What new surprises lie in store?
The doors burst open and the people flooded towards Carlotta's pink figure. Smugly, she smiled in what she thought was a bashful manner. And then, suddenly, she realized that the name on everyone's lips was "Ms. Daae."
Shocked and bitter, she focused her eyes on a young blond lad in the front of the crowd. He held out a rose, saying...
"Will you give this to Ms. Daae?"
Like hell she would! Why, he might as well have asked her to lend the chorus girl Carlotta's own pink hat and pink fir!
With some satisfaction, she watched the doors slam in the hopeful lover boy's face, before Firmin and Andre's pleads overtook her attention.
Raoul watched Carlotta cram another chocolate in her mouth as servants and maids scurried around her , carrying dresses, doggies, and diamonds. Rolling his eyes with disgust, he looked towards the north wing of the dressing room area; Christine had promised to meet him before rehearsal, but she was strangely late. He would have gone to search for her, but considering all the nasty rumors flying around the theater about him and the young girl, it was better that they were both seen by others at all times, to eliminate destructive speculations.
He leaned against the wall and looked once again at his pocket watch. Just as he was tucking it away, Meg Giry came running down the corridor, clutching a note in her hand.
Raoul's heart grew cold. Another note from the elusive Phantom? Another threat? Another ultimatum? But before he could say anything, Meg had shoved the note into his hand. "It's from Christine," she said breathlessly. Looking at him strangely, she added, "Oh, I'm sorry Raoul. I am really very sorry." She slipped away then, pressing Raoul's hand with some sadness.
Confused, he looked down at the paper in his hand.
My dear Raoul,
There is no delicate way to say this, I'm afraid, so I shall say it in the plainest words.
I have left the Opera and my entire life behind to be with Anatole. It breaks my heart to think that my leaving will cause you or anyone else pain. But it is the only way, you must believe me. I will be happy with Anatole, the nightmare of the Opera will end, and you, my dearest friend, shall also one day be happy. You shall fall in love and marry and forget your Christine, and you shall be happy, of that I'm sure.
Christine
Who the hell is Anatole? Raoul ran a shaking hand through his hair and reread the note. That was all. That was all he was going to get from his childhood sweetheart and love. He looked back at Carlotta still stuffing chocolates between her lips and felt a sudden urge to smash something.
Ah, yes. Anatole. The blond puppy who worshiped Christine from afar, relentlessly sending flowers to her. Well, apparently not from that afar. She had run away with the boy, after all.
And all this time, he thought his biggest adversary was the dashing viscount. He ran a gloved hand over the two flowers lying on the empty vanity table. Both were roses, dark red and soft. One had a black ribbon around its stem, the other a little white tag that said only "To C, from A." And it was the one Christine had chosen. He sighed gently into the dark air and a tear rolled down his cheek under the white porcelain mask.