The characters of this story are based on Andrew Lloyd Webber' s Phantom of the Opera show and the new movie. The setting is one week after Christine and Raoul has escaped to... wherever...and the mob has thoroughly trashed the Phantom's lair...
01 Carlotta' s aria
"Signora!" Implored Madam Giry. "You must not enter that dressing room! It was, after all, Miss Daae's--- who knows what the phantom might do if he sees you---"
The Signora, La Carlotta, simply swiveled her plushy chair until she had achieved the perfect angle for sound wave amplification. At the sight of her shaking chin--- which would have been clear warning to nearby villagers should it have a volcanic counterpart--- Monsieurs Andre and Firmin promptly fled the site. The phantom they feared of course--- but while no one was sure where he was, or whether he was still alive at all, Carlotta was, on the other hand, here, which was good enough reason for them to assign the room to Carlotta.
"The Phantom the phantom the phantom!" The prima donna exploded at the poor woman. "All you talk about is that phantom! If you're so afraid of him, then fine, quit your job! I, on the other hand, will quit mine if I don't get this dressing room! Si! If the phantom sees me here, then he sees me here! All he should care about is I don't see him here... here, in my room, si! Now go go go! Leave me alone!"
Whether Mme. Giry's eardrums were still intact after the outburst was a mystery--- she just stood there with a stunned expression, as if her head had collided repeatedly with a gong. Thanks to a few kind earplugged souls standing outside, she was towed out of the way before the soprano slammed the door at where she stood a moment ago.
Satisfied that her point had been made, Carlotta swiveled her chair to face the mirror once more. As she swept off Christine's bouquets and trinkets from the table with an impatient flourish, her ears picked up muffled whisperings outside the door. Sighing in exasperation, she swiveled her chair again, and, clearing her throat ostensibly, began singing:
Prima donna, first lady of the stage!
Your devotees are on their knees to implore you!
Can you bow out when they're shouting your name!
Think of how they all adorrrre you!
Prima donna enchant us once again!
Think of your muse…
She paused. What? She had only barely hit forte… clearly, the song had already done its work of evacuating eavesdroppers within a mile. As the echoes died, she felt alone...
Alone, and thinking of her muse...
Piangi! She wanted to cry out again; a sob rising in her throat as she thought of the recently deceased tenor. Dear, beloved Piangi... the only soul who loved her despite her constant tantrums and threats to leave the opera house. She swallowed her tears with determined grimness. Well, tantrums and threats won't bring him back anymore. They did, however, get her this room--- the room that would be the key to granting her her heart' s desire--- revenge!
Checking the dagger tucked carefully in her cleavage, she flung open the no-longer-secret entrance at the mirror dramatically, grabbed a nearby candle stand, and strutted down into the darkness below purposefully.
The winding dungeon steps were strewn with reminders of the mob that passed the same way a week ago, thirsting for the phantom's blood; but there was no sign of a human soul around anymore. Carlotta had long since given up watching for the telltale mask or the Punjab lasso that might fall about her neck from nowhere. A sense of disappointment began growing in her as she towed herself across the underground lake strenuously. Is he still here? He'd better be... She fumed. Otherwise this is just going to be another weight-loss program... Stopping to catch her breath, she decided to sing a little aria to cheer herself on:
(Sing to the tune of "Think of Me", with crescendo)
Think of me,
Think of me Piangi,
As though you have not died.
Remember me,
Be with me always-
Watch me by my side
For you'll see
that vengeance's sure and swift
to the wrongdoer who walks free-
If I catch him at his lair, then,
he'd be sorry, si…
(Refrain)
I care not whether you are ghost or man, it's blood for blood and life for life-If you had the guts to kill, then
Come out here and fight!
You shall be revenged and so shall I,
For being made a laughing stock, oh, mio…
Think of me,
Think of me phantom, silent and concealed.
Your doom is near, say all your prayers it's time to pay your due.
There was a time, we let you have your way,
Now it's alla morte me and you-
I shall hunt you down and finish what those men couldn't do…
(Refrain)
I care not whether you are ghost or man, it's blood for blood and life for life-
If you had the guts to kill, then
Come out here ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah… and fight!
The powerful sound waves seemed to have broken a number of things other than the silence: The ancient pillars trembled; plaster rained, machinery failed, and a mini-tsunami clashed against the other shore. As she hit the "and" with a moan of satisfaction, a few bats fell down from the rafters into the lake, headfirst. One of them, to her surprise, was man-shaped and dressed in an opera cloak...
It's over now, the music of the night…
Those were the last words he sang.
What was he now? One part of him wondered, while the other part of him wondered if the first part that was wondering was going unhinged. He had been the Phantom of the Opera, the Opera Ghost; Opera characters were his family, the opera house his home; his soul was opera and heck, his whole life was like one as well. It was, therefore, crucial for it to end like one, with a final vanishing trick, as befitted a phantom's demise. The plot demanded the death of the phantom.
What he couldn't understand now was why he had vanished only to come back to the same place--- although he supposed that would be stretching the term "same" to some extent, accounting for the fact that his woman had fled with her lover, his home had been wrecked and the music he wrote had been reduced to ashes by the mob. There was, technically, no reason for him to exist. Couldn't God at least have the artistic mercy to let me die of a broken heart? He thought bitterly.
For the past week, he had wandered through the secret passageways of the opera house listlessly, collapsing into dreamless slumber when exhausted, hoping for Death to take him as he slept--- but alas, it had not happened so far. As he sat on the rafters over the subterranean lake, he pondered throwing himself into the dark waters and ending it all... after all, what was he waiting for, the curtain call?
"Christine... my angel... " He whispered the words that, he deemed, would be his last. Through a haze of tears he perceived a light move towards him slowly. Could it be her? His heart leapt with startling suddenness. Or... could it be a hallucination? His keen eyes penetrated the darkness with a clarity that made his heart sank again--- hallucinated or real, Christine would never dress like a red balloon...ever. He briefly thought it was the devil coming for his soul, but doubted whether Hell could stoop as low as this in terms of style, too. It could only be...
"Carlotta!" He hissed. If there was a good time to commit suicide, it was certainly not now, and, preferably, not anywhere on a timeline that coincided with Carlotta's existence. But he supposed he'd just have to make the best of what he's got... and wait for that plague to leave the area...
The most horrific noise suddenly assaulted his fine-tuned ears. It began with Pianissimo, and, to his dismay, gradually gathered strength... Death, where is thy sting? He groaned. When is this going to end? There' s people waiting to die in peace here!
"If there's one last thing I have to do," He snarled to himself, drawing his deadly lasso from his pocket. "One last service to the realm of opera---"
As he stood up menacingly, a wave of dizziness suddenly washed over his brain. When was the last time I had a meal? I can't remember...
At the same time, the aria escalated to its dynamic zenith.
"… ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah… and fight!" Thundered Carlotta.
The sonic waves, amplified thanks to the fine resonation design of the opera cellars, slammed into him at full force a millisecond later--- and all he could remember was a strange buzz in his head, and his knees buckling slowly beneath him…
To be continued…
