A/n: Here's a quick update, as this and the previous chapter go together. Hopefully, this will somewhat atone for my atrociously late updating habits. I hope you enjoy!As there has been such a short time between updates this time around, I will not reply to reviews until you have all had time to read this chapter.

Thanks again to my wonderful beta Etoile du Bolshoi. You are amazing!

This chapter is dedicated to Muse; I have done as she suggested and given you all a tiny portion of Erik's own point of view at the foot of the chapter. I hope it pleases!

Happy reading!

Amor Vincit Omnia

Chapter 9 Sing!

Christine entered the foyer of the Mackenzie Theatre to find it already half filled with eager patrons; the heavy scent of mingled perfumes assaulted her, but just one eyeful of the magnificence before her made it all seem breathtakingly exciting. It would almost certainly be a good turn-out, as there were already about a hundred people taking their seats, and there was another forty-five minutes before the show was due to start. At first, Christine had doubted whether the theatre (which held about two thousand people) would even be close to filled, but now she imagined that the house might actually be packed to capacity. Just the thought of a crowd of a thousand people or more made her feel physically ill, and she warded off the butterflies jockeying for position in her stomach with difficulty. Fighting her way towards the theatre itself, she smiled at Meg.

"Break a leg, darlin'" Meg chirped warmly, kissing Christine's cheek. "You're beautiful and talented and you're going to knock 'em dead!"

"Thank you, I'll see you and Raoul after the show…assuming he shows up. I don't see him anywhere…but this place is crowded."

Meg only shrugged.

Christine was just wondering where to go when she saw Mercy wading through the sea of people towards her, a radian smile on her pretty face. The little accompanist drew near to Christine and grasped her by the arm.

"I'm so sorry Christine; it looks as though Nick forgot to tell you to come through one of the side entrances, so you wouldn't have to be subjected to all this!" she gestured at the large crowd around them. "Damn fool," she muttered distractedly, pulling Christine along. "Okay, we've got a dressing-room all rigged up for you. I can come and get you to warm you up in a bit if you like. You look fantastic, by the way. That dress is stunning." Mercy's approving gaze and kind words made Christine feel truly beautiful, and she found it difficult to believe that Mercy was being completely artificial towards her. Maybe it was only Carlotta who disliked her. Christine hesitantly allowed herself to hope.

"Wow, a dressing-room? That's…really cool." She groaned inwardly at her own response but succeeded in keeping a blush from showing itself. She doubted whether a blush would show under all the make-up anyhow. Bless Meg and her many skills.

"Yes, m'dear, a dressing-room just for you. It's not much, but it'll do for your purposes. Will you need a warm-up at all?"

"No, I'll be fine, thanks Mercy. I warmed up a lot before coming, so I just need a run up and down some scales and I'll be ready to go."

"Good girl," Mercy replied, guiding Christine down a hallway and opening a door at the very end of it. Groping for a light switch, Mercy flooded the little room with light and Christine let out a contented sigh in spite of herself.

The room was small but somehow bright and spacious-looking. There were gleaming mirrors everywhere, displaying several reflections of Mercy and Christine all over the room. The mirrors were likely the cause of the illusion of space. A dressing-table stood against one wall, and the room was comfortably furnished with a stool before the dressing-table, a sofa pushed against one wall, and a folding chair in the opposite corner.

"Will this do?" Mercy asked, as though she truly wished to ensure Christine's satisfaction.

"Of course. It's perfect." Christine could only smile helplessly at the way she was being treated, feeling thoroughly undeserving.

"Will you need water or anything else?" Mercy inquired, as she made to leave the room.

"No, thanks. I've got some here." Christine dug in the purse she had slung over her shoulder, pulling out a water bottle.

"Awesome. Could I have your music or would you like to hold onto it for last-minute practicing?"

"You can have it."

With a final smile, Mercy edged out of the room, promising to send someone over later to give her a run-through of the concert and when she should expect to be performing.

"Just relax for a bit and someone'll come fill you in."

"Thanks so much…for everything." Christine felt the need to impress upon Mercy how truly touched she was over this whole affair. If they did not think her talented, let them at the very least find her pleasant and easy to work with.

"Oh honey, it's a pleasure for all of us. See you later, and don't be too nervous. Some nerves are good but don't let them take over." With one final encouraging smile, Mercy departed, and Christine was left alone for the first time in several hours.

