiselle.”
Helen gulped, listening to him walk off afterwards. “Me too…” she whispered, quickly finding the candle and bolting out of the box and back to her bedroom.
~-~-~
The next morning, while Helen was putting on her makeup, Camille nearly screamed at the sight of the bruises around her neck.
“Helen!” she gasped, her eyes wide with worry, hands covering her mouth. “What on Earth happened to your poor neck?”
Helen looked up at Camille through the mirror, a frown forming on her lips. She hadn’t thought up of a story, and The Phantom had said he would be watching her to make sure she never told anyone.
“Um...I was um…” she began, racking her brain for any ideas. “...having a nightmare last night…” she mumbled.
Camille nodded, urging her friend to go on, taking a seat on her made bed.
“It felt...so real…” Helen said, biting her lip. “Someone...was choking me in the dream. But when I woke up...it was myself.”
Camille frowned, shaking her head. “Helen! Surely I would have heard you choking yourself!” she exclaimed, standing and walking over to her.
“You must be quiet Camille. Not everyone is up this early.” urged Helen, grabbing a hold of her friends hands.
Camille shook her head as she grazed Helen’s neck. “Then let them wake!” she said, pushing back Helen’s hair. “I don’t think it is wise for you to work today…” she admitted.
Helen rolled her eyes, smiling kindly. “I am grateful you are concerned but really...I am fine Camille.”
The younger woman sighed, dropping her hands. “Fine then...but just take it easy today.”
Helen smiled, nodding to her. “You know I will.” she replied, looking back into the mirror to complete her makeup. Once she was done, she decided to leave her hair down to try and hide the bruises.
After the girls were ready to get started with the day, they linked arms and headed towards the kitchen to get a quick breakfast before their work began.
The chef handed the girls their breakfast, his eyes widening when he saw Helen’s neck. “My dear...what in Heaven’s happened?”
Helen blushed, ducking her head. She used her hair as a makeshift cover up, biting her lip. “I was having a nightmare last night. It turns out I was choking myself.” she lied, looking up at him with a small smile. “I am alright.”
The chef nodded, giving her a sad smile. “You take it easy now Helen.”
Helen nodded and walked over to the table where a few other workers were eating.
~-~-~
The day ran somewhat smoothly until news spread about the disappearance of Christine Daae. She had supposedly had dinner with the Vicomte and had returned to her room where she disappeared.
There was no trace of her. No notes. No witnesses. She had just...vanished.
And on top of that, everyone had asked questions about the bruises lacing the maid’s neck, some even saying The Phantom must have done both acts.
But like Helen promised, she denied that The Phantom had done the deed. She kept up the story of choking herself in her sleep but a few people refused to believe her. Those people included Camille, Henry, Madame Giry and Nadir Khan. Nadir was a middleeastern that now served as the chief policemen. He occasionally visited the opera house while making his rounds. When he saw the bruises lacing her neck he froze in the hall, his face going red.
Helen paid no mind to him, giving him a polite smile and nod before returning to her job. That was the last time she had seen him.
Henry, unlike the Persian, had bombarded her with questions. He insisted that she take the rest of the day off but both her and Madame Bisset refused.
“I am fine,” she had laughed full heartedly, cupping his cheek. “I promise.”
Henry didn’t believe her, deciding to skip rehearsals so he could help her out with her own duties along with Camille. Just now he was hanging up the dresses in Carlotta’s prima donna room while the girls cleaned up the room.
“I am just saying Helen, you can tell us anything,” he defended, shaking his head. “Especially me Helen…”
The brunette sighed, wiping down the full length mirror. “Henry. I have already told you a million times. Please drop it.” she snapped.
Henry clenched his jaw, shaking his head. He turned to look at her, crossing his arms after he tossed the dresses on the bed. “Fine. For now, I’ll drop it.” he replied, walking over to her, sparing a glance at Camille, asking her for some time alone.
Camille nodded and slipped out of the room, frowning at the couple.
Henry stood behind Helen, staring at her reflection in the mirror. “You would tell me if something happened...wouldn’t you?” he asked, playing with his fingers.
Helen stared at him through the mirror, her eyes roaming his worried face. His eyes seemed to be holding back tears but none rose to the surface.
“Yes,” she whispered, turning her head to face him. “I would.”
