My humblest thanks to those kind souls who have reviewed!

I appreciate the anonymous reviews as well, though I can´t respond to them. Many thanks!

I do not own POTO, or its characters.


So, today´s the big day, thought Gemma Valerius as she watched Christine put herself together.

"What about my hair?" asked Christine, uncertainly.

"Leave it loose. There will be men present at this audition, no?" said Gemma, and Christine turned to her, laughing.

"Auntie Val!" she said, in mock reproach. She left her hair loose, however, with only a pair of silver clips to subjugate its soft waves.

"Your ´crowning glory,´" murmured Gemma.

The ugly duckling has certainly become a beautiful swan, she thought admiringly and with a touch of nostalgia.

This incarnation of Christine – the beautiful, self-assured young lady – bore no resemblance to the nineteen-year-old adolescent who had turned up at her doorstep with her nephew Raoul some three years ago. That gawkish creature had since disappeared -- had transformed. Gemma tried to recall an image of the younger Christine: She had been nineteen, it was true, but she had looked to be much younger, perhaps thirteen or fourteen. She had had no discernible figure, and she was so thin that her bones seemed to jut out. Her hair had been cropped short, which made her face look too angular, and her large blue eyes had looked enormous. And she had been nervous constantly.

Now, however – oh, now! What a glorious time it was for her Christine! No daughter could be dearer to her, and the young woman´s beauty was a point of reckless maternal pride.

It was easy for Gemma to forget that she and Christine had gotten off to a rocky start all those years ago. Christine had been foisted on her, foisted! And her thoughtless nephew had known it and had not cared. She had had a broken ankle. What use was a scrawny adolescent to her? Caregiver! A caregiver might have been a muscular woman of thirty or so, but not this emaciated creature who clearly needed to be cared for herself!

Yet Christine had proven herself, had worked like a mule, and little by little she and Gemma had come to understand each other.

Gemma´s ankle had healed well, and she no longer needed a Caregiver, but she had grown to need Christine, and she refused to let her go. The two had lapsed into a comfortable routine, Christine with her studies, Gemma with her own diverse interests.

And, finally, here they were. Christine had graduated with honors, and the prestigious Modern Opera and Ballet had conceded her an audition, something only a select few graduates attained.

"Wish me luck!" said Christine as she ran out the door, an eye on her watch and a briefcase in hand.

Gemma held up a hand as if to stop her or perhaps wave her out the door, but Christine flew out of the house without a backwards glance.


The Modern Opera was a graceful yet imposing building, all granite and marble in impossible arches and curves. It spoke of Art aspiring to be sublime, heavenly even, and a young auditioner certainly found this daunting. The auditorium within was even more frightening. Its crimson seats were filled with competing musicians, each exuding unlimited self-confidence. Had Christine had greater experience with people, she might have recognized this confidence as a false façade and forgotten her fear. She looked about the concert hall, but she could not recognize a single familiar face. People were conversing quietly in klatches, and from time to time someone would steal a speculative glance at her.

An eternity passed before the woman with a clipboard finally called her, scowling at the name printed on the list: "Ms. Christine….Dah-yay?"

Christine was shown into a large rehearsal room, where she handed her selected piece, "Se tu m´ami, se sospiri," to the accompanist. She scarcely glanced at the judges assembled at the side of the room, as nervous as she was, until she heard one of their voices rise above the murmurings of the others.

"Well, you can do it, and you can do it now! You can simply tell this Day person to leave right now – I´ve heard enough about her already! We don´t want anyone like her on the chorus – I refuse to work with her!"

Carla Forleo stood and faced Christine now. The room was cool, yet she was perspiring visibly. She seemed beside herself with rage.

"I think you heard me, Honey! You can just march out that door right now!"

"My audition…" started Christine, stunned. She had never expected to encounter Carla Forleo doing something so lowly as supervising auditions.

"You needn´t bother with yours!" snarled Ms. Forleo.

Christine appeared ready to retort, but instead, she started to sing the first few bars of her audition piece unaccompanied, putting as much brio into her effort as possible.

"Silence! Right now!" screeched Ms. Forleo. "Do you want me to call Security, you talentless hack?"

"You can call them, then, if you want, you bovine blowhard!" snarled Christine, her eyes blazing, her fear long forgotten. She turned to the judges, who were sitting in stunned silence, watching the spectacle.

"I was called to this audition. I have dedicated time and effort on preparing it, and now I´m forced to leave. Is this how you people usually behave?" asked Christine, squaring her shoulders.

The response was a confused silence and an exchange of glances. Christine gathered up her sheet music and stormed out the door.

As she hurried down the hallway, someone behind her called to her.

"Miss Daaé…please wait!"

Christine halted, stunned at hearing her name pronounced correctly.

"Miss Daaé…please accept my apologies for what happened in there."

Christine glanced up at the man who addressed her. He was dark, around fifty, and he wore an elegant business suit.

"I don´t remember seeing you in the rehearsal room. Were you one of the judges?" Christine asked, confused.

"Sort of," he said, smiling. "Look, I know that you did not get a proper audition, but we´ve heard enough. You only aspired to be part of the chorus?"

Christine nodded, confused.

"We look forward to seeing you here then, bright and early, Monday morning at eight."

