Desolation Dreamed Of

Of Contention and Counterpoint

It was opening day. Morning, technically, for the clock had struck midnight only seconds ago, but the night is always young for an insomniac. I knew that Christine had gotten an early night's sleep far from my underground abode, and I therefore retreated contemplatively to my study. This time tomorrow, everything will have changed. The world will know the voice I have molded so deftly. Thoughts of a similar nature had been ebbing through my mind all day, but as I sat down, they seemed to overtake me.

I've always found that time ceases to exist once I enter the recesses of my mind. As I sat wrapped up in my indelible thoughts time ticked by unnoticed, eyes trained forward and focused on the point where the floor meets the wall. Midnight thirty. Quarter after one. Two. How I will berate myself for getting so lost. How I will torture myself tomorrow for not hearing the footsteps across the house from me sooner.

"I thought I'd find you here."

Of course it would be him. So close to our success, he had to come and complicate things. And at two in the morning no less—he knew me far too well to know that I'd be sitting here, awake as ever. I didn't even turn around. I would never give him that satisfaction.

"Nadir." My words were calm, but terse with a touch of coldness. I would have told him that I was unaware of his presence of Paris, but we both knew we kept tabs on each other.

"Erik."

"I reserve that name for friends," I responded quickly, turning only my eyes towards the door where he stood, shoulders squared-off as if preparing for a fight.

"What shall I call you then?" he prompted, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

"I would like you to leave." It took all my control not the grip the armchair in abject exasperation. Must appear as collected as possible.

"You did not even ask how I managed to find you or gain entrance to your home," he mused, crossing his arms with feigned informality.

"If you want to insult your own intelligence, go right ahead. I wasn't about to," I snapped, pressing my lips together with impatience.

"Come now, can you not acknowledge an old companion?"

"That depends on why you're here."

I finally turned my head and looked at him with narrowed eyes. There was a long pause and I knew I had struck a chord in that malleable heart of his. Yes, he was not here to casually catch up or share a cup of tea, but for other business. Less pleasant business.

"You have caught me, old friend." With a strained smile, the Daroga stepped farther into the room, waiting for me to offer him a chair near me. When I didn't, he reluctantly seated himself and let out a troubled sigh. "You have been up to some mischief, Erik."

"Do not come into my home and treat me like a child, Daroga," I warned, fury pumping through my veins momentarily. "Say what you need to say and kindly take your leave."

He was not taken aback for he was quite used to my demeanor, but he did take another moment to collect himself before trekking on.

"Very well. Christine Daaé. I presume you know her." He watched me for a reaction and I gave him none.

"The seamstress, yes?" I asked innocently.

"You said you would not insult my intelligence, Erik. Do not play these games," Nadir cautioned, irritation lacing his voice.

"No need to get touchy—besides, I don't play games, old friend," I told him with sickly sweetness, a wry smile spreading underneath my mask.

He took another moment, this time to gather his aggravation. I watched as he stared down at the rug for several seconds, and I was unafraid to meet his eyes as he brought them back up. "Raoul de Chagny came to me, Erik. When he told me of a phantom menacing an Opera, stealing away blind girls and teaching them to be Prima Donnas... Mon Dieu, Destler, this has your name written all over it."

A genuine smile almost crossed my face—almost. I stood up quickly, crossing the room to inspect an arbitrary painting in order to hide my delight. "Yes, well, you've caught me. Only on the first part, though. Do you think I have nothing better to do with my time than kidnap young stagehands?"

I heard Nadir stand up as well, though he didn't make a move towards me. "No, in fact, I don't." He clearly wasn't having as much fun as I was.

I turned around rapidly, spreading my arms boastingly with a wide grin. "Well, my friend, it is opening day! What can be done now? The past is the past, as we say, and the show must go on. What happened to Carlotta was unfortunate, but we were lucky to find young Christine so miraculo—…"

"Stop it," Nadir hissed, moving towards me. "Your twisted schemes are ruining people's lives. You dare lie to me and sing this ridiculous tune and hope that I'll turn my back? I know where you live! I can bring anyone and everyone here and end this charade before dawn! Kidnapping girls, Erik! Blind girls! Did you rape her as well?"

