#kelefox

NaNoWriMo Project Intro: A Phantom of the Opera retelling

fantasy • romance • gender swapped • LGBTQIA+ • secret history • maybe dark • probable whimsy • all the angst

This will be fun! I've wanted to do a Phantom retelling for a while because, well, Phantom – music and theatre and tragic love stories. I thought at first it would be a Christine/Erik ship, but now that I've done some prep... well, we'll see.

POV

third person • past tense • multiple POV

Goal

Write 50k for NaNoWriMo 2023! Will that be the whole novel? Nooooo

Summary

In a theatre in Adavast, a makeup artist is found dead by their own hand in the orchestra pit.

Suicide isn't so rare. In Adavast, it's not even uncommon. But the artist didn't die by any of the usual means. They painted themselves to death, pouring so much of their soul into the mask they made that there was nothing left. The mask is beautiful to behold, says the flautist who found the body, such that they can barely stand to look upon it. But when the theatre managers go to view the scene, the mask is gone.

All eyes turn to the flautist, but Viviane, the stage manager, and Corentin, rising star of the company, have suspicions of something far more sinister.

Characters

Corentin (Christine)

Young countertenor and the newest jewel in the Adavast Opera company. Caught in an affair he knows has no happy ending

Arielle (Raoul)

Slightly odd Society darling who has never forgotten the boy she nearly kissed backstage at sixteen and how beautifully he sang

Viviane (the Persian deserves more POV)

Brilliant stage manager with a grim history. Never leaves the theatre. Worries for Corentin

Estelle (Erik/Phantom)

Secret past. Secret present. Does not believe she has a future but could save the world with a song

World

Adavast is a star system in a civilisation where humans have become physically indestructible and live for hundreds of years. Around other stars, people are peaceful and prosperous, but in Adavast, they struggle. Temporal variance, the scholars call it, but no one can explain the phenomenon. Magic thrives in one city but never develops in the next. Electrical technology lights up a building while across the street, gas lamps are the only things to work. Society is plagued with despair. No one knows why.

Links

Playlist

Join me at NaNo!

Thank you to @thebearthatreads for the tag!

My words were Count, Cloud, Lightning, and Rain, and I found all of them in my novel Darkhaven...

Count

‘Is it really?’ I asked, mocking. ‘Here I was thinking it was Friday.’ ‘Wishing, more like.’ Dad had his wetsuit and beach bag in hand, ready to head back out and take advantage of the wind and storm swell, but not before he admonished me about eating some fruit. ‘Apples, Gabby. The round red things in the bowl on the table. Or bananas. And it doesn’t count if you eat it with syrup and ice cream!’ Then he was gone.

Cloud

A hint of a smile played over his lips. Sometimes it seemed like he could read minds, despite what he said. Yet if he could do that, he would have plucked out the big question that I wanted to ask but felt too foolish to. ‘See you, then,’ I said. ‘See you.’ He drove away in a cloud of black smoke.

Lightning

I had so many questions, I couldn’t pick one out from the jumble. I was miffed that he had been so familiar, so casual, when he was literally some sort of god. Like he should have disclosed who and what he was at the start. ‘A God of Lightning would drive a better car.’

Rain

The thunder had moved on and fat drops of rain started to fall, hitting the earth with loud splats. Fatigue seeped through my body. I leaned against the table and scooped out a spoonful of the choc-hazelnut spread, breathing in the smell of dust and rain. ‘Petrichor,’ said a voice behind me. I turned and almost dropped the jar. It was the boy from the school office, leaning against the door frame. He was still wearing the sunglasses – God only knew why, it was so overcast – and a bemused expression.

Working title for this project is One Masked Ball, from the original text:

None will ever be a true Parisian who has not learned to wear a mask of gaiety over his sorrows and one of sadness, boredom or indifference over his inward joy. In Paris, our lives are one masked ball. The Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Leroux

Lagging slightly behind target at 13k words, but that's okay. I tend to accelerate towards the end of the month (because that's not stressful at all, haha).

Five hundred years since her last promise-binding, and the shiver over Viviane's skin was as familiar as if it had been yesterday. A mask. She wondered. It was a coincidence, surely. But again, like yesterday, ancient words drifted through her mind. You don’t have to hide from me. My love, it’s not you. It’s the look in your eyes. Give me the mask.

Sketch of Arielle, the 'Raoul' of this gender-swapped dark fantasy retelling. And I've teased out a little of her backstory.

Vibe: bitter grief. doesn't want adulthood. lost prince

[Tell me about your parents] My parents. My parents. My fucking parents. Philippine still knows all their names. But I don’t. She tells me, and a minute later, I’ve forgotten. Philippine remembers shit like beach holidays together and family events. She says sometimes she forgets, but she’ll see a word on a menu or a cloud in a funny shape and remember. All I have are holes. [Holes you fill] Isn’t that what you do with holes? Sometimes the wines help.

Things I did not expect in a Phantom retelling:

A war between gods rages across the skies, and humans pay the price with their art or their lives in the streets below

A bawdy song by a female vocal group titled 'Fumbling My Balls' (no, I don't know the lyrics!)

Players. One character being all 'I love you' while the other thinks, 'You're easy to enjoy' :'(

Behind on the November word count but that's okay. It's been messy and tough in places. And I've discovered another challenge.

Viviane is enjoying a deep tissue massage and now I want one.

No one warned me about this pitfall in writing. Characters feasting on delicious cakes? Drinking chocolate milkshakes or fine wine? Driving awesome cars or riding a powerful horse? Reading a fun book?

Writing has me constantly swinging between hunger, thirst, desire for speed or the smell of a well-kept stable and longing to fall into bed, and what I need to do is not visit the kitchen or call it an early night but stay. here. at. the. keyboard. Agh.

Estelle is my Phantom, sketched here before she became the unbecoming Opera Ghost.

Vibe: tortured, twisted, ruthless. don't look at me (but also please don't leave)

I had her kill me. I bound her, despite swearing I never would again, and I made her promise to kill me. She couldn’t understand, couldn’t know it wasn’t possible. All I needed was for her to believe it. I am a Lochtal. Two parts light of the universe, one part human belief. That’s what holds us together. That part that we gave away at the start of it all, that piece of ourselves to make humanity. The human belief can die. Indeed, for many of the Lochtals, it has already happened.

He never held back on the hug. That was why she kept coming And he kept coming And she swallowed, over and over and over, The lie. It could have been you. But it was always his house His bed Her job to hide and tell herself This would be the last time. But he never held back on the hug.