Dear Journal,
When I think of the childish joy I felt only two days ago when I first saw Raoul, it makes me want to both shudder and laugh. To think, I thought I was as good as rescued… that my redeemer had come.
Tonight was the gala for the opera patrons. I was to sing selections from Faust in Carlotta's place.
"Who is that?" whispered a woman's voice--a stage whisper, really--just loud enough for everyone to hear..
"That is Christine Daae," replied another in the same pseudo-soft style of voice. "She is the chorus girl who is determined to upstage La Carlotta!"
"Really? A chorus girl?"
"Oh yes, she has been trying to steal the spotlight since she arrived."
"What nerve! Look, she's about to sing… lets see what a fool she makes of herself!"
At that point a certain viscount had heard the rude attack on his childhood friend and shot the offensive women an angry glare that instantly stopped the distasteful gossip.
Speaking of which, Carlotta and her ugly little friends seem to be blaming me for Carlotta's sudden bout of severe bronchitis. At some point, the idea of making so many enemies would have been upsetting to me. But, now I have too much on my mind to trouble myself with their petty cruelty.
"Are you ready, my dear?" the Voice asked gently.
"Yes, Angel. I think so. Just a little nervous."
He chuckled softly, not the chilling sound she had remembered from a few days ago. She was surprised how genuinely pleasant his laugh could be. It was as if all thoughts of her supposed betrayal had been wiped from his memory. Her strange angel was back… the gentle, caring teacher that had been her only friend all these months. Be careful, Christine. Don't forget what he is.
"Don't be, child. You are more than ready. Tonight you will finally reveal all your hard work and training to the world. Everyone will love you." I love you…
She blushed, honestly flattered by his praise. He offered it so rarely that, even now, she was happy to know she had pleased him. Watch it… he is dangerous. Is he? Is he really dangerous? Has he ever done anything to hurt you? No… but what about Joseph? What about him?… he is just missing--who knows what that could mean. Stop speculating.
"Did you get the gift I left you?"
Quickly looking around the room, she spotted a red rose on her vanity.
"Oh, Angel, it's lovely!" she said, picking it up and breathing in its fragrance.
The act was infinitely endearing to the Voice--that she would be so pleased by a rose when other women would demand jewels and gold. However, tonight… the night of her debut, the night of his triumph… tonight she deserved more than flowers.
"I'm glad it pleases you, dear child, but I meant the box beside the flower."
It was then that she noticed the small black velvet box that had been sitting beside the rose on the table. She opened up and her eyes widened in disbelief.
Inside was a beautiful pearl necklace. It was a simple design, but something about its simplicity made it all the more lovely. In the center there lay two diamonds that flanked the most stunning sapphire Christine had ever laid eyes on. The size of the jewel, though impressive, was not what drew her attention; rather, it was the color. The gem was of a deep blue so radiant that it almost looked unnatural. It matched her gown perfectly and brought out the color of her eyes.
With a look of wonder on her rosy face, she clasped the necklace around her neck. If she had been listening, she would have heard the faint groan from behind the mirror as her hand lingered on the graceful curve where her swanlike neck met her ivory shoulder.
"It's beautiful, Angel," she whispered, "I don't know what to say" He can't be all bad. I know he is unstable and jealous. I know he stalked me, pretended to be the Angel of Music. But he has also been so kind to me, given me so much… he gave me my voice… he gave me friendship… and now this.
It is not nearly as beautiful as you, my darling Christine. "Think nothing of it, my dear. Now, I think you had better go… I wouldn't want you to be late for your big moment."
"Thank you," she murmured, smiling softly, and turned to leave. Mamma said he is in love with me. Is it true? The notion is not as repulsive to me as I thought it would be. I cannot love him as an angel--he is no angel. But, could I care for him as a man?
As an afterthought, she turned back into the room and picked the rose back up from the vanity. She pulled off the black silk ribbon from the thornless stem and tied it into her hair. Then, blushing and smiling bashfully, she turned and flitted out the door.
As her teacher watched this, he could barely contain his emotion. That simple gesture of affection was enough to make him feel as if his heart would burst in his chest. He had known more happiness in that one moment than he had in all of his forty years combined. A single tear escaped and fell down his face behind his mask. My Christine!
But, I digress--perhaps because the thought of what I am about to write leaves such a bitter taste in my mouth than I feel sick.
Christine was to sing one song in the first half of the evening, and two in the second. Her first song went through without a hitch. From the look on the faces of the audience, she could see how surprised and impressed they were. She felt a swell of pride deep inside her--a feeling she had not felt in some time. Still, she could not help wondering if the Voice was somewhere near. Was he listening? Did he approve?
Briefly, she glanced up to the box seats where she saw Raoul and his brother, Philippe, watching attentively. She remembered that she had to talk to Raoul later that evening. Even if the Voice was as harmless as she hoped--or wished--he was, it was still a disturbing situation she was in (after all, it's not every day that a woman meets and takes lessons from a disembodied voice!) and she still thought she would do well to discuss it with another rational human being.
The gala began well enough. It wasn't until the intermission that the horror began.
She sat in front of the mirror, touching up the light makeup on her face and sipping a cup of weak tea. Beside her, little girls from the ballet school stood adoringly, happily chattering away about the evening… the clothes, the lights… it was all a wonder to the little children.
In another corner of the large room, a group of women--likely Carlotta's friends--gossiped and whispered about Christine and her performance… occasionally shooting a glare or sneer in her direction. Christine ignored them, choosing instead to focus her attention on the little girls, occasionally indulging them with a nod or small comment here and there, though they were perfectly content to continue their talk with little to no encouragement.
