The New Generation

THE NEW GENERATION

PROLOGUE

Late April, 1881

“I’m sorry, Raoul” Christine Daae whispered to the young Vicomte, “I can’t stay with you, I love him, I know that now.”

She stroked his cheek and he held it there, then broke away and ran up the stairway. Christine turned away and fresh tears ran down her cheeks. In the blink of an eye, Erik was by her side and she fell into his arms, weeping. He gently stroked her dark, curly hair, muttering a comfort to her.

They decided to get away from France and to go somewhere new. America was too far away, neither could speak German, Christine suggested Sweden, her homeland but Erik pointed out that she would be recognized. They eventually decided to go to England, as they were both fluent in English and wanted to go there.

As Erik didn’t have a second name, they spent a whole week in the catacombs pacing it over. They arrived at Lerouxmort, as it meant The Red Death.

They soon set sail for England and arrived after three days of traveling. Almost immediately, they decided to get married, and a date was announced.

The wedding was a small affair, one sunny evening in a quiet London chapel, Christine wearing Erik’s wedding dress. Erik himself wore his suit as it was formal enough. They were pronounced husband and wife just as the sun was setting, and they both knew that it would dawn on a new life for them both.

***********************************************************

CHAPTER 1

Seventeen Years Later

Years had passed, but life was good for Christine and Erik. They had been graced with a child one year after they were married, a healthy young boy they named Henri. Christine adored her son with all her might, but desired a girl as well. She got her wish when her daughter was born when Henri was two.

Christine’s second pregnancy was a difficult one. She was always nauseous and was often bedridden for days at a time. Erik was worried about her, and was constantly wishing that nothing would go wrong.

Eventually, Christine gave birth to a delicate baby girl, who Christine decided would be called Aminta, after the heroine in Erik’s Don Juan.

Now, Aminta was a young woman of fifteen. She was as tall as her mother, with glassy green eyes, soft pink lips, straight white teeth and a beautiful soprano voice. She was her mother in miniature, bar one thing. Her hair grew straight and almost white with fairness. She was quite a fragile specimen, being very tall and thin.

Her brother was the complete opposite. A strong young man of seventeen, he was tall and muscular, like his father, with clear brown eyes the colour of mahogany, curly dark brown hair like his mother, and above all, a stunning tenor voice.

The family would often sing together, with Erik as a bass, Henri as tenor, Christine, whose voice had gotten lower due to motherhood, as alto and Aminta as a soprano.
The family sang concerts for the village where they lived in rural Hertfordshire at holidays and celebrations. The occasion on which our story happens takes place around Easter, 1898...

Again I applaud you for your creativity and imagination. However, try to slow down. Give us more description and the emotions and thoughts of the characters.

Otherwise, nice job. Keep up the good work.

Brava, brava, bravissimi!

Well, there's more coming, I just have to write it. You'll never believe what happens unless you're psychic or have a real knowledge of what I think should have happened at the end of Phantom originally.

Hey guys, where is everyone? The site's been desolate for day. Oh well, next chapter.

CHAPTER 2

Midway through the English Channel

The young Vicomte de Changy slumped in his seat.

“Philippe,” said his mother, exasperated, “sit up straight!”

Philippe sighed and righted himself. He hated boat journeys.

He was born into the noble family of the de Chagnys, and his parents were constantly reminding him that he had to act like a noble as well.

Eventually, the young Vicomte drifted into sleep as his father walked up.

“I don’t know why he’s so tired Meg,” he said to his wife as he sat down next to her, “he’s been sitting there all day.”

“Doing nothing makes you sleepy as well, Raoul,” his wife reminded him, quickly pecking him on the cheek.

Raoul gazed at his wife. He never thought that after losing Christine he would ever fall in love again. But fate begged to differ. Meg was grieving the loss of her best friend and, as kindred spirits, the Vicomte and the dancer began to bond. The bond soon turned into a relationship and after a year and a half of courting, there was a new Vicomtess. On the death of Raoul’s parents, Raoul became the Comte and not long after, their son Philippe was born.

