Overlooked
OceansAway
"Come on Christine! Sing for the Phantom! Mother said that you used to sing. She said your father taught you." Meg's mouth flew ahead of her. "You used to travel around Sweden with your father performing. I've never left Paris. Please Christine? Sing for this unworldly ballerina?" Meg's pleading expression convinced Christine to sing.
Erik sighed. He was trapped here, in Box 5 until the young women left the stage for they had direct view of the lit box.
The woman, barely past girlhood, whom the little Giry had called Christine, was facing his direction, allowing him full view of her face. He took this chance to exam her closely. Her thin, blonde hair framed her face. Her features were well suited to her pale complexion. Around her neck she wore a worn, red scarf, too large for her petite frame. Her stormy blue eyes gazed wandered to his box but her eyes weren't taking in the golden decorations, or red, velvet curtains. She opened her mouth to sing.
"Angel of Music,
Speak, I listen,
Come to my side,
Guide me!
Angel, soul is weak-Forgive me,
Enter at last,
Master!
Angel of Music,
Guide and Guardian
Grant to me,
Your glory!
Angel of Music,
Hide no longer!
Come to me,
Strange angel…"
Her posture indicated that she planned to sing a final verse but her emotion refused to allow her. Her chest began to heave great sobs and tears coursed down her cheeks. "I'm sorry Meg."
"It's all right. But why have you signed up to train to become a ballerina? You have a beautiful voice!" Meg spoke her words with confusion.
"This… It just reminds me too much of Father…" With this confession she ran down the hall to her sanctuary, the chapel.
She had a good voice, much better than La Carlotta. Yet, the girl was lacking. She sung perfectly technically and had perfect tone and pitch. The song was meant to be a light aria. She turned it to a morose lament.
The girl had potential. She could be a diva; all of Europe could be at her feet. If she could find her "angel" and lose the air of gloom around her, she could be beautiful.
If she could accept help. As she had easily pushed Meg aside she was sure to push away anyone who could help.
He could help her. He could make her great. Be the one behind her when Paris fell to its feet. He saw a movement in the hallway. He took a quick glance, not allowing himself to be seen. It was a young man, barely past boyhood. He's expression was downcast. He seemed to have returned from the direction of the empty hallway. The only room of interest to outsiders would be the chapel, where that the girl, Christine had rushed to in her state of turmoil.
But it was what he held in his hand that interested her. The red scarf that had moments before rested wrapped around the child's neck lay in his hands. The boy was speaking to himself. "Did she remember me? From the house on the lake? Yes she did. Could she accompany her childhood companion to dinner? No she could not. Would the fair lady accompany him tomorrow night? She supposed so. Could she be ready by half past seven? Of course she could. What brings Little Lotte to the chapel? Little Lotte is grieving for her father. He did not know he had past away. He expressed his regret to her. She offered him her scarf, as a sign of promise. She would be sure to be ready to receive her scarf back. Tomorrow night! I shall see Christine tomorrow night!"
The girl would be fine. She would dance during the day and spread her legs at night. She would do so, until the man tired of her. She would go through heartbreak, only to find another lover. As did all the other girls.
She would be another individual overlooked.
A/N: A bit of randomness that leaped into my mind one night and found an escape through my fingers.
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