All this came to a grinding halt, however, when Little Giry and her obnoxious crew of ballerinas burst through the doors. Why do they do that? Christine wondered, as amused as she was annoyed.
"Buquet is dead!" the gasped.
Christine dropped her tea.
Joseph was found dead. One of the stage hands found him behind one of the sets, hung by the neck. I later found out, by the authorites, that he had likely been there for several days before he was found.
I desperately want to think of some excuse for this--that it was a freak accident or that he committed suicide. But deep inside I know that He is the one to do this. This was a warning. The Voice wants me to know that I belong to him. The concept sickens me as much as it frightens me.
It is no wonder that the rest of the even was difficult.
When Christine came on stage for her last two songs, Raoul noted--even from his box--how pale she looked. But then, when she opened her mouth, all thoughts and worry disappeared and all focus directed to the otherworldly music she created with her voice. There was more emotion poured into that song than Raoul (and, judging by the gasps in the house, the rest of the audience as well) had ever witnessed from the stage before. At the end of her last song, grown men--even respectable noble men such as Philippe de Chagny--wept and sighed.
It was then that she collapsed.
I fainted. I never faint. I always figured it was something women faked for attention. It is possible though… and I did it. If the situation were different, I don't know if I would be more embarrassed or shocked or amused. As it stands, though, I have been on an fierce emotional ride--going from nervous, to excited, to the heights of absolute joy, to shock, horror and despair. I think that the soul can only withstand so much before the body gives up.
I realized that I must not see Raoul after all. I cannot risk his safety with this man. He is too dear to me for that. So, when I was back in my dressing room (I had to be carried and, when I awoke there was a doctor and two nurses by my side as well as a dozen other concerned bystanders), I denied his request to see me.
Raoul burst through the door of Christine's dressing room, shooing out all the well-wishers and spectators.
"Everyone must leave! There is barely any room to breathe in here!"
He looked toward the doctor, who nodded in silent permission to speak with his patient.
I even went so far as to pretend not to know him.
"Who are you, monsieur?"
The boy looked perplexed and not a little hurt. She must know me… I saw her smile at me from the stage!
"Mademoiselle, do you not remember the little boy who ran into the sea to fetch your scarf?"
She laughed lightly and flicked her wrist in a dismissive gesture.
Attempting her most snobbish voice, she replied, "Sir, I'm sure I don't know what you mean. But I do know that you are in my dressing-room uninvited and I am in no condition to entertain visitors."
Oh, how it killed me to hurt him like that! I could see the pain in his eyes! He loves me, I can see that. But, I also know that, above all else, Raoul is a gentleman and he would never pursue me against my wishes.
She winced at shocked expression on the boy's face, red from hurt and embarrassment and resisted the desire to collapse, sobbing into his arms. The temptation to unburden all of her struggles into his capable hands was almost too much to endure. I can't bear this. This is too much. I must get him out of here before I crumble.
"Now, if you all don't mind," she said glibly, "I am very tired and I would like to be alone."
As they all made their way toward the door, she overheard the doctor whisper reassuringly to Raoul, "Don't be offended, monsieur, she is not herself today. She is usually so gentle!"
Raoul gave a skeptical glance over his shoulder as he left. Christine did not see, however, that he took up residence just outside her dressing room--his ear pressed to the door.
I wanted nothing more than to be alone just then. I needed to rest my weary mind. The last person I wished to speak to at that point was my teacher. However, the Voice would not be ignored.
"Christine, you must love me!" he said. His voice was commanding, and yet there was such a pitiful, pleading quality about it.
"How can you say that?" she asked, her barely restrained tears evident in her voice, "How can you even think that when I sing only for you!"
She was caught off guard by the truth of that passionate declaration. I do sing only for him! she thought in amazement. It was an odd thought, but she realized that, even when she had all of Paris in tears, her primary concern was whether or not the Voice would be proud. It was a troubling notion… as if he were her greatest antagonist and most revered idol all in one. I suppose he is… she sighed to herself.
After a pause, he spoke again. "Are you very tired?" He was gentler this time… as if soothing a child.
"Oh Angel," she sighed, "I gave you my soul tonight and I am dead!"
"Your soul is a beautiful thing, child, and I thank you. No emperor received so fair a gift. The angels wept tonight."
As he spoke this, he meant every word with all his being. He had been equally moved by her statement and the emotion in her voice. It made his chest swell and his heart break at the same time. My beautiful angel… you love me! But she looks so weary… is she about to cry? Don't cry, my love! Your Angel of Music will protect you. I will never leave you, my darling Christine.
I have abandoned my plan of seeking help. Though I cannot know for sure, I do not think my teacher would hurt me. However, I cannot say the same for any good-intentioned soul who might come to my aid. As frightened as I am, I am not so selfish to risk the lives of others… especially my dear Raoul. I thought that I could ask Raoul for help… but I realize now that I am all alone in this. No… not alone. The Voice is with me. He is always with me… I can never be alone. I know it sounds insane, but it is oddly comforting in a way. It is as if He is the one constant, albeit a terrible one, in my world that seems to be crumbling around me.
How has everything changed so much in so short a time? Will anything ever be as it was? Will I ever see Raoul again? I have so many questions--so many worries. It's remarkable that I can even function. I suppose I'm not the fragile waif everyone thinks I am.
With love,
Christine