Christine could not believe her ears. Her Angel was waiting for her? Nodding quickly, she dashed off in the direction of the stage, eager to once more be in his favor. The silence was even louder than before, and she knew that he was here. Ignoring the rows of seats, she pretended to have not noticed the masked occupant in Box 5.
Closing her eyes for a moment, she thought about which song would most likely affect her Angel so that he would at least respond. And then it came to her.
Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said good bye.
Remember me, once in a while, please promise me you'll try.
When you find that once again you long, to take your heart back and be free.
If you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me.
Opening them she glanced at Box 5 and was startled to find it empty. Had he finally left her when she needed him most? Or was it just her imagination that had played tricks on her earlier? Then finally a voice that she had longed to hear for eleven months, answered her prayers.
Wandering
child . . .
so lost . . .
so helpless . . .
yearning for
my
guidance . . .
Too
long you've wandered
in winter . . .
Far
from my
far-reaching gaze . . .
It was like old times. Christine smiled softly as she closed her eyes, singing her part of the song (AN: the parenthesis is the Phantom from now on (words), but if it looks like this: -words- then it is both together; without dashes or parenthesis is Christine):
Wildly
my mind
beats against you . . .
(You resist . . .)
-Yet your/the soul obeys . . .-
Angel
of Music!
Guide and guardian!
Grant to me your
glory!
Angel
of Music!
Hide no longer!
Come to me, strange
angel...
(I
am your Angel ...
Come to me: Angel of Music ...)
In
sleep he sang to me,
in dreams he came . . .
that voice which
calls to me
and speaks my name . . .
And
do I dream again?
For now I find
the Phantom of the Opera
is
there - inside my mind . . .
(Sing
once again with me
our strange duet . . .
My power over
you
grows stronger yet . . .
And though you turn from me,
to
glance behind,
the Phantom of the Opera
is there: inside your
mind . . .)
Those
who have seen your face
draw back in fear . . .
I am the mask
you wear . . .
(It's me they hear . . .)
-Your/my spirit and
your/my voice,
in one combined:
the Phantom of the Opera
is
there inside your/my mind . . .-
(In
all your fantasies,
you always knew
that man and mystery . .
.)
. . . were both in you . . .
-And
in this labyrinth,
where night is blind,
the Phantom of the
Opera
is there/here inside your/my mind . . .-
Sing, my Angel
of Music!
He's
there,
the Phantom of the Opera . . .
Opening her eyes before she began the runs, she realized that the Phantom was standing right next to her. Glancing at him, she started the runs ending the song completely.
"That was very good Mademoiselle Daae. But not good enough. I see you have not been practicing." The Phantom said dryly, though anger burned in his eyes.
"There was no need for me to practice Ang- monsieur, I did not perform, and I had no teacher."
He glared at her, his eyes glaring down at her brown ones. "You had no teacher because you left me!"
"No monsieur! I left because you pushed me into the arms of another man!" She yelled back at him just as loud. He looked startled at first, as she had never really shouted back at him. But then another thought irked his mind.
"Yet you and your lover sang your horrid duet." He spat out. "Explain that!"
"That was not me Sir, that was Raoul and Meg!" He looked at her once more as if trying to see if she told the truth or not.
"Yet she knew the song?"
"I fed her the words. If you had just listened to me before… this would not have happened! Monsieur I must bid you good night now, before I say or do anything I will later regret to have done." She began to walk away until she heard him sing again.
Stranger
than you think it -
can you even dare to look
or talk nor think
of me:
this loathsome man of death, who
burns in hell, but
secretly
yearns for heaven,
secretly . . .
secretly . .
.
But, Christine . . .
Fear can Turn to love - you'll
learn
to see, to find the man
behind the monster: this . . .
repulsive
carcass, who
seems a beast, but secretly
dreams of
beauty,
secretly . . .
secretly . . .
Oh, Christine . . .
She looked back at him as he stared at her, his eyes pleading for forgiveness. "Monsieur there you are wrong: I found the man behind the monster, I rescued you from your hell and took you into my heaven. But I fear I may have lost the man I loved to the darkness once more." she said coldly before leaving the stage. He stood there in anger, oblivious to the fact that Christine had practically proclaimed her love for him.
"Christine, if you do not come back with me, if you do not at least stay to hear me out- I will lose you. I will find a new student, a new protégé, and you will be like the rest of them."
Tears of anger sprung into her eyes. "If I was like the rest of them Monsieur, then I would not have come back to you, and I would have left you the moment I had removed the mask from your face! If you were still my Angel, good Monsieur, then I doubt I would be leaving. I now leave because of your actions. But you are not the Phantom I thought you were. Or maybe I was wrong the whole time. Maybe you were a man who wanted pity instead of love." She said as she began to walk away. He sprang at her then and tackled her near the end of the stage.
"Vicomtessa, when will we have the pleasure of seeing your dear Vicomte de Chagny?" he said tauntingly in her ear as she struggled against him. That did it.
"I am not married to him!" she hissed as she kicked against him. "I am Christine Daae, Sir, please do not mistake my identity any longer. I will sing in your theatre, I will perform in your theatre. But do not presume me to be someone that I am not!" With that she stormed off and back to Madame Giry's room. But his song floated behind her, the song he had written for her:
Night time sharpens, heightens each sensation. Darkness wakes, and stirs imagination. Silently the senses, abandons their defenses, helpless to resist the notes I write. For I compose the Music of the Night.
Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor. Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender. Hearing is believing, music is deceiving. Hard as lightning, soft as candle light. Dare you trust the Music of the Night.
Close your eyes for your eyes will only tell the truth. And the truth isn't what you want to see. In the dark it is easy to pretend. That the truth is what it ought to be.
Softly, deftly, music shall caress you. Fear it, feel it, secretly possess you. Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind. In this darkness which you know you cannot fight. The darkness of the Music of the Night.
Close your eyes, start a journey through a strange new world. Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before. Close your eyes and let music set you free! Only then can you belong to me.
Floating, falling, sweet intoxication. Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation. Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in to the power of the music that I write. The Power of the Music.
You alone can make my song take flight. Help me make the Music of the Night.
Christine! Christine!
Christine closed her eyes as tears cam down her face. God no, she had to be strong, she had to show him who he was dealing with. No longer would she run into the arms of a man when told to.
"You cannot remind others of the past my Angel of Music," she said aloud, "And you cannot expect those you pushed away to return so quickly." Suddenly shaking she whispered to herself, "I need time- and then maybe I will be able to save you once more."