Henry let his shoulders sag a bit in relief as he took a step closer to her. He gently took her hand in his, resting their foreheads on each other. “Okay…” he whispered, closing his eyes.
Helen frowned, reaching up and cupping his cheek, wrapping her other arm around his neck. She felt his own hands wrap around her, gently swaying her.
“I’ve missed these moments,” he admitted, kissing her forehead. He took a step backwards, bringing her with him as he began dancing with her.
Helen smiled, resting her head on his shoulder. “As have I,” she replied, humming gently so they would have some music to dance to.
They danced until Camille returned, knocking on the door. Henry sighed as he pulled away from her, kissing her hand softly.
Unbeknownst to them, two figures watched the happy couple through the mirror. One’s whose face was red as a tomato, pointing to the girl. “Those bruises will last weeks Erik. How could you do that to her?”
The man in question wasn't paying any mind to the bruises on the girl’s neck. He was watching the couple dance and embrace one another comfortably. He wanted that with Christine.
Helen Draiz
I do not own The Phantom of the Opera. The book/musical/movies belong to their rightful owners. I only own my characters.
CHAPTER 3
Helen and Camille chatted quietly amongst themselves as they cleaned and polished the grand foyer. Other maids were present in the room as well, gossiping about the missing soprano that disappeared a week ago. She left no note or clue as to where she had gone. She simply vanished.
The bruises on Helen’s neck had been healing slowly, now an orange color instead of the dark purple. Henry had dropped the topic of how she got the bruises after their dance session in the prima donna’s room, but he still gave her weary looks as she worked. She could tell he wanted to help her around the opera house but Mr. Reyer refused to let Henry miss another day of practice.
Mr. Firmin walked into the room, smiling down to Helen and Camille as he passed, talking to himself about the disappearance of Christine Daae and the public’s reactions. He took his time walking around all of the spots that were previously cleaned, not wanting to mess them up with her shoes.
“Damnable! Will they all walk out? This is damnable!” Andre shouted as Firmin made it up to the top of the staircase.
“Andre, please don’t shout,” Firmin begged, lowering his voice as he led Andre down a hall.
Helen and Camille shared a look, biting their lips from giggling as the two men began to lightly argue. They held out letters and read them outloud, shaking their heads as they tried to think of who would send them such a thing. Helen stood from the ground, taking a hold of the bucket before walking off with Camille to finish their jobs for the day.
“They seem to be healing quite fast,” Camille commented on the bruises lacing Helen’s neck. “They’re not as vibrant.”
Helen hummed, tracing her fingers down her skin lightly. “I’m glad,” she mumbled, looking towards her friend and not where she was going. That was a big mistake.
She ran right into a blonde man, gasping as the water poured between their feet. She stepped back, examining the damage made, her eyes widening at his soaked pant legs.
“I’m so sorry,” she gasped, looking up at his face to find it was the new Vicomte. He clenched his jaw, looking down at his pants and shoes, breathing deeply before giving her a tight smile. “Don’t fret about it Mademoiselle.” he said before walking around and marching towards the staircase.
“Where is she?” he demanded, climbing the stairs two by two.
“Shit,” Helen mumbled, watching the Vicomte walk angrily towards the managers.
“Shit indeed,” Camille laughed, getting down on her knees to dry up the spill with her cloths.
“He’s really mad,” Helen said, crouching down to help Camille. “I hope I don’t lose my job.”
The redhead shook her head, chuckling. “Don’t worry Helen. I think he was mad before this happened. It just...might have pushed him over the edge.”
Helen nodded slowly, wringing out her soaked cloth in the bucket, shaking her head. She should have watched where she was going.
“Where is he?” demanded a high pitched voice. Both maids turned to find a fuming Carlotta and Piangi entering the room with their entourage of maids. “Your precious patron, where is he?”
The patron, Raoul De Changy, quirked his eyebrow upwards, turning on the staircase as they approached. “What is it now?” he asked.
“I have your letter! A letter which I’d rather resent!” Carlotta fumed, stomping her foot as she came face to face with the patron.
“And did you send it?” asked the managers in unison.
“Of course not!” exclaimed the blonde man, his jaw and fists clenching.
They went on arguing for a few minutes, reading aloud the letters once more, shaking their heads as they were all signed by O.G. As the arguing progressed, none noticed Madame Giry and her daughter enter the room, standing at the bottom of the staircase.
