Hello, my darlings! Here we are again, and I hope you like it!
Erik
There was something in the tense way she held her lips the next morning that told me there was more on her mind than she was willing to say. I was suspicious at first, but she slowly spoke, consenting to sing yet with an air of one whose hand is forced. And it was, really. I wanted her to sing and that was the end of it. It was my will that she be restored to her former sparkle and vitality. I wouldn't stand for any arguments to the contrary.
And so we spent that day reviewing her role, practicing for hours on end with only a little rest. I wouldn't have pushed her so hard the day before a performance, but such was my determination that she be ready. She didn't seem to care, still lacking her enthusiasm for the music but pursuing it like a machine, striving for it automatically and becoming almost mechanical in her perfection.
Where was her soul? She was still so hollow, a Grecian statue or a Minh vase, pristine and perfect to behold, but just as unfeeling and empty. I'd gotten my wish. She had become my most wondrous creation, the greatest artist in the world, yet it had cost her her heart. When she sang, she just sang. There was only emotionless brilliance in the finely-tuned instrument she had become.
I lay awake that night knowing a terrible wrong had been done. What had happened to her? Why did she give me this soullessness when I was trying to help her? She needed the chance to be herself again, and I was giving her that chance! Why did she scorn me like this?
I didn't trust her. The Christine I knew would have let nothing come between her and the song inside her. The woman I'd coached that day was a clockwork toy, its sole aim to mock me with a warped image of what I'd asked for. She would blame it on me somehow; she always did. I had crafted this most exquisite of musical boxes, so I shouldn't complain if the quality of the tune displeased me. I had created it with my own hands, after all…
That spiteful creature! Just let her sing tomorrow, then we would see.
Christine
I felt their stares and sensed their whispers as they recognized me, but I did my best to ignore them. They were bound to talk; I'd simply vanished without a trace for weeks, then showed up out of the blue just in time to be the prima donna again. Let them make up whatever explanations they liked, because they would never know the truth, and the truth was more terrible than anything they could imagine.
Erik had informed me he'd sent word prior to my reappearance that I had been ill, but was finally ready to return to the Opera. After bringing me back up from the cellars, he'd told me to go straight to the managers' office to speak with them, telling them I was healthy enough to sing tonight. He'd left me with one final warning: He was watching me, as he always did, and he would know every move I made.
Had he somehow guessed at my foolhardy, desperate attempt at freedom? Was it written so clearly in my eyes, or perhaps so audible in the way I spoke to him?
I felt like every glance I attracted would burn holes into my skin and let all my secrets spill out. My cast mates would know where I had been this whole time. The managers would see how I loathed having to sing and why I did it anyway. And my captor would understand my plan to run from him. He would stop me, and he would make me pay for daring to try. It was senseless, useless, and hopeless. I had no chance at success. I should have just drowned myself after all.
Clenching a fist decisively, I fought to think clearly. This could be my only chance to escape. If I didn't take it, I would spend the rest of my life as that animal's toy and strumpet, and the thought of that was more than I could face. I couldn't go on as I'd been existing. If there was even the slightest hope, I had to try. I had to.
I reached the managers' office in no time and found them in no way inclined to dispute my claims. They were too frantic to salvage the night's performance to question my halfhearted explanations, and rushed me off instead to prepare. I moved through the last rehearsal as if in a dream, then was shunted back to my dressing room to rest before curtain.
Shivers raced down my spine as I went inside. It was there that the net had been cast around me, and all the time I'd spent in there being taught by the Angel of Music rushed back to me, hard as I tried to ignore it. If I could do it all again, I would never have heeded that voice. I would have left the Opera and never looked back. I would never have let myself end up here again. Yet at the same time, I mourned the innocence of those days, spent in such a blissful dream that had felt too good to end.
My eyes were open now. Everyone must wake up eventually to ugly reality. All dreaming had earned me was this hell that I would do anything to escape, and it had cost me so much I could never get back. Erik was right about one thing, at least. Dreams were for children. I had been forced into adulthood sooner than I had been ready for it, and finding myself unable to cope with it, I had tried in vain to remain a little girl. Erik would make me less than a woman, less even than a child, if I couldn't be an adult at last. If I was to survive, I would have to grow up and start thinking.
Could I leave before the performance? Part of me said the sooner I got away, the better, but I made myself think it through. There was plenty of hustle and bustle already, but all the traffic was flowing into the theater, not out of it. After all the fuss that had been made upon my arrival, if I wasn't there when the curtain went up people would notice and start looking for me. And I knew instinctively Erik would be watching me more closely beforehand for any sign of defiance to his will. If he suspected I wouldn't sing as I'd been told, the game would be over before it began. If I was going to escape, it would have to be afterwards.
