The Changeable Tide

Summary – Christine learned long ago that the Angel of Music was anything but predictable. But nothing could have prepared her for the opening night of Don Juan Triumphant and the realisation that the Phantom of the Opera would always be three steps ahead.

Disclaimer – I own nothing, nor am I making money from my insane ramblings. This is only for fun and writing practise.

A/N - This was a little plot idea that came to me while I was staying in France with the grandparents. The landscape around their village was pretty inspiring and I felt like using it as a setting because I tend to feel more comfortable writing about places that I'm familiar with. It didn't help that we visited Christian Dior's house and they had a bal masque theme for their exhibition. More on this later. Reviews will be appreciated muchly as per usual XD.

Prologue

She was shaking uncontrollably as she took to the stage, wild eyed and blinded in the limelight. This was a nightmare, her worst nightmare. She had stage fright at the best of times but usually when the music flared to life she would be carried away by its seductive tide. But this music was different, it was malevolent and cruel and did nothing calm her nerves. This was his music. And unlike the songs he had enchanted her with as a child, this score made its point abundantly clear. "This is me" it said with every dissonance "This is what I am capable of. This is what I could do to you." Of course to the audience it was only an opera, a little modern, a little hard on the ear, a little controversial in its subject matter but still only an opera. Christine knew better.

The armed Gendarmes weren't helping either. They made her nervous. Raoul didn't seem to understand that his oh so ingenious plan could be easily overheard in the manager's office. And even if he had been more secretive, the plan was so painfully obvious that the composer of this particular opera could probably predict every aspect of it without even leaving his room. It was wrong from the start of course, perhaps it was her Lutheran upbringing or her father's liberal attitudes and philosophy's but murder was still murder, even if the ones committing it had the law on their side. Raoul didn't seem to understand that either. This was not one of her father's stories, he was not Siegfried and there were no dragons here to be slain. Only a man...

Something had to be done before someone got hurt.

Her eyes widened when Piangi missed his cue. It was only a short delay, probably unnoticeable to the audience. Why did they have to do this when there was a theatre full of innocent people sitting before them? The notion was sick, it was reckless, it was too high a risk.

Then the voice that sang the title role was not the voice of any cast member, but she knew it all too well. She might not have known anything about him, only hints and allusions, she did not even know his real name or if he even had one, but she knew that voice. Better than any other voice, living or dead.

She was always defenceless against his music. And this music with its darkness and desire and the added power of the orchestra made her legs feel weak, as though she might faint at any moment. And his voice, she could not resist his voice. And as it entwined with hers, there was nothing that could compare to that feeling. It was as though her soul had harmonized with land and sea and sky and all was right with the world for those few precious moments.

The duet was over far too soon for her liking and as Christine slowly drifted back into reality she felt his arms about her waist. The Audience looked on in shock. What had just happened? She didn't remember this from rehearsals.

He sang to her then, so softly she was sure only she could hear it. The song had changed its tone, to something more fragile, pierced with longing and pain. "Can you feel this pain" the melody seemed to say, "Does it seem familiar? Let me share the burden of this pain with you. This loneliness... Yes, this is loneliness." it tugged on her heartstrings. This was that part where she was supposed to identify him, to call out the guards and end this. She was on the cliff's edge, the rough seas below churning through jagged rocks. This was a fateful decision indeed. A decision between what was expected of her and what her heart felt was right.

What would father do? Of course he would tell her to follow her heart, and stand up for her beliefs and her art. Father would never condone violence if there was a way of avoiding it.

His song drew to a close and the theatre was plunged into a tense silence; the last phrases lingering in her mind.

"Anywhere you go let me got too. Christine, that's all I ask of you."

There was an agonising pause. She could already see the policemen in the wings and she knew she had to act now.

"Let's go." She said barely above a whisper. The words were so practical, so short and yet so full of meaning.

Suddenly they were plunged into darkness and Christine felt them hurtle downwards into the abyss that lay beneath the trap door. She could only hope that she had made the right decision.

To be continued...