Madame Giry sighed in annoyance before projecting her voice so it was higher than all of the others. “Miss Daae has returned.”
Monsieur Andre seemed to be the only one who heard as he told everyone else to settle down. He then stepped away from the group, wringing the note in his hand. “Where precisely is she now?”
Madame Giry answered quickly, frowning lightly. Her daughter took a step forward after her mother explained where she was, telling them that her best friend needed rest.
The blonde patron’s face relaxed with relief as he took several steps down the steps. “May I see her?” he asked quietly, worry lacing behind his eyes.
“No Monsieur, she will see no one.” she informed Raoul.
The two maids, and several of the others who had awkwardly overheard the conversation, gave each other looks of relief. The young soprano finally returned. Maybe now all the gossip will stop on where she had gone.
Camille and Helen sped the process up, not wishing to interfere in any way, shape or form. Helen lifted the bucket again and together they sped towards the yard to dump the water and hang the laundry.
~-~-~
“The Phantom seems very fond of Christine, don’t you think?” Camille thought out loud, clearing out all of the dead flowers from the prima donna’s room.
Helen remained quiet as she shrugged, adding more water to the flowers that were still alive. “I suppose. He probably just wants a good soprano for the operas.”
Camille scoffed. “I don’t know,” she mumbled. “It seems more than that. Did you pay any attention to those notes?”
Helen had to admit. It did seem like he was fond of her. But she wouldn’t admit it aloud, in fear that he would strike again. “No,” she lied, placing the water down.
The red head turned to look at the brunette, biting the inside of her cheek. She shrugged off Helen’s short reply, taking the flowers out of the room to toss them.
The brunette, on the other hand, stopped from organizing the table, glancing at herself in the full length mirror. She walked closer to it, examining the bruises. They had gone down a considerable amount. So much so that it almost looked like they never existed. She wondered if she should risk another night in box five. Would he be there? Would he actually kill her this time?
She bit her lip, sighing as she turned to get back to work. Only one way to find out. She thought.
They finished their duties in nearly record time, giving the girls a little less than 5 hours to do as they pleased before the sun set. Camille had opted to go walking along the streets while Helen decided to stay back. As she waved her friend goodbye, her gaze fell to box five which lay barren and dark. She couldn’t go up there now. She would have to wait until later that night.
In the meantime, she thought about visiting the young soprano who had apparently not eaten or drank anything since her return. Maybe all she needed was a little push.
So Helen gathered all of the things she needed, balancing the tray on one hand as she knocked. “Miss Daae?” she called, waiting for an answer. “May I come in?”
Nothing.
Helen hummed, raising her hand to the doorknob. She opened the door slowly, finding the blonde girl sitting up in her bed, staring out of a window. At the sound of the door opening, she turned to face Helen, a glare plastered on her face. “I didn’t give you permission to come in.”
Helen smiled, shrugging as she closed the door, walking in with the tray. “You didn’t tell me to go away either,” she remarked, placing the tray on the girls bedside table. “How are you feeling?”
Christine looked her up and down before pouting and returning her gaze towards the window. “I’m fine.”
Helen had heard that phrase before. And that phrase meant the exact opposite of what was said.
Helen nodded, pulling up a chair beside the bed. “We’ll pretend I believe you Mademoiselle.” she said, giving her a soft smile. “You must be hungry from your little adventure.”
The blonde remained still, a pout forming on her lips as the sun hid behind a cluster of clouds.
Helen bit her lip, lifting the bowl of berries, holding it out towards the girl. “Please Miss Daae. I know you may not want to eat but you must.”
Christine glanced at the bowl in Helen’s hands before hesitantly taking it. She rested it on her knees, staring down at the colorful berries.
Helen watched her in silence before crossing her arms, leaning back in her seat. “I’m not leaving until half of those are gone dear,” she told her, crossing her legs and swinging her foot. “None of them are poisonous if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Christien looked up from the bowl and examined her, her eyes falling on her neck for the longest time. “You’ve met him too…” she whispered, gently reaching out and moving a stray piece of hair from Helen’s neck. “He used his hands...not a rope…”
Helen frowned at the blonde, sitting up straight in her seat. “Christine...please eat. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
The blonde woman shook her head fiercely, “I do know what I’m saying! He choked you! He nearly killed you!”
