Min Sung's Fanfiction

My fanfiction is from Bethie M. W.s The Devious Diary of Mlle Daae.


Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN ANY PARTS OF "PHANTTOM OF THE OPERA"


Chapter One - Wandering Child


Daddy Daae did not die as a poor violinist as everyone believes. Quite the contrary, he left me to inherit a comfortable fortune that could keep a less ambitious woman easily contented for the rest of her trivial life. Indeed, this is how Daddy Dae always preferred us to live: simply, quietly, and poorly. He was very proud of his little girl's voice, but was too humble in mind to use any of his wealth towards furthering her singing career.




When my father died, I was sent to live with a fat, tidy woman who was all kindness and no brains. I thought of hiring a master tutor for myself, and continuing on to be the greatest, most celebrated soprano that this country has ever heard. I certainly have the god-given talent to do just that. However, I needed time to think. No one knows how much wealth was left to me. In fact, it's assumed I have nothing at all. All the dealings I had with lawyers and money handlers were handled in private, with the utmost discretion. The general consensus is that I don't know how to use money, as I have no money to use of. This worked to my advantage when pity compelled Mrs. Valerius to let me stay as a guest in her house for nothing.


As I mulled over my situation, I pretended to be so struck by Daddy Daae’s death that I could no longer bear the thought of singing without his guiding hand. This gave me the chance to collect my thoughts and keep inquisitive old women out of my business. No one is offensive enough to suffer a young orphan so gloomy.


I wanted to sing in opera house and I've always wanted to singer. Nothing could be more fulfilling than standing on a lighted stage in the most famous opera house in all of France, with crystalline richness of my charming voice.


For the first forty minutes of her visit, she clattered away all the details of petty people, their shoes, their spouses, and their scandals. I kept to my place in the corner, demurely occupying myself in decorative needle work. My interest was wounded when the troubles of Mr. Lefevre, manager of the Opera Populaire were made known.


Apparently, he was being troubled by some swindler that caused a few headaches in their latest production when a certain salary was not paid. The important thing was the opera house. To sing inside it would be a triumph, but to own the Opera Populaire! I took a care not to live on the thought in the Madame's' company for fear that my beating heart would sound some kind of alarm. They mustn't know what thrills are sent trembling over my frame at the prospect of such a masculine ambition. I know I have the sensation to accomplish anything. Why set my sights on something countless women have already done before me? I will not stop at owning the stage, but the whole of the opera house, down to the last chandelier crystal.


However, I had no possible way of attaining my goal. I have money, it is true, but I just have enough to purchase a little theatre. And there is the maintenance to consider. An opera house requires a hundred and more details to be sorted each day; all of which require plenty of money. To live as the grand lady I could be would waste my growing assets and suppress my dream before the fruits of my plotting could be successes.


The curse of my gender is another setback. No one is going to take a woman seriously who wants to own an opera house of such prestigious renown. I need a man to charm into my designs. A man with a titled position in society. A man with status, and money.


Opportunity came when my temporary guardian suggested I continue cultivating my vocal talent under the instructors at the Populaire. A little reflecting showed this to be the best course of action. I accepted with the proper hesitation for someone still suffering inside over the loss of her father, and was soon installed into the world of performers and directors, all of whose jobs will be mine to purchase and trade when I am the owner of this establishment.


Everything is working exactly as I anticipated.


I sing just well enough to remain a faceless chorus girl, and in the company's mind I strive for no better. I receive no censure from Mme.Giry for less than exemplary dancing, nor am I privy to the praise and commendation of a lead soprano. No one is aware of my incredible gift. The only one who could have told my secret is resting in his tomb with a collection of stone angels guarding his sleep.


Living in the dormitories with the other ballet girls allows me to live cheaply. My lawyer, ironically named Marcel Lamont, meets with me secretly whenever my monetary balances require discussion. I'm certain he believes there's reason to kindle hope for a relationship of a less businesslike nature, but the lad will continue to deceive himself as long as he serves a purpose. There is a constant flow of titled men who come to the opera, paying homage to the fine arts, and giving me no limit to my choices for unwitting benefactor. So far there are no outstanding prospects on that front, but my expectations are high.


I've determined to make an account of all the happenings concerning my opera house in case an alteration in plans is necessary. This diary will allow me to look back and be sure nothing slips past my notice. Lefevre must be watched. Carlotta, the leading diva soprano will be brought to her place in time. Sweet little Meg, who thinks me the dearest, most innocent child in this misleading circle will someday have the position she deserves and her mother has worked so hard for.


Yes, I call it my opera house. For although I play the part of roaming child, grieving in silence for a deceased father, I shall one day be the power and mind behind all the silly dolls I live among.


Mr. Giry is tapping her cane for the lights to be put out. I must remain the submissive child and obey at once.