Now it was fifteen years later and the Chagnys were on a round-the-world voyage, England being their first stop.


NEXT DAY

When the de Chagnys arrived in England, they immediately went to Hertfordshire, which was said to be one of the most beautiful places in England. The arrived in a small town called Ware, where they had booked a room in a hotel.

Meanwhile, the Lerouxmorts were busy as well. As it was Easter, they had decided to do a concert of one of Aminta’s favourite pieces, Gregorio Allegri’s Miserere Mei. They were short on a soprano as the piece called for two, so Aminta managed to get her musically inclined best friend from childhood, Alice, to sing second.

They were practicing in the church when, just as Aminta was about to hit a spectacular note, some villagers burst in and said, “You’ll never believe it! Some French celebrities are here! In Ware of all places! Erik, Christine, you might know them.”

Erik’s visible face on the side that wasn’t covered by mask frowned, “Why is it that every time someone French turns up, they expect us to know them?”

Christine shrugged and they went out to see. Aminta and Alice started giggling,

"Your father is so funny," Alice laughed, "and I guess it dosn't help that everyone thinks the whole of France knew each other."

"Yeah," replied Aminta, but then she noticed that her best friend was staring at her brother again. She elbowed her sharply in the ribs.

"Stop gawking at my brother, will you?" Aminta hissed, her father's short temper becoming apparent in her.

"Sorry," shrugged Alice, rubbing her side, "it's not my fault he's so cute."
Aminta gave and exasperated sigh and followed her parents out of the church.

There was a crowd of photographers and ordinary people surrounding three moving figures. Christine, who detested crowding, pushed all the people aside and told them to give the new people room.

It was only when she saw the faces of the people when she shrieked and swooned. Erik came running up, and picked her up. She was shaking madly and when Erik asked her what was wrong, she simply said, “Look behind you.”

Erik turned and saw a face that he thought he would never see again.

“YOU!” he roared, “What are you doing here?”

Raoul bristled and said, “Visiting England with my wife and son.” The Comte de Chagny growled back.

Erik’s mood changed immediately, “Your wife?”

“Yes. Madame Megara de Chagny.”

Christine, who had been staring in disbelief, sprang to life.

“You married Meg?” she said, smiling but stunned all the same, “Well, I’m very happy for you!”

Erik murmured about getting dinner ready and slunk off. Christine rolled her eyes, but silently thanked him for not going into crazy, vengeful, opera ghost mode. She decided that there was no harm in talking to Raoul, and she hadn’t seen him for seventeen years so she felt entitled. They exchanged stories about their weddings, becoming parents and seeing their children grow up.

“I think you should meet my son, Philippe,” said Raoul, “And I think you should meet Henri and Aminta,” replied Christine.

They both called their children over. Philippe came striding nobly over to his father and kissed Christine’s hand.

“Pleasure to meet you Madame,” he said politely.

Christine commented on how charming he was, “just like his father.” She introduced Henri and Aminta.

When Philippe de Chagny saw Aminta Lerouxmort for the first time, he took a double take. She was his definition of beauty, with long, straight, fair hair, a beautiful expression and eyes that entranced him. He took her hand and brushed his lips against it.

She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, Christine said, “Darling, I think we should get back to rehearsal, the concert is in a few day.”

She took her daughter by the hand and led her away, but not before Aminta could whisper to Philippe, “Come to the church on Sunday for the concert.”

She winked at him and walked off with her mother. He looked on, feeling dazed and as though an angel had spoken to him.

Guys? Where are you all? It's lonely on here.

My apologies for a late review, but life is busy.

You have a good idea, but still you move too fast. Slow down and give us more description, as well as the emotions and thoughts of the characters.

When you tell us that a place is beautiful, then describe what makes it beautiful. Keep in mind I am reading words. Paint me a picture with words.

Cut back on the dialogue. Give us only enough that will develop the plot. In other words, as a reader, still not sure where you are going with the story.

Otherwise, nice job! Keep up the good work.

Brava, brava, bravissimi!