It would be easier to make myself lost in the crowd leaving the Opera, but I would have to hurry after the performance. I would need to rush to change out of my costume and don something that would blend in with the patrons, and under no circumstances could I return to my dressing room. Once outside, I would…find a carriage—no, wait! I would get word to one of the stagehands to hire one and have it waiting for me! No one would question that, but whoever I charged with the errand would have to keep silent about it. I would take the carriage meandering around the city through all the traffic to throw off any pursuers, then I would either take a train out of Paris or lie low in the city for awhile before leaving the city for good.
There were so many things that could go wrong with such a plan, but it was the best I could do.
I sat down hesitantly at the vanity table, trying to ignore the great mirror along the wall. I felt the presence of another in the room and sensed those demon eyes watching me from where their owner couldn't be seen. He was there, making sure I was following his orders.
Why does he want me to sing at all? I asked myself. It wasn't enough that he cripple me and dehumanize me behind closed doors anymore? He had to parade my degradation before the rest of the world, showing what a well-trained, obedient little lap dog I was? I hoped there was a Hell after all, just so I could have the satisfaction of knowing he would suffer for all eternity what he had forced me to suffer.
Setting those thoughts aside for the present, I focused my attention back on my escape. I couldn't wear Marguerite's costume out of the theater, and the clothes Erik had sent me back in, while fine enough, would still look out-of-place among the formal attire of the operagoers. I would have to find something, even if it was only a simple stole. Getting word to someone to have a carriage ready would be more complicated. How to do it without Erik seeing? A note was my only chance.
Assuming an air of melancholic boredom, I opened a drawer in the vanity and took out several sheets of writing paper, ink, and a pen. I doodled aimlessly while I composed the missive in my head, leaving enough room on one of the pages to write. Eventually I had the words in order, and I copied them out slowly, maintaining my façade of purposelessness.
I shall require a carriage when I leave the Opera tonight. Be so kind as to hire one for me and have it waiting outside the Rotunda immediately after Faust. I'll see to it you are reimbursed for your efforts. Daaé.
There was nothing in there to arouse alarm or suspicion. It was a commonplace request, and all that could be gleaned from it was my own thoughtlessness in not making sure I had my own conveyance. If I was deemed simple or careless as a result, I didn't care. It was a small price to pay.
I carefully circled the words to emphasize them on the paper, then crumpled up all the used sheets, careful to keep the note separate. There was a knock on the dressing room door, and at my answer came in the woman to help me get ready for the performance.
Once, the thought of someone watching me as I undressed would have been brutal in its embarrassment, but after all Erik had already done to me it didn't matter. I knew he was still there somewhere, but modesty hadn't protected me thus far, so what was the use?
Something of my troubled thoughts must have shown on my face, for the woman asked me, "Is there something on your mind, mademoiselle?"
I shook my head. "Just jitters before the performance," I told her.
She nodded comprehendingly and finished adjusting my costume, and I happened to glance in the mirror. I was halfway between Christine and Marguerite, the wreck of a woman I had become and the tragic heroine I was meant to portray. Was it a coincidence, or was there something in it after all? Both seduced, entrapped, and betrayed, yet one of us found salvation after all. Did I dare to hope for the ending I was set to perform?
The woman began to dress my hair, saying, "It was such a surprise when you took off with no word, mademoiselle."
She had no idea.
"Why did you disappear on the heels of your performance?"
"My health," I replied readily.
"Goodness, you were gone for such a long time! Are you well again now?"
"If I were unwell, I wouldn't be singing tonight."
She understood the hint and didn't go on. She finished with my hair and said, "You're ready, mademoiselle."
I nodded and thanked her, heading for the door. I passed the wastebasket and tossed inside it the scraps of paper, keeping the one I needed clutched discreetly in my fist. I hoped with all my might that I had been subtle enough in the movement and that Erik hadn't noticed…
Marguerite doesn't sing in the first act and is only briefly onstage, so I had plenty of time to pass my note. I chose a place in the wings near a young man responsible for moving the sets around between scenes and stood silently, waiting for the orchestra to start. My earlier misgivings returned in full measure, and the hand clenched around the note began to shake. This would never work. I was going to fail. He would catch me, he would stop me, and the Devil only knew what he would do to me then.
I held the note tighter in a palm grown moist with sweat in my fear. Never mind what he might do to me if I didn't make it. I still had to try.
My heart was in my mouth, but I swallowed hard as the curtain went up and the show began. The first notes soared from the pit, enveloping me in a web cast by fate herself. Whatever happened tonight, there would be no going back. I could still forget everything, throw the note away and spend the rest of my life under his power in my own private hell. If I was so far gone I couldn't summon the courage to fight for my freedom, then that was all I could ever look forward to. If I wanted out, it was now or never.
I leaned slightly closer to the stagehand and asked him, "Will you see to this for me?" And I handed him the wad of paper. To any onlookers, it would appear I had just foisted off some garbage, but I gave him a hard, meaningful look and pressed the note firmly into his hand to be sure he got the message.
He looked a bit surprised, but he nodded. "Yes, mademoiselle."
