Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera, all characters, places, and related terms belongs to Gaston Leroux and Warner Brothers.

Drawing the Battle Line

Christine stares at the rose with thoughtful intensity. Her fingers rub over the black silk ribbon tied to it. A rush of heat fills me, and a small smile touches my face as I gaze at her. She looks like an angel in the soft candlelight, her cheeks are a rosy hue, and the stars in her hair sparkle. Never has she looked so beautiful.

And why should she not? She has shown the world the wondrous voice that I have given her. Remembering that great aria she sang a little while ago causes me to shudder. Even during her lessons, she had not sung as she did tonight. She sang alone for me. What glory and triumph are ours!

A cool draft moves though the dark, damp corridor, and I shiver. Slowly, I tap my gloved fingers against the mirror. Tonight I will reveal myself. I shall bring Christine down to my dominion. I need her, my muse, with me. Now is the time to finish my opera.

I start to move backwards down the hallway. I must prepare. Soon the opera house will be empty, and I shall take her. My eyes remain upon her.

"Christine, I love you…," I whisper hoarsely.

The dressing room door opens, and I halt suddenly as I realize it is not Madame Giry who enters. I hurry back to the mirror; my eyes narrow. It is that boy, the Vicomte de Chagny.

I have heard Christine speak of this gentleman. As a lonely child, new to the opera, she would speak of this boy, of how she missed him. Sometimes she would pretend he was here with her exploring the opera house. But she seemed to forget about him, as she gradually made friends with the ballet girls and her world became everything within the opera.

I, her angel of music, began to give her lessons. She gave me her mind freely and trustfully. She became my inspiration. I soon found myself deeply in love. And I became possessive, jealous of the boys in the chorus who would seek her company. I grew strict with her regarding what she did and whom she saw. She belonged to me.

Yet I now realize her fondness for this de Chagny was never gone, but simply forgotten and now reawakened. When he had visited during the rehearsal of Hannibal, I heard her tell the little Giry girl how they had been childhood sweethearts. And the disappointment in her face when he left without seeing her…. It pierced my heart; she deserved him to notice her; yet my heart bled also, for I was not the only one who had her affections. In my jealousy, I believe, I know they do not deserve each other.

I stare intently as the young man walks quietly towards Christine, pausing to carelessly placing a bouquet of flowers on a table. He is a handsome fellow, I admit, with shoulder-length brown hair and grey eyes.

"Little Lottie, let her mind wander," he says, a smile coming over his face, admiration in his eyes. "Am I fonder of dolls or of goblins or shoes?" Light laughter rings in his voice.

I quickly glance at Christine. Her lips part slightly, an expression of surprise on her face before she looks toward the door, and I am looking at her back. The way she says, "Roaul," I know she is happy, smiling.

"Or of riddles or frocks?" The youth's smile broadens as he approaches Christine.

"Those picnics in the attic," she says wistfully.

"Or of chocolates."

"Father playing the violin."

I watch them with bated breath. There is no uncertainty, no nervousness between them. Their words are not guarded, and an air of informality hangs about them. It is as though they have not spoken since yesterday, not years. I curse in annoyance when de Chagny kneels before Christine, softly recalling a long-ago memory.

"As we read to each other, dark stories of the north," he goes on.

"No. "'What I loved best," Lottie said, "was when I'm asleep in my bed."' And the Angel of music sings songs in my head," Christine's tone is eager.

Their words blend together: "The Angel of music sings songs in my head."

The boy embraces her for a long moment, and my hands ball up into fists.

"You sang like an angel tonight," he says softly.

"My angel," I breathe darkly, glaring. They break the hug, but the boy remains before Christine and she leans toward him.

"Before my father died, he said to me, 'When I am in heaven, child, I will send you the Angel of music.' Well, Father has been gone," her voice becomes sad, "and I have been visited by the Angel of music."

"Oh," the Vicomte replies, "no doubt of it."

But he does not truly believe her. He believes it just as much as the stories of the dark north he heard. How dare he not believe her!

"And now we go to supper," he announces, rising to his feet.

Supper! The boy is an ignorant, brave fool. My jaw tightens. Perhaps he has not forgotten Christine either. He is a rival, and I shall get rid of him as easily as those boys in the chorus who hoped for her pleasure. But perhaps it will not be so easy -- this suitor Christine will not want to turn away. But for my sake I know she will.

"No, Raoul, the Angel of music is very strict." Christine protests as her suitor moves toward the door.

I smile. Christine may be interested in the boy, but she will not betray me.

"Well, I shall not keep you up late," he assures her, a fire in his eyes.

I frown. The love-sick fool is persistent. If only it was not Christine he wanted, I would be forced to approve of him.

"No, Raoul!"

A happy little laugh escapes him. "You must change! I'll order my carriage. Two minutes, Little Lottie." With Christine's protests still filling the air, he leaves her dressing room.

She slowly turns and gazes at herself in the full-length mirror, unknowingly meeting my gaze; and my heart flutters. "Raoul…," she whispers. That single word causes my heart to sink. There are great longing and regret in her face. She wants to go with him. Yet she did not. But in the future she may not refuse the Vicomte. And he will be back to see her, oh, yes, I am certain.

Quickly I turn away and rush down the hall. I must always be a step ahead of the Vicomte. When he comes back, he shall find a dark, deserted dressing room. I will make Christine forget him. It is I she shall free. She loves me and will make life have new meaning for me.

"Come, my Christine, embrace the music of the night," I invite.

THE END