Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own ANYTHING AT ALL...

A/N: As I have said, I have toned down Erik's evil side. Well, I've tried, anyway. Muses are muses, though (the word 'muse' is part of my pen name, after all!) , so they are not too easily controlled...so Erik is still a little mischievous, hee, hee!

Huggles to all who have reviewed thus far! I know I still owe individual thanks to some of you. Rest assured, they will be coming your way soon!

Chapter 7: The Butterfly Emerges From The Cocoon

The audience stirred expectantly. Every time a new production featuring La Carlotta was announced, the majestic Opera Populaire was sure to sell out all its performances. Carlotta herself knew this, and so, as she stood before the mirror in her dressing room, she preened shamelessly at her image.

She snapped peevishly as the little maid laced her up. "Come, dolt!" she screamed in her shrillest tones, "You are too slow! La Carlotta must appear before her public in five minutes!"

The girl ducked her head as if cowed, but suddenly, with malelovent glee, pulled on the corset laces so hard that the singer screamed again, this time in pain. Then, the girl pushed Carlotta down to the floor, and bolted from the room.

"Come back, you little spawn of the devil's daughter!" Carlotta screeched, as she attempted to rise, without success. She managed to take a deep breath -- as deep as she could, that is, with the too-tightly laced corset, and attempted to rise once more. Her voluminous petticoats made it absolutely impossible for her to stand. She could not even bring herself to her knees...

A loud pounding on the door made her heart jump and start a frantic race in her throat.

"Madame! You are to go on stage in two minutes!"

"Merde! " she spat, as she again tried fruitlessly to right her scrawny figure, made artificially ample by the petticoats.

"Help! Somebody please help!" Her voice, already known for its formidable carrying power, was sure to be heard beyond the confines of the dressing room.

For a few pulsebeats, nothing happened. Then, the door opened, quite abruptly, to reveal...a very frightened Christine Daae.

"What is it, Carlotta?" she anxiously inquired, rushing to the diva's side, her heart racing as well. She was already in full costume, and her beautiful gown contrasted sharply with Carlotta's disheveled, half-dressed appearance. Christine's mind immediately suspected some trick of Erik's, but she abruptly thrust the thought away.

"Help me up, won't you, Christine, my dear?" The diva's voice was as smooth as silk, and she actually smiled at the young girl.

Christine was flustered, and lowered her gaze. She admired Carlotta in spite of the cruel barbs the diva had always thrown her way. The woman had never smiled at her before.

"Yes, Madame," she whispered, obediently, and, stepping closer, grasped the diva's arms in order to help her sit up. Carlotta huffed as her stays bit into her abdomen, almost cutting off her breath.

"The laces..." she gasped, as she rolled to one side, "please undo...the laces...I...can't...breathe..."

Christine immediately began to undo the laces. As they loosened, Carlotta began to breathe out in relief.

Again there was loud pounding on the door. "Madame Carlotta!"

It was the stage manager's voice.

"Go and tell him that I am not ready!" she hissed at Christine, who stared at her in bewilderment.

"Go!" screamed Carlotta, when Christine made no move.

Even more frightened now, the young girl quickly got to her feet, and yanked the door open, to confront the irate stage manager.

"What is the matter now?" he bellowed, as Christine cringed before him.

"She is...not ready yet, Monsieur..." she stammered, as she stepped out of the room and softly pulled the door closed behind her.

"Why not?" he demanded, angrily. "What is her excuse this time?"

"If you please, sir," Christine now threw her chin up, as she began to get over her fear, while anger now rose within her, "I would remind you that I do not like to be screamed at." She amazed herself as she spoke. Where had she gotten the courage to address the stage manager thus?

Startled, the manager could only look at her. Then he began to smile, a crooked, rather crafty smile.

"Oh, I see, Miss Daae...You are now in training for Prima Donna status, are you?" His smile had turned into a sneer. "Very well, then! Come! We shall see how you perform now!" Suddenly grasping her arm, he began dragging her along the corridor.

"Monsieur!" Panicked, she tried to loosen his grasp, but it was useless. He held her firmly. She felt as if her arm were clasped in an iron ring. "Monsieur, you must let go of me! What are you doing?"

"You, Missy, are now going to entertain the public until our darling La Carlotta emerges! I have heard you sing before. You have been taking private lessons, have you not?"

Christine paled. When had this man heard her sing? "Monsieur, I assure you, I cannot sing like Carlotta!"

He laughed as he continued to drag her along. "Come, come! You sing well enough, my little dove! Now you will show your mettle, and keep the Opera Populaire from being the laughingstock of Paris! We are not going to refund any tickets tonight!"

"But...what shall I sing?" she blurted out, stricken.

At that point, Moncharmin appeared, having already suspected that his temperamental diva was indulging in one of her antics again.

"What is the matter? Where is Carlotta?" He screamed at the stage manager, staring uncomprehendingly at Christine.

"She is once again delayed, Monsieur!" The stage manager came to a stop before him.

"But where are you taking Christine?" Moncharmin inquired, perplexed.

The stage manager, whose name was Michel Goupreaux, sighed. "We have no time, Monsieur. Mademoiselle Daae will sing something until Her Majesty La Carlotta decides to bring her regal presence to the stage. I assure you, this girl is able to do it. I have heard her sing. Now, if you please, sir, move aside. The patrons are getting restless, and they are sure to begin to leave soon!"

"Monsieur Goupreaux, if you please! You have failed to consult with me!"

Goupreaux, rolling his eyes dramatically, ignored him, and strode away, pulling Christine after him.

Moncharmin, stunned, started to follow, when he felt a hand at his elbow, restraining him.

"She is quite able to do it, Monsieur," a quiet female voice assured him.