I gave him an absent smile and drifted away from him. At a safe distance, I turned to see him open the paper and read what I had scribbled. His brow furrowed and he looked up and around for me, but I hastily turned my back to him. When I looked back, he had vanished.
A sigh escaped me. It was done. This phase of my plan was out of my hands and now I had to make it through Faust. I stood waiting for my cue, feeling as though the opera couldn't be over soon enough.
Erik
I had barely let her out of my sight since I turned her loose in the theater and I stayed within earshot of her at all times, watching her for the smallest sign of deception. I still didn't trust her, and was at my most anxious and alert when she spoke to the managers, but she gave me no cause for alarm. My suspicions were aroused when she reached her dressing room and brought out paper and pen, but she only appeared to be sketching to pass the time. She left as the performance drew closer and I followed her from shadow to shadow, keeping her in sight as she made it to the wings beside the stage. I ascended into the flies above her and watched as she spoke to a stagehand and—did I just see that? Did she give him a piece of paper? The action looked innocent enough, but I knew better than anyone how far from innocent she was and saw guile in the gesture. She moved away and the man flattened the ball of paper and…was that a note? He walked away, and I set off after him.
When he was far enough away from the reach of help, I sprang from the darkness in an ambush. I clapped a hand over his mouth and placed the other one at the back of his head, and gave an energetic twist fueled by my growing anger. With a loud crack, his neck broke and he collapsed without a sound.
I reached down and pried the note from his fist, reading it so quickly and with such a lack of focus I had to scan it again and again to be sure I understood it. When at last I was certain of its meaning, I threw it aside in a rage.
The flames of my fury roared more ferociously than ever, in a blaze that would consume her world and burn her until the end of time. That stupid, stupid child thought she was going to leave me? Did she think I would ever allow that? It was this kind of foolishness that had gotten her into trouble to start with! Did she ever learn?
She would this time, God damn her. She would learn well. An Angel of Music had taught her to sing, and an angel of vengeance would mete out the just retribution for her treachery.
Christine
When the time finally came for me to sing, I couldn't believe I was actually so bold as to taunt him as I did. All through our practice the day before, I had given him soulless perfection, seeing how it needled him yet unable to try anymore. Onstage, I didn't even attempt that, singing with all the insipid lack of skill the average ingénue possessed. What was I thinking? I wanted to revenge myself upon him the only way I could, to see his pet and protégée embarrass him when he wanted her to perform her circus act for him. If he caught me, he would be livid that I had defied him after all.
If he caught me, I'd have worse things to worry about. I was being stupidly reckless, but I couldn't stop myself. How does it feel? I asked him as I sang, to be so shamed and disappointed? This is what you've done to me, you evil bastard. Does it please you now?
All my hatred, my anger, my anguish rose to the surface as I carried on, making it harder and harder to stay in control. Despite my effort to remain mediocre, the voice of the diva, the voice he gave me, threatened to break through. No, I couldn't! I couldn't give him the satisfaction! I wouldn't! But Marguerite's pain became my own, her heartache and her betrayal and utter abandonment by one she had loved so dearly. Erik had all but destroyed me, and Papa had left me to the wolves in sheep's clothing, the devils wearing the guise of angels. I couldn't stand it! I hated them both, and still I couldn't let go of the hope that had driven me, hoping that I could find a way out of this nightmare! There had to be a way!
It all became a blur, and before I knew it, the Prison Act was upon me and it was time for the final trio. The lines dividing pretend and reality vanished, and I was in my cell, waiting for judgment to be passed upon me. There was nothing left of me and no hand could save me. So finally, I let go and plunged myself into it, because that was what Marguerite did and that was what I had been taught since childhood.
I cried out to Heaven.
"Protect me, oh God!
Oh God, I implore thee!"
I couldn't explain it, but it became my own cry of desperation, calling upon God and all His angels and throwing my soul into His hands, pleading with Him one last time to break the chains around me. All my thoughts were suspended, cast aside in favor of unalloyed feeling that filled me up and tore me apart. Tears streamed from my eyes, but I couldn't stop singing. It was too late to come back from that infinity.
"Angel! Shining Angel!
Bear my soul to Heaven's bosom!
Just God, I surrender myself to Thee!
King God, I am Thine! Forgive me!"
There was one moment that held life and death, eternity and evanescence, salvation and damnation. I knew wild, unchecked fear and terrible, unyielding hope, and in that moment I was neither alive nor dead.
"Angel unsullied, shining angel!"
Darkness descended upon me and the earth vanished beneath me, and I fell through an abyss further and further from the light above. I had no time to register what had happened until two arms caught me and held me in a vicious, unforgiving grip of steel, and there was a cold, cruel laugh in my ear.
"Thus your suitor calls you,
And your heart trusts him!"
The voice of an angel, the voice of the Devil…I tried to scream but he held a pitiless hand over my mouth and carried me away back to Hell.