Seating herself on the couch, Christine put her chin in her hands and allowed herself to take it all in. She was nervous but not overly so. She had come to terms with the fact that after this magical night she would return to her dull, drab little routine of life, but that she would at least have one jewel of an evening to remember when things got rough. At least, if she sang well and received an appreciative response from everyone, she could come away from this experience with a sense of accomplishment, though she honestly did plan to drop her music after this. It seemed each time she buried herself in it, bad things happened. In this case, she knew that the dreams her father had so ardently encouraged and allowed to grow were not possible, and she had to come to terms with that reality. She would never be a famous leading lady, and she had to accept it. It would be far too heartbreaking to continue aspiring for the unattainable, and she knew this in her heart. As much as it pained her, she understood this was the end of her music, and she needed to let it go. One last night…one final evening to relish it, and then she would move on to other, less risky things.

These melancholy thoughts were interrupted as her dressing-room door opened, and in walked Nick, his handsome face lit by a smile as enthusiastic as Mercy's.

"Well, good evening beautiful, how are you feeling?" Christine really did blush at Nick's easy charm and casual use of "beautiful" but she managed to smile back and play it cool.

"Okay… a bit nervous but nothing too horrible, thanks."

Nick's smile turned from teasing joviality to warm concern, as he laid a hand on her shoulder.

"You're alright? You're not…upset about anything, are you?"

"Um…no. Of course not, do I look upset?" Christine asked uncomfortably. Did she look as melancholy as her thoughts had been only a moment ago?

"Oh, no not at all. You look great actually; it's just that Mike said something about you being a bit…off colour the other day and I wanted to make sure you're okay. I'll stop badgering you, sorry if I'm prying. Fancy a rundown of what the program is going to look like?" As he said this, his expression became jovial and light once again, and he made himself comfortable on the couch beside her, a sheet of paper in his hand.

"Yes, please."

"Alright. First, we have a medley of songs played by the orchestra which has just flown in, (we had to grab some extra players as the selection here isn't very large for some strange reason) and then we have Michael and Arianna. Then there's a couple of ensemble groups… blah, blah, blah…Carlotta…intermission…more Carlotta…a bit of our resident crew…Miky and his violin…and you! You're closing the show, actually."

"Well," she muttered nervously, "it's better than opening it."

"Chin up, love. The last performer is always remembered by the audience. Your performance will be all they will be able to think about, and they'll go away with your song in their heads. By the way, I have no idea who composed your aria. Would you mind telling me so I can pencil it in?"

"Sure. Alessandro Scarlatti wrote this one."

"Excellent!" he exclaimed, scribbling it down on the corner of his program.

"So, you can relax backstage for most of the show, but you don't have to come out of here until the intermission if you don't want to. If you want to hear the show though, you're welcome to sit backstage. It's up to you."

"I think I'd like to hear everybody else. It might intimidate me, but at least it'll be entertaining and I can really enjoy myself before I send everyone running and screaming, demanding refunds."

"None of that now Miss Daaé, you're bloody brilliant and don't you let anyone else tell you that you aren't. Now, I'll be off, but I have to ask you before I forget: hand held microphone or clip-on?"

"I think I'd rather clip it onto this dress if I can. It'll leave me free to position myself correctly."

"As you like. Someone'll be back there to help you put it on. Those things are nothing short of nightmarish. Good luck to you, don't get too nervous, and don't worry about all those people out there, they hardly know good music from bad anyway. Even if you do bomb the song at least they'll love it anyway, though I'm fairly sure you'll do wonderfully." He flashed her his engaging smile and left.

Checking her watch, Christine saw that the show was due to start in about half an hour. This gave her the chance to do a little practicing before she had to get onstage. She strode across the room, looked one of her many reflections in the eye, and firmly chanted: "I will do well, and I won't make a single mistake. I know this song backwards, and I'll be okay. No need to freak out or be too nervous, I will be fine."

She began a few scales in a final attempt at preparation.

"Okay…this is going to be a bit difficult, so bear with me. I'll have to clip this mic somewhere on the back of your dress, so hopefully it'll all hold together. Can you hold your hair back so the headset will fit?"

Arianna and Christine stood backstage, attempting to adjust the microphone so that it would not be too visible. Though these types of microphones are a great nuisance to put on, they are generally preferable to hand held microphones, as they allow for complete liberty of movement.