"And Ms. Forleo? What about her? And, I´m sorry, but I didn´t catch your name?"

"Oh, excuse me. I´m Nadir Khan, and I can assure you that I outrank Carla Forleo here. She has a very high opinion of herself, I´m afraid," he said. There was sympathy in his eyes.

"I won´t find myself thrown out if I turn up on Monday?" Christine ventured.

"When you turn up on Monday, when you turn up, dear girl! Let´s not have any talk like that. We´ll be expecting you," he threw back over his shoulder as he started to walk away. One last reassuring smile, and he had turned a corner, leaving Christine alone to contemplate this latest turn of events.


Christine hurried home without the joy of victory which a successful audition might have afforded her. She had the odd sensation of having been sneaked in to the Modern´s chorus, together with the fear that her future there was shaky at best. Well, she would turn up on Monday morning, if only to spite Carla Forleo.

As she approached the house, she saw Raoul´s Mercedes parked near the corner, and her heart leaped. His visits to his Auntie Val were frequent, and she lived for them.

"How did it go?" asked Gemma just as Christine entered.

"How did what go?" inquired Raoul, looking up from his coffee.

"The audition! Don´t you remember Christine´s audition today?" answered Gemma impatiently.

"Oh…yeah…Hey, Christine! So, how´d it go?" Raoul said absently.

"I´m to report to the Modern Opera on Monday morning. But what´s wrong, Raoul?" Christine asked, watching as he stared into his coffee cup.

"It´s nothing, dear," said Gemma. "He and Linda have just broken up…"

"Nothing! You call that nothing?" snapped Raoul. "I even bought her a membership at my gym. Now what am I going to do? Try to figure out what hours she goes there so I can avoid her?"

"As you can see, his heart is completely broken," commented Gemma tartly.

Christine suppressed a smile. Raoul had gone through a succession of girlfriends since her arrival at his great-aunt´s house, all of them blonde – he had a penchant for blondes – but not a single one of these relationships had worked for very long. His failed romances nourished Christine´s hope that someday he would see her as more than a friend.

Even as children, Christine had adored Raoul. He was several years older than she, and he was her hero. Although he had never paid very much attention to her, he did not mind letting her play right field on his baseball team, and he had never permitted any of the neighborhood children to bully her.

The day Christine had met Raoul on the bus, her old adoration of him had reawakened, and she had jumped at the opportunity to take care of his great-aunt. Not only had it meant employment for her, but it also meant that she would see Raoul every now and then. Yet in spite of Christine´s blooming into a beauty over the years, and in spite of her subtle hints and enticements, Raoul never seemed to give her a second glance. If he could only see me as a woman…

Raoul cut into Christine´s reverie.

"You´re a woman, Christine, sort of….Maybe you could tell me what the deal is with women…I mean, what goes on in their minds?"


Christine went to the Modern Opera on Monday morning with trepidation. Thoughts of Erik DeJongh were inevitable since her run-in with Carla Forleo, and though his nightmare image had faded somewhat in her mind, she still loathed and feared him. She could only hope that he no longer figured in Ms. Forleo´s life.

Christine´s first day at the Modern turned out to be uneventful, however, as did the second, and the third. Rehearsals were on for La Bohème, and Christine was to play an anonymous shopkeeper as she sang her part of the chorus. She scarcely saw Carla Forleo, and Ms. Forleo never appeared to see her. She began to relax.

Her newfound peace was shattered during her third week with the Modern.

The chorus members were ordered to assemble in the auditorium, and they did so, sitting and murmuring uneasily on both sides of the aisle. The auditorium was dimly lit, for some reason, and as they waited expectantly, a shadow seemed to materialize at the front. A frightened hush fell.

Christine perceived him first, and froze in her seat, grateful that she was sitting at the back. Erik DeJongh´s glowing amber gaze swept the room and settled on her momentarily, then moved to regard the singer closest to him, who squirmed under his icy regard.

He certainly has a presence, thought Christine bitterly, and it was true. He seemed to fill the room somehow, and he moved with a grace which belied his height.

"He´s here," Christine heard a frightened voice ahead of her murmur. "He´s never done this personally before!"

Done what?

She did not have to wonder much longer. Erik DeJongh had come to winnow out chorus members, and he did so with such a complete lack of sympathy or emotion of any kind that the temperature of the hall seemed to drop. His voice, as beautiful as ever, was like the winter wind.

"Mr. Reynolds – may stay….Miss Kleinfeldt – a reprieve, for now….Mr. Kirkpatrick – you will leave…. As will you, Miss Bolen…."

The people who had been cut were leaving without argument, almost like automatons.

So this is how a snake hypnotizes its victims, though Christine. Her initial panic was now a very firm conviction: He will get rid of me – but I won´t go quietly! Is he really in charge here? Where has he been all this time?

She started. Erik DeJongh was standing over her now, looking at her with the same hellish eyes she remembered, yet they were somehow different. The ice of only a few seconds ago was gone, and something soft flickered within their fiery depths. She held his gaze defiantly; she had nothing to lose, after all.

He finally spoke.

"Miss Daaé," he said, every vowel of her name pronounced with velvet perfection.

"You will come with me."