"I did not touch her," I roared suddenly and he instantly grew silent, though I could see the venom swimming in his eyes. My rage diminished as quickly as it had flared and I suddenly couldn't meet his eyes. "My god, Nadir, do you think so little of me?" My voice shook and I had to turn away once more. "My Christine… I couldn't…" I broke off, unable to continue. He didn't say anything for a moment, and I could all but hear the cogs turning in his mind.

"You love her." I closed my eyes at his words, unsure if it stung or comforted me to hear someone else say it. Still, I could not bear to hear the discomfited pain in his voice.

"Did you come here to pity me?" I retorted, hating the weakness in my own voice. "I don't need pity! God, I hate that word!"

"Erik, you cannot just drag her down here and hope that she'll reciprocate your feelings," he said softly, and I brushed passed him, moving back towards my chair.

"She's not here now is she? Go on, search my rooms. She's in her own room, safe and sound, and probably dreaming of that damn fop…" I grumbled, sinking into my seat sullenly.

"He's not going to stop until he finds you," Nadir murmured with regret. "He's madly in love with the girl and he's convinced you're driving her away from him. He's calling you a depraved—…"

"Yes, yes, I've heard the names. Thank you very much, Daroga, if you'd please leave me to my depraved insanity."

It came out harsher than I had intended, but I nonetheless heard him slowly move towards the door. His footsteps stopped as he reached the jamb, though I didn't turn to him as he spoke nearly inaudibly.

"The girl…She's blind?" My stillness was enough for an affirmation for him to continue. "You've heard of the surgery, then."

The breath constricted in my throat for a moment, and with a slow breath out I looked back up to him. "Yes."

Nothing more needed to be said, though we remained like this for a moment, our silence speaking more than our words ever could. Finally, unable to continue, I looked at the ground and heard him move out. He wouldn't betray me. At least not yet. Despite this security, I wrenched my mask from my face and let my head fall into my hands. And without missing a beat, I began to cry.


They hadn't spoken since they were interrupted by Raoul, but Christine could feel his presence everywhere she went that day. From the moment she woke up, she could feel him urging her on assuring her of her imminent success. Without words, he calmed her as she was whisked from the stage to her dressing room, from the green room to the wings, from the wig room to The House. How odd it was to have last minute alterations done by Isabelle and Cecile; her desire to pick up a thread and needle to assist them had never been so pronounced. But it was excitement, not resentment, that was buzzing through the Opera House, and for that she was immensely thankful.

What was even more interesting was that suddenly, everyone felt the need to help her around the theatre; she was constantly linked arms with a ballerina, or perhaps led by a stagehand with a gentle hand on her shoulder. She found this rather amusing, naturally—of course they didn't realize that she had gotten around with little to no help for years—but she allowed them to assist her nonetheless.

And as expected, Meg was within earshot more often than not, ready to make the requests that Christine was to modest to make.

"I know how the Prima Donna is supposed to be treated," she had said that morning. "I'm just making sure they don't cut any corners for you."

Things had somehow repaired themselves with Meg, in that inexplicable way friendships often do in times of stress. And much to her relief, Meg chose not to mention her Angel or the ghost again after that initial rehearsal, conscious of the fact that it would only upset Christine.

Knowing it would be unwise to broach the subject, though, she had to find another way to escape Meg's watchful gaze, if only for a few minutes. She had no idea what exactly drove her towards this desire to see her Angel—no, she could not call him that anymore—but when her makeup and hair had been finished and she was safely in her costume, she asked for a moment to herself.

"Would you like us to leave?" Meg asked, standing up and preparing to usher Christine's dressers out.

"No, no," Christine assured, standing up and smoothing out the front of her dress. "I'm just going to take a walk."

"Of course."

It was an odd feeling to move through the bustling Opera House on her own in such extravagant attire. Despite the Egyptian style of dress, it was no less than decadent. She may have been unable to see the dress, but her other senses were nevertheless overwhelmed by the intricacy of the dress. To feel the velvet exterior, the long plaits extending from her hips to the ground, the metal rings on her upperarms, the beading that she had begun and someone else had finished…It was unreal. Something out of a dream, truly.

