I don't own Phantom of the Opera, You know who owns this, but if not Leroux and Webber, and everyone else
Christine finally woke up, in a trance, as she heard the music box play. Somehow, she had managed to sleep through the organ music. Slowly, she rose out of the swan bed and wandered towards the direction of the music. Still in a trance, she began to sing; i"I remember was mist . . .swirling mist upon a vast, glassy lake."/i The Phantom had not noticed her entrance. She advanced towards him, and sang louder.
i"There were candles all around, and on the lake there was a boat, and in the boat there was a man . . ." /iAs though the force behind the music was pushing her towards him, she stood close to him.
This man was certainly an enigma. After the previous night's events, Christine understood that her 'angel' was actually a living man, with human needs, but there was still a great deal of information that she did not know. Why did he take her down there? Why was he wearing a mask? At least that question could be answered quickly,
i"Who was that shape in the shadows? Whose is the face in the mask?" /iShe could not help but ask. She reached out to grab his mask, but he clasped her right hand in his and kissed it. She shivered at the gesture, which seemed very intimate.
"All will be revealed in good time. You are here now, and that it all that matters." He stood up from the organ bench, "You must be hungry."
"The last thing I could possibly think of right now is food," she laughed. Christine could see half of his face, the human half, give the faintest of smiles at her laughter, but it was gone as soon as she noticed it.
"You have not eaten in twenty-two hours. You will need your energy for your performance tonight, and whatever bit of last-minute practice we can squeeze in at the moment."
"The pageboy doesn't do much."
"No, but the Countess does." She could not believe what he was implying.
"You don't mean that…"
"You are to play the Countess? Yes, and nothing will go wrong." Christine did not believe him, but she didn't say anything. He turned out to be an amazing cook, and she didn't mind the extra training. She had been practicing the role of the Countess for months now with the man she used to call her angel.
Surprisingly enough, the evening went well. Due to some 'unknown' reason, La Carlotta's voice started to croak halfway through an aria. Embarrassed, the diva ran off the stage in a huff. Conveniently enough, Christine Daae appeared on the wing of the stage, already dressed as the Countess and ready to perform. She performed beautifully, as usual. After the final curtain call, as people started to throw roses at the already substantial pile on stage, the stage manager found that Mademoiselle Daae had vanished. She had gone to live in harmony with her beloved angel, but now he went by the name Erik. She would always resurface every once in a while to maintain her title as the star Diva, but she was always very secretive about her life outside the Opera Populaire. One year, she did not even bother coming back to audition for the part of Donna Anna in Don Giovanni. The Greater Daae had retired, but cast members could still feel her presence everywhere in the opera house.
Incidentally, the infamous Phantom had disappeared as well. An hour after that fateful performance of Il Muto, the stagehand Joseph Buquet was found dangling on the rafters by his hair, screaming. Although his hairline reached back an even higher level than it had receded to, he somehow remained alive.
Meanwhile, a talented composer was gaining prominence throughout the world. His music was powerful, and it would cause audiences to shift through three different extreme emotions in one movement. His experimental works turned the music world on its ear, and he became the most popular composer in Europe. He was only known by his first name, Erik, like Galileo and Dante, but everyone assumed that he had printed his name somewhere on the sheet music. All they could find was the copyright for Destler Publications, so the famous maestro accidentally received a surname from his adoring fans. He never appeared in public, so they never could ask him. When a new composition came out, it was distributed to one lucky opera or music hall, and then printed for the world. There would always be a new location for each place, and each piece was inaugurated through its conduction strangely enough by a masked man. No one knew anything about his personal life, and no one still knows anything about him, although his music is still widely performed. If anyone did care to notice, the first person to always clap and give a standing ovation for Erik's music was a pretty brunette with a rose in her hair.