DISCLAIMER: I do not, I repeat DO NOT own The Phantom of the Opera in any way, shape or form…so there!
Summary: Christine's fame has gone to her head. But does a diva truly get everything she wants, or just what she deserves?
The Bitter Side
THE glass of the polished mirror cracked when her ivory brush flew into it. A single shard fell and speared her cosmetic puff, sending a white cloud into the air.
Christine paced her dressing room while a somewhat frightened and irritated Meg rested on a perfumed cushion. The diva's hands were currently knotted in her thick and highly styled hair, pulling at the tresses with agitation. Meg in turn picked at a loose thread on the settee, keeping her head down so her friend wouldn't see her impatience.
"Christine, don't you think that you're overreacting? Pardon me, but you were the one that rejected him in the first place. Not the other way around, so…", but a withering glare from the brunette shut her up on the spot.
"What are you saying Meg? Are you saying that I am the one at fault? Well?" But Meg kept her silken head down, not trusting herself to say anything nice about the whole situation.
Christine took Meg's silence as an affirmative answer and was exceedingly outraged. "How dare you! How dare you think that I hurt him! Meg, he was insane and obsessive and would stop at nothing to keep me locked away in that, thing he lives in. What was I supposed to do? Whimper like a sissy and let him have his way with me? I think not!" She tapped her expensive high-heeled shoes in impatience. "Well, what do you have to say about that?" She puffed out a short breath to emphasize what she thought was a logical triumph, and waited for a rebuttal.
At this, Meg's head shot up and a blush of pure anger burst onto her cheeks. Her chest swelled beneath her simple frock and it was all that she could do to not go over to the selfish diva and strike her. "Well if that's so, then why do you crave him now? He has not changed yet you speak of him in such a disgusted manner. Why do you choose him if he is still the same phantom that everyone has known all along? And what about Raoul? Or have you forgotten him already?"
Christine threw up her hands violently and let out a frustrated growl. "You know as well as I do that Raoul turned out to be an utterly dependent and spoiled fop as we both suspected him to be when he first set foot into this damned opera house!", Christine practically screamed in protest when she realized that Meg was not going to let her go easy on this subject.
Meg's jaw swung open at the overindulged accusation of her friend. "No he is not! It's called love, Christine! Don't you understand? It's because of him that you have luxuries" she pointed to the massive pile of scented cushions, the fine dresses in the armoire and Christine's necklace of pearls that clung to her strained neck, "that the rest of us don't have. God, even Carlotta wasn't allowed such finery. Why are you so ungrateful? And he wasn't so dependent on you, Christine. Like you, he needed someone to love and care for since he does not have anyone else. Sound familiar? But as soon as the phantom gave up on you, you cast Raoul out. And your empty explanation of that relationship has no merit and you know it! Now what is the real reason you left him?"
The diva stopped her furious pacing and faced the dancer full force. "I told you why and that's final! He is a simpering idiot that wouldn't leave me alone. Of course the jewelry and dresses are nice you little imbicile, but who wouldn't love it?" She paused and a look of smugness rearranged her cold, yet beautiful features. "Oh, I see. You're jealous. You're jealous that a rich man loves me and would give me the world if I asked him to. Why Meg, all you had to do was say so. You can have him though. I doubt you would mind my sloppy seconds."
"Loved you."
Christine balked for a moment. "What?"
Meg looked at her with a fierce blankness. "Loved you. As in he no longer does. Or is your head too swollen to understand that?"
The brunette scoffed and waved away the statement as if it was an annoying fly. "Meg, oh Meg. It doesn't matter anymore. Because what I want I can have. If Raoul doesn't love me" she shrugged, "then that is fine, because the phantom will love me no matter what. He undoubtedly has gotten over the fact that I betrayed him once. But god, who hasn't? I mean, no one has tolerated him as long as I have. Don't I deserve something more than his voice lessons in return? For god's sake, I put up with the creature, man whatever he is. But I know that I'm the only one that will love him; well pretend to love him if that will get me what I want. He should be on his knees ever grateful that I have decided to take him back. I know it's pathetic, but when was he not? Don't worry my dearest Meg; I'll get what I deserve in the end." At this, she sauntered over to her plump day bed and sunk into the massive cushions. She picked up an elegant paper fan and began to lazily push cool air to her face. Christine smiled in what she believed was victory.
Meg swiveled her eyes back to the diva. "Of course, you're right." Christine looked up in annoyed surprise at the girl. She was expecting a fight and Meg was letting her off. 'Well, there goes my entertainment for the evening. But as everyone knows, you can't argue with a diva like me and expect to win.' She smirked while inspecting her glossy nails. 'No one has.'
"That's right dear, I am right." She arranged her voluminous skirts, pushed herself off the bed and walked towards the ballerina and lightly rapped her on the head with the paper fan. "I'll tell you what," Christine added with a false motherly sweetness, "I'll let this little argument roll of this time. But next time I won't be so lenient. Now, remove yourself darling, I wish to retire." The diva meandered over to her vanity, sat down on the chair and began to examine her fine features in the cracked mirror. She plucked the shard from the cosmetic puff and threw it over her shoulder carelessly. Smiling, she started to take the pins from her hair when she noticed in the reflection of the mirror that Meg had not moved from her spot. With an irritated huff, Christine swiveled in her chair and plastered an exasperated smile onto her overly made up face. "What is it dear? Did you hear me? I said that you can go back to your barracks, I wish to retire."
But all that she got in return was silence. Christine followed her gaze to the large, floor length mirror and then back to Meg, who stood there with slanted eyes and a blank face. 'Was the girl dumb or something?' Then she looked back and the mirror and her eyes widened. A sleezy smile crept onto her face when she saw the faint outline. 'He's here.'
Meg turned her head slowly towards Christine and gave a meager smile. "I'm sorry Christine. I, um I'll, I'm leaving. Good night." And with this she bowed out and quickly crossed the threshold and heaved herself against the heavy embossed doors. She shut them with a snap and leaned against them in the cool night to catch her breath. 'He's here.' A nervous smile graced her features while she stood trying to catch her breath. 'He heard everything. She was right, I answered truthfully. She is going to get what she deserves in the end.' She bit her knuckles in anxiousness and carefully listened at the door.
Meanwhile, Christine snapped back to her mirror and doused the puff with white powder. She caked the cosmetic onto her strained bosom and jutting collar bone. A quick spritz of powerful perfume should be enough. She looked at her already heaving chest and with a smirk, tugged her gaudy corset a little lower. She stood at the floor length mirror and arranged her hair with an exaggerated flip of her wrist. A sickly sweet grin was plastered on her face as the mirror started to move.
The phantom, in all of his dark glory stood before her. The cool mists of the secret passage way were curling into the stuffy and over-perfumed dressing room. The phantom took a step towards his "angel" and Christine's confident grin grew even wider. What she failed to notice was the fierce intensity in his gaze and the hard, unwelcoming grin that he wore. She held out her pale, thin arms to him and gushed with false sweetness.
"Oh Erik! I'm so glad you came. I've missed you so, my sweet darling! I…"
But she never got to finish her fake endearments. An immense crash echoed through the entire opera house and left a ringing in Meg's ears.
More than just a shard of glass was shattered from the mirror that night. Christine, the angel, the diva, got exactly what she deserved.
~The End~
*Author's note: In no way do I not like Christine, I just wanted to experiment and see what she would be like if fame did go to her head. I hope you all liked it! It came out darker than I originally planned, but tell me what you think. Thanks a bunch!
~QueenOfTheBrassQuill