Author's note: here we have chapter 2, dedicated to LonesomeGurlAngelofDeath, so she won't kill me! I love people who review!
Disclaimer: POTO? Nope, still not mine.
Erik? Was that him? Christine stared at the window where she saw that oh-so-familiar mask. Yes, she could swear she saw Erik's profile there in the window.
"Darling?" Raoul interrupted her concentration.
Christine turned away from the window reluctantly and looked at Raoul. "Yes?"
"Dear, she certainly doesn't look particularly attractive when staring fixedly at nothing like that. And she's so rude to you, Raoul," his mother commented dryly.
"Mother! I'm sure she saw something or other," defended Raoul.
Christine ignored the conversation and looked back at the window. There was no one there, though this didn't surprise her. If it had been Erik, he wouldn't have lingered at the window any longer than necessary. But had it been him, or had her mind simply created the image that was in her thoughts? Even after having seen the face behind the mask, she still saw Erik as the angel, the genius who made her the wonderful singer she was now. He would always be that inapproachable yet very human man.
"What were you looking at, darling?" Raoul was asking.
She looked away from him. "Nothing," she murmured.
A week passed, and Christine found herself in an uncomfortable situation. If she didn't join a new opera house soon, they would all forget her and she would have a terrible time finding a new singing position. But she didn't know where she wanted to go, or what to do. She felt like she was imposing herself on the Girys, and the disastrous meeting with the de Chagnys seemed to be making Raoul more distant, though Christine imagined that was more something his parents imposed on him. And without Erik, she was afraid that she wouldn't be able to sing at her new opera home as well.
Eventually she ended up choosing the opera house in Chartes, just outside of Paris. Entering this new opera house, she felt an odd sort of emptiness knowing the fact that there would be no one to look after her well being. Even without this threat, though, the other singers seemed to be avoiding her, as if there would be some repercussion if they came too close. She was given a room the size of Carlotta's room, which she had caught a glimpse of a few times when she was still a chorus girl, and left alone until she was called to sing.
The first thing she checked in the room, though she chided herself for being silly, was the wall mirror. It looked very normal. For some reason, this disappointed her. Why was she thinking these things? Erik was a murderer, a madman…or was she simply quoting Raoul in saying that? She sat back in a large chair in her room and remembered the first time Erik took her to his underground home…
"Welcome, Christine, to the home of music."
There were candles all around, and in the midst of them there was this man. Her angel…the angel who would die for her…or kill for her without thought. This angel came up to her and gently put a hand around her waist.
"Come Christine. It is time to sing."
They went over to the piano, and oh, how she sang? She sang arias, and he joined her in a duet that no one could fail to be moved by. Even the octave practices he made her go through seemed so much more…intimate, even romantic than before. When she finished singing a simple C major scale, reaching the high C that eluded so many singers, she took a deep sigh, feeling out of breath and somehow ecstatic.
Her angel smiled. "I think we are done with octaves for now. Let us sing some Schubert."
And the echoes of this duet sang in Christine's soul for many days after, along with her angel's caressing words.
"We're ready for you, Mademoiselle Daaé," said some sort of page who had come into Christine's room.
She snapped out of her reverie and followed the boy to the stage, for she didn't know the way yet. There, she immediately felt more at home—things were as chaotic as they always had been in the Paris Opera House, and the male lead singer looked just like Piangi- a fat, older Italian. She suddenly remembered how he had apparently been one of the fatalities, and remembered why she had feared Erik.
"As you know, Mademoiselle, we are performing Il Muto. I believe you've performed this work before?" said the composer, noticing her.
She thought back to that fateful performance where she was forced to replace Carlotta after Carlotta began croaking like a frog. "Yes, I have," she responded.
"Wonderful. Let us begin at 'Poor Fool, He Makes Me Laugh'" he said, and tapped his stand. Magically, the ruckus quieted, and the orchestra began playing the beginning to the song in question. Christine began hesitantly: she hadn't sung sing that fateful night at the Paris Opera.
"Serafimo, away with this pretense!
"You cannot speak, but kiss me in my husband's absence.
"Poor fool, he makes me laugh!
"Hahahahaha!
"Time I tried to get a better better half."
As the chorus sang, she rubbed her throat. Her voice was terribly scratchy. What was happening? Why was she singing as terribly as she was now? She noticed the other singers giving her side looks, seeming to say 'She is so famous…why?'
When it same time for her to begin singing again, she missed her cue, remembering how Erik had interrupted the performance with his indignation at his box being taken.
"Ah, Ma'mselle, you missed your cue," said the conductor, stopping the orchestra. "It repeats again with 'poor fool'. Do you not remember the lyrics?" He looked at her in disapproval.
"No, monsieur," she sighed, and the music began once more. As she waited for her cue, she looked out in the empty audience, and instinctively looked to the boxes. There, in the box on the left closest to the stage, was the figure of a man. She couldn't see much more than his profile, but suddenly she heard a voice in her ear:
"Sing, my angel of music," Erik's caressing voice whispered.
She remembered Erik's ability to throw his voice, and looked up at the box. The figure nodded, and Christine began to sing her heart out, ignoring the surprised looks she got. Erik was back!
Yes, you just can't keep a good man down. Or away. Whatever. Soon I'll get into more development, but I need to have this premise. Believe me, it's important! Please review, mes amis! Merci!