Finally, after much struggling, they managed to finish the job, so that Christine's curls covered the headset and made it difficult to see unless you knew it was there.

"Fantastic! I can hardly see it, and onstage it'll be even harder to spot it. Does it feel alright?"

Christine nodded, feeling incapable of normal, coherent speech just then. She was on in about two minutes, and she suddenly felt an onrush of particularly powerful nerves. Suppressing the urge to throw up, she listened to Michael's violin solo, enjoying the smooth melodies he created in spite of her inner turmoil. 'What wouldn't I give to have Erik play for me right now' she thought longingly. She felt certain that the sound of his flawless music would have provided her with the necessary strength to relax and perform well. She was all on her own however, and now Michael was receiving thunderous applause. Only a few seconds now…and there was Nick's cheerful voice announcing her.

"Break a leg girl," Arianna whispered, nudging Christine gently in the direction of the stage. On legs that felt as though they were made of lead, Christine made her way out onto the well-lit stage, trying to smile and failing miserably. As she moved into position at the very centre of the stage, she felt the familiar freezing sensation; paralysis gripped her and she could only gaze out into the fuzzy theatre, being unable to se the many faces watching her but imagining them more vividly than ever. What if she forgot the words? What if her voice cracked on the first note and she was unable to move forward? What if her voice—which had sounded so strong and confident during her warm-up—came out weak and feeble? Just as she was preparing herself to bolt from the stage and race back to her dressing-room to hide from the world, she stiffened momentarily with shock as a voice—an unmistakable voice—whispered in her ear.

"Sing, Christine!"

She knew it could not be Erik's voice; she must have imagined it in her panicked state, but it was enough. She nodded to Mercy, whom she could just barely make out before the massive piano to her right, and her one-measure introduction rang out into the silence. The sound of it shattered both the stillness of the theatre and her paralyzed state, and she opened her mouth to do just as the voice had instructed. She sang. She gave no thought to the audience, or to the disastrous consequences if she made a mistake; she did not obsess over technique or stance or pronunciation; she did not worry about what she must look like or whether her breathing was well-synchronized; nor did she stress over her jaw and whether it had tensed or not. She simply sang, and hoped to heaven it was enough.

When people asked Christine later what it had been like to perform for such a prestigious event, she would have little to say. The truth was that she could not remember the performance very well, she only remembered how good it felt to release her pent-up little voice into such a vast room, and hear it ring back to her with a near-perfect sound. Of course, she also remembered the ecstatic applause she received at the end. It went on for so long that she felt obliged to take a second bow, something she had never dreamed she would ever get to do. The response was even more rapturous than any Carlotta had received that evening, and Christine could not help noticing this with a tiny amount of satisfaction she immediately felt guilty for. Someone demanded an encore as Christine prepared to exit the stage, and several people expressed approval. Stunned, Christine merely stood, trembling and at a loss for what to do. She had not counted on this, and she had no other piece prepared for this overwhelming crowd. She saw Mercy flipping through Christine's sheet music, and then the tiny woman jumped up and ran up to her on the stage.

"Christine, there's another piece of music tucked in with your aria. Why don't you sing that?" She held out the sheet music for "Jesu Joy of Man's Desiring" the song Christine had sung for Erik some time earlier.

"I have no clue how that got there…but I guess I can sing it."

"Good," Mercy said shortly and raced back to her position at the piano. As the introduction to the song began, a roar from the crowd indicated their approval that their request was being fulfilled. Relaxing into position again, Christine sang this song with as much passion and rapture as she had the other, consequently dazzling everyone in the room.

In the concealing darkness of the theatre, Erik watched Christine sing with pounding pulse. She was so exquisitely beautiful, and her voice was even more so. He could not bring himself to gloat over his success—even though he was responsible for this lovely creature's perfect instrument—he could only feel awe and wonder at her prowess. The longing which had been growing in his withered heart for so long was building now in a climax of sweetest sadness, and he knew then that he could not simply bid her farewell after giving her wings as he had originally planned. No, he could never exist without her presence, for she made him remember why it was he continued to live. She was beautiful, and she would never be his…but that did not mean he could not try. He leaned back in his seat and watched his little songbird soar, wishing all the while that she would only look upon him with that enraptured gaze, and think a kind thought or two for him.