"Ten minutes until places, Mademoiselle Daaé," she heard the Assistant Stage Manager say as he rushed passed her. Her stomach flipped and she moved her fingers delicately to the wall, feeling the concrete brush against the pads of her fingers and scrape ever so slightly under her pristinely manicured nails. She knew these halls, and she knew how to find her way back to that abandoned dressing room.

She could never fathom how he seemed to be in all places at once, for as she entered the room, she could feel his presence. Yes, he was there, bodily, waiting for her. Closing the door behind her, she waited motionlessly for him to say something, but when he did not oblige, she swallowed and fingered one of the soft braids on her costume.

"I wanted to thank you," she remarked softly, staring straight ahead with what she knew were blank eyes.

"Yes," he responded. He was nearer than she thought—only a few feet away in fact, rather than hidden resolutely in a corner.

"We both know the only reason I'm about to go on stage is you."

"Don't give me too much credit, Mademoiselle." She could hear the faint smile on his lips, and she returned it with one of her own.

"But you deserve as much," she insisted, dropping the braid without a second thought. "I was nothing when you found me. And now…"

"And now you are a Prima Donna, Miss Daaé."

"Please, please call me Christine," she urged, her words almost overlapping the end of his sentence.

"Christine…" It was as if he was tasting a word he had long since forgotten, recalling how the mouth formed each sound.

"Will you take my hand?" she requested timidly, holding out her hand into the abyss in front of her eyes. She didn't hear the footsteps as he moved towards her, but she felt his gloved fingers tenderly wrap themselves around hers. "I would like to continue taking lessons with you. I would like to…Come back…" She couldn't recall when she had begun to shake, but she felt her fingers tremble in his.

"And Monsieur de Chagny?"

Her mind raced, only realizing a fraction of the inevitable finality that would reside in her words; she could only see the first steps down the shadowed path that she was about to venture down.

"He did not get me here," she began with a whisper. "He did not believe in me."

It was like something out of body and mind. Her mind couldn't grasp where these decisions were coming from, or how she could possibly push away the safety of Raoul for the danger that stood in front of her.

"No, he did not," was his pleased answer. "But for your obedience…" He paused, rethinking his words for a moment. "For your loyalty, I will allow you to remain companions, if only to ensure that he will make no more trouble for me. As long as you understand the consequences if you should choose to betray—…"

"Yes, yes," she said hastily, though confusion was written clearly on her face. Perhaps something had happened that she was not aware of, for Raoul's friendship was never something he would have allowed before.

"Very well," he said before she could think about it any further, and he brought her hand up to his lips, kissing it with a feather-light touch. "Now, my Prima Donna, it is time for you to make your way back stage before someone comes to find you worriedly." He let go of her hand and released a long breath. "Dazzle them, my song bird."

Tears were welling up in her eyes as she moved back towards the door, though she stopped as she reached for the knob.

"What may I call you?" she enquired slowly, her heart rate accelerating as she did.

"Erik," he said after a pause. "You may call me Erik."

"Erik…" she mouthed, before turning the knob and opening the door. "Thank you, Erik," she said to the room, and exited to the hallway. Now was the moment to forget the blocking, to forget the rehearsals, to forget the sitzprobe; now was the time to bring nearly two thousand patrons of the Palais Garnier to their feet. She moved her hand up to the cement wall, treading towards the stage left entrance with her head held high.

Steady n—…No. I am steady.


Remember me? Yes, it's been quite a while since I've written, but several things have inspired me recently, really motivating me to get a new chapter out. I think one of the reasons it was so hard for me to write this was because this was the chapter where I had to steer it in a definite new direction, and I had to choose a path which Christine would take. With what seems like a lifetime of debating, I finally discovered a happy medium that left room for lots of lovely tension. I hope that you all enjoyed this chapter, and please feel free to send me a PM if you have any questions! As always, I greatly appreciate any reviews, so please don't hesitate to let me know what you think!

Until next time,

Christine