Castiel and the Phantom of the Opera [Destiel]

Prologue: The Chandelier

Paris, 1903

          A cold, icy wind ruffled the hair of an aging gentleman. He was dressed in fine clothing – clearly showing off his wealth. As he climbed out of an elevated carriage, he was assisted by a woman, presumably his wife. She looked to be about his age – maybe a few years younger – and while she was past her prime, she still had an intangible beauty. It was in the way she carried herself, the way she walked, and the light that shone brightly in her crystalline eyes. Her hair was mousy and pulled back in a tight bun. Her piercing blue eyes were bright, but also cold. There was a stoniness there – a hardness that was the result of many years of hardship and suffering. Then again, she had seen more than most. She helped her husband into a wheelchair and then proceeded to push him to the steps that led up to the opera house.

          Waiting for assistance, the woman looked up at the massive pillars in front of the building and the intricate arches above them. The opera house itself was an architectural masterpiece – back in the day, it was even more glorious. The windows that once sported posters of the night’s opera were not black and boarded up. The large mahogany door that had once shone with polish was now weathered and worn.

          Three men descended the steps to assist the woman in getting her husband up to the door. They greeted the couple courteously and with great respect, calling them Monsieur and Madame Winchester. The men continued to flatter Madame Winchester as they carried her husband’s wheelchair up the five steps to the door. Neither batted an eye at the flattery and were silent as they ascended to the opera house. Once they were escorted inside, Madame Winchester slipped them a few francs and proceeded to wheel her husband into the main hall.

          Both Winchesters were appalled by the conditions of the interior, Madame Winchester especially. She had attended operas there when the theatre was thriving with life – when opera was a spectacular event for the elite, when it was full of soul and passion and pure talent. She remembered the opera house when it was in its glory; she remembered it vividly. In fact, she remembered everything that happened in that opera house with impeccable accuracy. After all, the events that occurred there were not something one would forget. Even her husband – his body a centimeter from death, but his mind still as sharp as a needle – remembered the ordeal as if it were yesterday.

          Leaves were strewn across the floor of the main hall, and there was a slightly unpleasant odor in the air. It smelled dark and musty, and had an ominous accompaniment. Madame Winchester felt a shiver go up her spine. She had not thought about the tragedy or the phantom in years. She knew that returning here would bring back the memories, but she did not think that they would be so painful. As they proceeded into the main hall, they heard the voice of an auctioneer in the distance.

          “And here we have a poster of Don Juan Triumphant, an opera put on during the night of the great tragedy that occurred here almost thirty years ago. A few of you may remember hearing of that peculiar night, however that is not why we are here. The poster itself is in excellent condition. It has few blemishes, rips, creases, or stains. May I start the bidding at 10 francs?”

          Madame Winchester wheeled her husband into the room where the auction was set up. They arrived just in time to see the poster be sold at 15 francs. Upon their entry, a few people gave the elderly couple looks, but the Winchesters ignored it. Monsieur Winchester even felt a sharp bite of bitterness rise in his heart at their judgmental gazes. If anyone had a right to be there, it was them. They were there when it happened. They witnessed it all. If only those youths knew the true horror of what happened. If they did, they would most likely be traumatized; the Winchesters nearly were.