Chapter 1
Human beings are nonsensical creatures. They giggle about the shapes in the shadows that frighten them; surely innocent laughter will keep all ill-willed sprites away.
Yulia was no exception to this, though instead of laughing about things, she complained. The world was a dark and rainy place, and it all looked down her. She was certain of it.
After all, her entire family was either dead, in prison, or in America. Except for her; she was in Paris, making a meager living as a chorus girl.
To hell with relatives and broken promises; she didn't need them. After all, she was enjoying watching the current drama unfold.
The so-called ghost the little ballet rats blamed whenever they missed a step had just sent the gaudy chandelier crashing down. Everyone was distraught by this tragedy but Yulia. The dark-haired girl was intrigued. Apparently, there was someone in the Opera house who found humanity more distasteful than she did.
Christine made her way toward her dressing room in a daze. What had just happened? It was an accident; it had to be. Her angel would not do something like this…even if he was a man. He said he would never put her in danger; surely, dropping a chandelier at her feet was putting her danger!
And where was Raoul? Why hadn't he chased after her? Was he waiting in her dressing room for her, or had he gone to speak with the managers?
The young woman felt dizzy as she stumbled into her room. Her mirror hung ominously before her eyes.
"Why did you do it? Why?" she whispered. Fear and anger cleared her mind, as she loudly demanded, "Why?"
She was met only with silence.
"Oh, God…why did this happen? He was laughing like a madman! That…thing was directed at me! What have I done to him? I sang for him! Dear God, what have I done…?"
"From what I've seen, you don't appear to have offended Monsieur le Vicomte, and he couldn't possibly have caused that fixture to fall from Box 5."
"Oh. Mlle. Kazakova…what are you doing here?"
The rigid Russian woman closed the door behind her. "It was open."
"Oh. May I help you?"
"You know who caused the chandelier to fall; you know it wasn't an accident. I won't tell the old fools anything, but I want to know who did it."
Christine's tear strung face was expressionless. "It was the ghost," she said simply.
"Ghosts don't cackle like that! Christine Daaé, there have been for too many accidents lately. I can either quit my job here and starve, or I can stay and sing and die from fear, or perhaps another 'accident!''"
"He's not angry with you."
"Who?"
Christine turned red. "No one."
"Daaé, please be honest with me. If you're hiding something, you're endangering not only yourself but your colleagues! Surely, you realize this?"
The smaller girl bowed her head.
Yulia sighed. "If it was the Opera Ghost, why would he be angry with you? Usually it appears to be La Carlotta bearing the brunt of tricks."
"Lucifer used to be an angel, wasn't he?"
"I have little faith in ancient writings that only speak of despair; I experience enough of it daily. But, yes, I suppose you're right. Why?"
"My father, he promised…but he's gone now, and he can't come back…not even I believe he can."
Yulia sighed and dropped her indifferent air. "If you honor his memory, he can live in you."
"But, he does live in me! I hear his voice! He lives through me!" the young woman cried, being increasingly distraught.
"Your father? You hear his voice?"
"I thought…Oh! But he's only a mere mortal, and I'll never see my father or my angel again! Death has claimed my father, and my angel has become Death!"
"What are you talking about? Angels? Daaé, you're scaring me…"
"Christine?"
Both women turned to face the young Vicomte.
"Oh, Raoul!" Christine threw herself into his arms, sobbing.
"I'm sorry I took so long, Christine. I went with the managers to try and find the villain who did this."
Christine's crying became more hysterical. "They're dead! Lost, lost…we're all lost!"
"Christine, calm down. No one was injured or killed," Raoul said soothingly.
"Music has been killed…by my tongue!" she proclaimed with a horrified realization.
Yulia stepped forward. "You must help her, Monsieur. She must have a terrible fever." With that, she exited the dressing room, leaving a bewildered Vicomte and a terrified Christine.
Human beings are nonsensical creatures. They giggle about the shapes in the shadows that frighten them; surely innocent laughter will keep all ill-willed sprites away.
Yulia was no exception to this, though instead of laughing about things, she complained. The world was a dark and rainy place, and it all looked down her. She was certain of it.
After all, her entire family was either dead, in prison, or in America. Except for her; she was in Paris, making a meager living as a chorus girl.
To hell with relatives and broken promises; she didn't need them. After all, she was enjoying watching the current drama unfold.
The so-called ghost the little ballet rats blamed whenever they missed a step had just sent the gaudy chandelier crashing down. Everyone was distraught by this tragedy but Yulia. The dark-haired girl was intrigued. Apparently, there was someone in the Opera house who found humanity more distasteful than she did.
Christine made her way toward her dressing room in a daze. What had just happened? It was an accident; it had to be. Her angel would not do something like this…even if he was a man. He said he would never put her in danger; surely, dropping a chandelier at her feet was putting her danger!
And where was Raoul? Why hadn't he chased after her? Was he waiting in her dressing room for her, or had he gone to speak with the managers?
The young woman felt dizzy as she stumbled into her room. Her mirror hung ominously before her eyes.
"Why did you do it? Why?" she whispered. Fear and anger cleared her mind, as she loudly demanded, "Why?"
She was met only with silence.
"Oh, God…why did this happen? He was laughing like a madman! That…thing was directed at me! What have I done to him? I sang for him! Dear God, what have I done…?"
"From what I've seen, you don't appear to have offended Monsieur le Vicomte, and he couldn't possibly have caused that fixture to fall from Box 5."
"Oh. Mlle. Kazakova…what are you doing here?"
The rigid Russian woman closed the door behind her. "It was open."
"Oh. May I help you?"
"You know who caused the chandelier to fall; you know it wasn't an accident. I won't tell the old fools anything, but I want to know who did it."
Christine's tear strung face was expressionless. "It was the ghost," she said simply.
"Ghosts don't cackle like that! Christine Daaé, there have been for too many accidents lately. I can either quit my job here and starve, or I can stay and sing and die from fear, or perhaps another 'accident!''"
"He's not angry with you."
"Who?"
Christine turned red. "No one."
"Daaé, please be honest with me. If you're hiding something, you're endangering not only yourself but your colleagues! Surely, you realize this?"
The smaller girl bowed her head.
Yulia sighed. "If it was the Opera Ghost, why would he be angry with you? Usually it appears to be La Carlotta bearing the brunt of tricks."
"Lucifer used to be an angel, wasn't he?"
"I have little faith in ancient writings that only speak of despair; I experience enough of it daily. But, yes, I suppose you're right. Why?"
"My father, he promised…but he's gone now, and he can't come back…not even I believe he can."
Yulia sighed and dropped her indifferent air. "If you honor his memory, he can live in you."
"But, he does live in me! I hear his voice! He lives through me!" the young woman cried, being increasingly distraught.
"Your father? You hear his voice?"
"I thought…Oh! But he's only a mere mortal, and I'll never see my father or my angel again! Death has claimed my father, and my angel has become Death!"
"What are you talking about? Angels? Daaé, you're scaring me…"
"Christine?"
Both women turned to face the young Vicomte.
"Oh, Raoul!" Christine threw herself into his arms, sobbing.
"I'm sorry I took so long, Christine. I went with the managers to try and find the villain who did this."
Christine's crying became more hysterical. "They're dead! Lost, lost…we're all lost!"
"Christine, calm down. No one was injured or killed," Raoul said soothingly.
"Music has been killed…by my tongue!" she proclaimed with a horrified realization.
Yulia stepped forward. "You must help her, Monsieur. She must have a terrible fever." With that, she exited the dressing room, leaving a bewildered Vicomte and a terrified Christine.