Ch. 2: Introduction to Christine Daae
The next day, Christine came to live and train with the ballerinas.
It struck Meg as odd, really. That this girl she didn't even know was coming to live with them. It didn't occur to Meg that this was the same thing that the girls were talking about yesterday.
It didn't make sense to Meg why her mother would go all the way to the outskirts of France – taking days off of work for the long, expensive, miserable carriage ride – to collect this little orphan. There were children - children who were much less of a burden to hire - lined up near the opera in hopes of becoming a dancer and escaping a life on the street. Why go through so much trouble for this particular girl? Rumor had it that the girl's father was very famous. Perhaps that had something to do with it.
When the girl came, Meg could not help but look at her with disdain. She was all eyes – pale, pale skin with big, big blue eyes. She had smooth, dark brown curls. A nice nose. A nice figure.
Truly, this girl was beautiful. Meg hated her at once.
Christine was old, too. Meg, at the time, was nine. Christine was eleven. Eleven! Eleven years was much too old to train yourself to stand on your very tippy-toes, too old to make one's body flexible, too old to learn the rigorous training of a ballerina. Meg predicted that Christine would fail at once.
Meg, of course, was wrong.
Meg was the best young dancer in the whole opera. Christine was a natural, though. It was almost as though the music was inside of her. Meg knew that Christine wasn't the sharpest needle in the batch (no common sense at all; and so silly), but this was the one thing at which Christine seemed almost… well, a genius. Nothing could compare with the years of training instilled in Meg, but Christine was certainly competition with her graceful, if somewhat untrained, movements.
Of course, Meg was still one of the most popular ballerinas. Everyone wanted to be her playmate, and Christine was left alone at night; her cot pushed into the corner by the other girls. And while the other ballerinas stayed up light, giggling and telling secrets, Meg caught the sound of Christine weeping. It was quiet, but it was there.
Meg thought of what Christine had to lament. Well, her father's death. Her life as a ballerina. Meg had heard that Christine's father had been a very famous violinist; but one who was also very in debt. She surely would have had a more respectful future than the life of a ballerina if her father had paid his debts.
One night, as she was almost drifting off to sleep, Meg heard a voice. A beautiful voice. A beautiful voice singing a beautiful song.
But of course, she was dreaming. It was no doubt Christine weeping again.
The first song that voice sang… The melody haunted her for the rest of her life.
a/n: Hello! Once again, constructive criticism is welcome. Mostly I would like to know if I made Christine too Mary-Sueish in this chapter. I promise, she gets a little ditzy later on. And could you please review and tell me how to let my stories have unsigned reviews? Much thanks. Please review. Oh, and this is the last short chapter - for a while, anyway… pinky swear!