Helen clenched her jaw, leaning forward in her seat. “How do you know who he is?” she asked through clenched teeth.
Christine put the bowl of berries aside before slowly raising the sleeve from her arm, revealing a large bruise on her forearm. “He does not know his own strength.”
Helen stared at the bruise on her arm before looking up at her. “You were with him this whole time?”
Christine suddenly sat up straighter in her bed, nodding slowly. “Yes,” she mumbled, grabbing the bowl and eating a single blueberry.
Helen could tell by her posture that the conversation was over. Christine was done talking about The Phantom. Maybe he was listening in on them?
“Well Miss Christine. Since I know your name, it is only fair you know mine,” started the maid, gently tugging the girl’s sleeve down over the bruise. “It’s Helen. Helen Draiz.”
~-~-~
The brunette now stood anxiously outside of box five at a quarter past midnight. In her hands was her journal and pen, deciding to come without any light. She was now rethinking her decision, shaking her head.
Would he even be in the box? What if he did kill her this time? What if he got her fired?
Helen shook her head, placing her hand on the curtain. She couldn't think like that right now. She wanted answers. Why had he kidnapped Christine? Why was her arm bruised?
She gulped as she pulled the curtain back and walked into the dark box, freezing when she heard movement in one of the chairs. She held her breath, clutching her book tightly to her chest, expecting him to order her out of the box.
“Erik?” came a hushed man’s voice. “You’re early.”
Helen bit her lip and took a hesitant step backwards, bumping into something. Her eyes clenched closed as a hand sprouted from the object behind her, tightly gripping her shoulder.
“That I am Daroga.” the voice from behind her hissed. “I didn’t know we were expecting company. Did you?”
The man in one of the seats quickly stood up and spun around to find Helen in The Phantom’s tight grip. He looked between the two, shaking his head. “Let her go, my friend,” he begged.
The Phantom only tightened his grip on her shoulder. “I warned you once about being in this box, didn’t I, Mademoiselle? Perhaps some more bruises will make you stay away.”
“No,” cried the man in front of her, reaching his hand out for them. “Release her. I’m sure she just stumbled into the wrong box, isn’t that right Mademoiselle?” he said taking a few steps closer to her.
Helen stood tall, breathing as evenly as she could. “No sir. I came to the right box.” she replied, holding her chin up. “Phantom...could you be so kind as to release me?”
The grip on her shoulder loosened hesitantly until the hand fell away from her shoulder. She took a step closer to the man The Phantom had called Daroga before turning to face them both. “I wanted to ask you some questions Phantom.”
The tall form stood up straight, crossing his arms. Even though she could not see his face she could feel the heat of his glare. “Get. Out.”
Helen rose her brows, matching his form. “No. I only wish to speak about a few things.”
The man beside her gently placed a hand on her shoulder. “You should go Mademoiselle.” he begged.
The girl pushed his hand off her. “And who are you? I wasn’t aware The Phantom had a friend.”
The man bit his lip before sighing. He looked up at the tallest form in the box before pulling out a match and lighting it. He held it between the woman and he, giving her a small smile. “I thought it was you miss.” grinned the policeman from earlier in the week.
Helen hummed, examining the Persian man before tapping out the match. She sighed, turning to face The Phantom again. “Giving me bruises I can understand, but giving that poor soprano bruises is unforgivable.” she told him.
She could swear she heard a few teeth in his mouth break from how hard he clenched his jaw. “You should watch what you say. I can still kill you.”
Helen let out a small shaky breath, raising a brow. “Then why don’t you?” she retorted.
“With pleasure,” mumbled The Phantom reaching out for her neck again before the policeman jumped between them.
“C-Can’t we keep this civil?” he begged, looking between the two. “No killing. No threats. Please?”
Helen crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at The Phantom. “Sir, where I’m from that’s all we do.” she replied, pushing past the man. She stepped closer to The Phantom. She raised a brow at him, raising her arms to her side. “If you want to kill me so bad, why didn’t you do it the first night we met?”
The Phantom glared down at her, his breathing becoming more shallow. Helen knew she was pissing him off. In fact, she was pissing herself off.
“Tell me how she got that bruise.” she hissed, placing her hands on her hips like a mother does scolding her children.