SHATTERED GLASS
DISCLAIMER: I don't own any rights to the 'Phantom' characters and I'm not making money from it.
Authors note: I had not intended to write a sequel to 'The Rose and the Mirror' but after Myao & Angel 17 kindly requested a sequel, here it is…
As Christine fled down the shabby corridor, her long black hair flying, she raised her white dress up slightly with trembling hands so that she would not trip up in her unladylike haste from her room.
She was half appalled at her daring to break off contact with her Angel, who had been the guiding light in her time at the Paris Opera. Since her fathers death she had prayed devoutly for the Angel of Music to guide her and the first time she had heard the unearthly, beautiful masculine voice coming from her mirror she had thanked her father aloud for sending him at last.
In her naïve faith, she saw now, she had assumed her father had answered her prayer and the Angel of Music really had come to teach her music.
In the beginning all had been well. While the others at the Opera had slept she had stayed wide awake, her stomach tense with anticipation as she stared at her mirror, waiting to hear him greet her with the words "Christine, attend." It had seemed only right and natural for the tuition to be during the day as well at times. The loss of sleep had seemed a trivial price to pay.
Under his stern yet gentle tuition she had felt her voice taking on a life of its own, treasuring the rare times when she was complimented on her progress. One night on his instructions, she had even slipped off quietly to the great Opera stage, dark and silent in the depths of the night and had marvelled to hear his voice crooning softly from every direction – one minute seemingly behind her, the next minute issuing from the distant boxes high in the theatre. Surely only an Angel could do that! she had thought.
When had it gone wrong?
Was it when she had been promoted recently from a lowly chorus girl to a solo singer when her improving voice had caught the attention of management?
Suddenly she had become a Somebody in the eyes of the Opera, and had truly felt like a member of the informal family there for the first time. She had been both embarrassed and pleased when some of the behind-the-scenes workers had formed an impromptu fan club, whistling and cheering when she was allowed time to herself for rehearsal on the stage for solo parts (this had earned her the wrath of the Prima Donna singer La Carlotta who was jealous of her growing fame).
Suddenly it seemed as if Christine could not do anything right in the eyes of her Angel.
She was lazy.
She spent too much time on her appearance.
She talked too long to admirers.
Christine had originally been thrilled at the knowledge her Angel could observe what she was doing during the day. However, the feeling of being viewed by a benevolent, unseen eye had changed to that of being watched by a cold, unfeeling judge. She had found herself becoming uneasy each time he spoke from the mirror, wondering if something she said would set off a cold silence or a black rage, when vicious words would be hissed at her from the mirror.
Things had worsened when Raoul de Chagny had breezed back into her life. Something had had to give and now, forced to choose between Raoul and her Angel she had chosen to leave her Angel.
There were tears in her eyes and she paused on a staircase to angrily scrub her eyes with a handkerchief. She would not cry! She would not stay in her room anymore in the future but shift to a different room. Besides, had she not gained enough training to perfect her voice by herself?
She lifted her face and there was a new glint in her eyes.
Who cared if her Angel was watching her now? She would not be a puppet of her Angel…no, that dark angel. For now she wished to catch up with Raoul and tell him she would be free to see him tonight. She smiled at the thought, her pale, tired face lightening up.
She reached a main corridor and paused in surprise when she heard her name called. She turned towards the sound and smiled when she saw it was her friend Meg, small, cheerful and brown of hair. Meg waved and rushed up towards her but her bright smile faded as she peered at Christine.
"Hello Christine – are you feeling all right? You look like you have seen the Phantom of the Opera!"
Christine managed to laugh.
"I am fine, just a bit tired. Besides, the Phantom is just a fantasy."
Really, thought Christine in amusement, everything that went wrong in the Opera was blamed on this 'Phantom of the Opera', someone who if stories were to be believed, was a murderous masked demon with fiery pits for eyes who haunted the Opera. If you tripped over something, it was because the Phantom had deliberately placed it there. If you forgot your lines well, the Phantom had hexed you.
One time she had mentioned these fables to her Angel, laughing all the while and he had replied after a pause that she had no need to worry about this Phantom while he was around. Instead she had come to fear her teacher (whoever he was really) more than any fictitious ghoul.
Meg stared at her with round brown eyes, her mouth a shocked 'O'. "You should not say such things…Signor Buquet mocked the Phantom – and he was found dead!"
Christine smiled uneasily. "He was found hanging in his quarters – a terrible tragedy to be sure, but not because of this Phantom."
Meg shook her head, her mouth set in a stubborn line. "The Phantom killed him, he punishes anyone who displeases him."
Then Meg smiled and her dark mood faded. "But what I came to tell you was that your Raoul is here watching rehearsals. He has surely come to see you."