Turning, Moncharmin was surprised to see Madame Giry in front of him.

"Madame!" he spluttered, outraged. "How can you be so sure? Are you not her ballet instructor? Have you ever heard her sing?"

She looked at him steadily. "I most certainly have, Monsieur," she replied, calmly. "She has an excellent tutor, who has schooled her well."

Moncharmin looked at her as if she had suddenly informed him that she intended to buy the Opera House, singers and dancers included. "Tutor? What tutor? I was not aware that she was taking voice lessons!"

"Oh, but she is, Monsieur Moncharmin," continued Madame Giry, smiling, as she placed a hand in a pocket of her voluminous skirt. Still smiling, she pulled out a sealed white envelope, and handed it to the befuddled Moncharmin.

"What is this?" His bewilderment had given his face a most comical look.

"Your money, Monsieur," Giry replied, as her smile grew wider. "The Phantom is most graciously returning it to you."

"What? The Phantom? Oh, he is gracious now, is he?" His eyebrows drew together, and he peered suspiciously at Madame Giry. "And why in the devil's name is he deigning to return the money now?"

"Ah, Monsieur," she answered, with great satisfaction, "you may rest assured that the devil had nothing to do with it! Indeed, a far more beneficent spirit has inspired this action on the Phantom's part. You may count it, Monsieur. It is all there. And now, I will take my place with the corps de ballet."

Even as she said this, the strains of never-before heard music, delivered in a powerful, vibrantly feminine voice, reached their ears. Madame Giry stopped as if an invisible force had rooted her to the spot, while Moncharmin's head went up sharply, and he stared toward the stage, his mouth agape.

Christine Daae had begun to sing.

She had finally reconciled herself to the fact that she was to sing, and that was that. She tried to push down her growing annoyance at Erik. This strange turn of events had his unmistakable stamp upon it...

She did not know Marguerite's arias in Faust well enough to sing any of them, and she had said so to Goupreaux. He had retorted that, if she had been taking private voice lessons, she must have surely learned something that she could sing now, before the opera itself began. Anything to keep the audience from leaving en masse. Besides, he added, it would be better if she did not sing something from Faust. She would thus not be stealing the show from Carlotta; at least, not completely.

Christine sighed, and consented, although she had never heard of such a thing ever being done before, in the history of the Opera Populaire. Indeed, she was aghast at the very idea. She was to be "the opening act", Goupreaux had insisted, and she had stared at him strangely. He then rushed through the curtains to prepare the audience, and she was left momentarily alone, for no one was standing near her...

She had to come to a hasty decision, and so she did. She knew exactly what she was going to sing...

Now the curtains were parting, and the lights were shining upon her, even as Goupreaux stood aside , bowing elegantly as she stepped forward, her knees shaking. The audience momentarily stirred, as whispers flew rapidly back and forth. She was, after all, a total unknown. Then they stilled, as she gazed out to them through the brilliant lights that nearly blinded her.

He stirred, heart thumping suddenly, in the shadows of Box Five. She was walking into the lights, onto the stage. Unseen, he craned his neck, and his lips parted involuntarily, as his eyes beheld the radiant angel that now graced the center of the stage. She had never been more beautiful. Pride and love gleamed in his eyes. That vision of loveliness was his. And tonight, she was being unveiled to the world. He smiled wickedly as he reflected briefly on the events he had arranged. No, he had not harmed Carlotta in any way. Was she not known for her frequent tardiness when her presence was required onstage? He had merely made sure that this time, she would be terribly late...

He was totally unprepared for the notes that issued forth from her mouth. He closed his eyes in sweet pain. He had never expected her to choose the aria they had been practicing recently, the aria from the opera he was writing for her...

She was, of course, singing a capella, since the orchestra would not have the accompanying music. Her voice rose, unaided by any musical instrument, as the musicians stared in shock up at her from the orchestra pit, as the conductor himself also stared at her, a blank expression on his face...She went on, unheeding, the music taking control of her now, as Erik had promised her that first day she had sung it, in the parlor of his home beneath the lake, next to the magic organ he played so effortlessly...

She was borne aloft by the strange melodies written by a musical genius, a man she loved now more than ever, for he had made her aware of the ecstasy that was music, the heady, melancholy sweetness that brought an inexplicable ache to her heart...She sang without a score before her, for she needed none -- the music and its lyrics were indelibly imprinted upon her soul. Her eyes had long ago closed as she gave herself up to the magical stream of sound, as she was somehow transformed into the golden notes that alternately rose and fell, that eddied like a strong current around the entire space housing the seats and stage.

As your embrace, beloved, upon my heart doth press,

your eyes like pearls are in my memory treasured,

forever mine, unto the grave...

She paused, and his heart flew out to her. His entire being was caught up into a hitherto unknown happiness...

She glanced up immediately, but she saw no one in Box Five. Christine knew that he was there, even if she could not discern his presence visually. She could feel it. He was with her, as he had promised her he would be.

Closing her eyes, she once more immersed herself in the current of music, allowing its unusual, ethereal beauty to envelop her in gentle arms that turned fierce and passionate by turns, unexpectedly. She felt its furious melodies thrust into her heart. Then, as it flowed into more peaceful harmonies, its encompassing tenderness lent her wings.

It was interminable moments later that her voice, after the last rousing crescendo, softly began to descend into a tender, loving lullaby, and then, softly, softly, ceased.

There was a long, stunned silence, during which Christine stood, one arm raised, eyes closed, as she felt her heart slow its rhythms down, while the tears streamed down her face. Then, deafeningly, applause stormed out around her. Eyes still closed, she smiled, and brought her arm down, bowing deeply from the waist.

In the darkness of Box Five, the Phantom of the Opera smiled through tears of joy. His beloved angel had made her triumphant debut at last.