Hi guys! New ohanfic coming you way. This one has no time travel (well, there might be as the story progresses. I'm not sure yet). Hope you all like.
EriksComposer (a.k.a the POTO headcase, formally know as, ... hey, why am I telling you?)
Secrets of Life.
My name is Josie. Or Josie Jump if you ask my parents. It's because of the horse thing, I know, but it's not my fault if I'm horse-obsessed. It doesn't exactly run in the family. Music does, though. I've grown up listening to Mozart, Vivaldi and Schubert, and grown up playing it too. I don't know where I'd be without my trusty viola. No one else in my family plays it. We have a cor anglais (my cousin Francois), and an oboe (my sister Antoinne) for other obscure instruments. My cousins, siblings and I play so many different instruments, it's nearly stupid. There are 24 of us put together, me and my four siblings, Antoinne, Benoit, Maxine and Aurelie, and my 19 cousins, and there are so many I would be here for ages telling all their names. You may be wondering, 'Why have they all got such weird names?' Your answer is, I am French. You may think Josie is a fairly English name, but my full name is (deep breath) Josephine Marie Aminta Juliette Dechagny. Three middle names! Do you know anyone with three middle names!?
Anyway, me being me, I'm getting off topic. So, I'm French. I'm more than that, I have noble blood in my veins. I'm related to a great French family who were part of the aristocracy, but I can't remember their name. De Chepriere or something like that. I am odd in my family by many ways. Most of my family are fair haired with blue or light green eyes. I have black hair that tumbles down my back in a messy perm. My eyes are so dark brown, they're almost black and my skin is slightly yellowish. I dunno why. Another thing that doens't run in the family besides horses (which is the only thing apart from music that I'm good at) is the fact that I love reading. Fantasy, fiction, biiographies, anything, but I adored old French books from the 1900s the best.
I was prowling the family library one morning in the Christmas holidays, looking for something new. I thumbed through the shelves, brushing past old titles that I had read thousands of times, when a new book jumped out at me. It was by a novellist called Gaston Leroux. I picked it up happily. After all, I loved his detective books, The Adventures of Joseph Rouletabille series being a personal favourite. This one, however, was new and I had never even heard about it before. I glanced at the front cover and the illustration made me jump.
The illustration was a skull, with bright yellow orbs burning from the eye sockets. I looked at the title. It said, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra, or the Phantom Of The Opera. All my books were in French. I never spoke English at home. Didn't need to. I eagerly flipped open the cover and began to read. After about three pages, I was imprisoned in the book's captive spell, like other Leroux books. But this one was different. I did not have to read much more before realising that it was a love story. I wan't usually one for love stories, usually prefering a gruesome murder mystery, but I carried on reading all the same.
I was fascinated by the story of Erik. It was mainly told from the Vicomte De Chagny's point of view. I wasn't very impressed with him. He meant well, but was a bit of a wimp. Christine seemed unable to make up her mind and it infuriated me. I thought Erik, the Phantom, was a truly gripping character. He had really been in the wars, and it was really easy to see that he was complex character. I finished the book in a matter of hours, wiping away a tear when I reached the end. I wanted to know more, but then Maman called me for dinner and I slipped the book back on the shelf and ran to the dining room. I got there in about five minutes, slipping a bit on the spiral staircases. (Did I mention I live in a small castle? Cool, right.)