Christine found herself blushing. Raoul had obviously not left the Opera after her abrupt goodbye. "Do not be silly – he is not my Raoul," she mumbled.
Meg smirked. "Well then, why are you blushing? You love him – I have seen the way you look at him!"
"You know no such thing" Christine protested, her cheeks growing redder. Really, he was only a friend. A friend you gave up your Angel for, her mind whispered. But she found herself thinking that she had made a good deal…
Christine winced when they both reached the seating area for audiences before the impressive stage. La Carlotta, the Opera's domineering Prima Donna was rehearsing a song on the stage, although 'bellowing' was probably a more accurate term. Carlotta may have been a beauty in her day with her black hair and snapping black eyes, but years of high living had give her a fuller figure than most, as well as pasty looking skin and shadows under her eyes. She demanded the loyalty of those around her, never forgot a grudge or an enemy, and resented those she saw as competitors – including Christine.
Christine did not like all the competitiveness that went on – her Angel had urged her to be satisfied with nothing less than being the premier singer but why could Carlotta not see that she had no wish to take her place – all Christine wished to do was sing to the best of her ability.
Carlotta finished her song and when she impatiently snapped her fingers one of her cronies hovering in the wings rushed to give Carlotta a glass of water. A chair was brought to her on the stage as well and she imperiously sat down, looking like an empress surveying her realm.
Christine hid a smile and seeing Raoul sitting in the second row greeted him shyly when she approached him, a curious Meg tagging along as a chaperone. His face brightened when he saw Christine and he rose from his seat and gave her a little bow.
Indicating both her and Meg to sit down beside him he looked at Christine inquiringly. "Your rehearsal is over for now?"
Christine flushed. "Ah, yes. I apologise for being so abrupt before. I, um, would be happy to accept your kind offer of an outing tonight."
Raoul smiled at her in pleasure. Ah, he was glad to have met her again. The years had improved her beauty and her voice, but he had noticed how strained her face was when she thought no one was looking. It looked like she needed some enjoyment in her life and he would make it his welcome duty to bring it to her.
"There is this lovely restaurant I know," he began then paused in bewilderment when he heard a mocking voice coming from – what? - the rafters above the stage…
To Christine this was a horrifyingly familiar voice, which was taunting Carlotta who was still sitting in her chair on the stage surrounded by her fawning cronies.
"Ah, Madame Carlotta, the very Queen of the Opera. But is she really? Perhaps she is Queen of a realm more suited to her. Perhaps a swamp. After all, what difference is there between a frogs croaking and this Queens voice?"
The cronies of Carlotta wailed "The Phantom!" and fled off the stage in a wild panic in all directions. Carlotta, to her credit, did not follow them but nevertheless she recoiled in her chair and there was terror in her black eyes.
Christine dimly heard Meg whisper in fear, "The Phantom of the Opera who sees all," in answer to Raoul's outraged demand as to who the devil was that talking. She felt frozen with shock and fear. All this time her Angel had been the Phantom of the Opera and she, Christine, had been too naïve and stupid to realise that perhaps there was truth behind the whispered stories by Meg and the others. Besides, who but a fool would think a voice from a mirror meant angelic intervention and not realise it meant that someone was behind the mirror itself?
As the Phantom casually taunted Carlotta on everything from her size to her taste in fashion, Christine, despite her shock, was moved to pity for Carlotta. She did not like her very much but Carlotta did not deserve to be treated this way. As she, Christine, had been treated she thought with a rising anger.
Carlotta had reached the limit of her endurance for she suddenly gave a strangled sob and fled the stage, her chair falling over with a crash. There was triumphant laughter from the rafters, followed by a mocking imitation of a frog. There was a final laugh, then silence.
One of the behind-the-scenes workers, a lean, tall man called Pierre with wild brown hair cautiously walked out onto the stage until he was under the spot where the Phantoms voice had been. There was a hushed silence as everyone present watched him - word had quickly spread and at least half the Opera people were present - as he peered up at the rafters. After a while of looking he shook his head.
"There's no one there," he said in fear and wonder. As if these words had broken a spell, suddenly there was noise again, people speaking in hushed tones of fear and worry, although with some people there was glee in their voices. Stories of the Phantom had circulated throughout Paris, and audiences at shows had increased with curious people eager for a glimpse of him. Stories of this occurrence, witnessed by many reputable people would bring more paying people.
Christine was not surprised the Phantom had not been seen in the rafters. With his unearthly ability to throw his voice anywhere he liked, it was likely he had never been in the rafters in the first place. She stared around, her gaze straying to the boxes high above the seats. She blinked and frowned. For a second she had though she had seen a glimpse of white in one of the boxes…number five she thought it was. It had been a trick of the light surely.
