Author's Note: All right, here we go, you guys! The gala is underway. The gala is going to comprise of a few chapters, which will be posted over the course of the next week. I love keeping my readers in suspense... *evil laugh* Anyway, as always, I hope you enjoy, and let me know what you think by dropping me a review!
The end of this lesson came quickly. In fact, that entire month seemed to go by in the same fashion. She returned to the academy on Monday, and on campus the days and weeks slipped by in a haze of lessons and preparations, only interrupted by short bursts of lecture, schoolwork, and exams. Somewhere in the middle of the month, Erik's designer paid her a visit at the beginning of their lesson, taking her measurements and asking her more specifically what she liked and did not like. Christine was quite numb to the whole situation, and she answered his questions with a guarded truth that made Erik even more fiercely protective of her emotional state. Even during their lunch, Erik noticed her tense whenever the performance was mentioned, heard her go silent and simply take herself out of the equation. She was clearly terrified of performing for anyone but him, but this was something she needed to outgrow. It was something he must teach her to overcome, lest it ruin his great plans for her.
Christine returned to her grandmother right after her classes ended the Friday before the performance, for she thought it would help to sleep in her own bed and eat breakfast made by her guardian the next day. It did help, a little, but it was nothing against the dread that swelled in her chest like a balloon about to explode. Quite reminiscent of her first weekend home, making her question whether or not any time had passed at all, she was awoken fully by a text from Erik.
"I assume you are staying with your grandmother today. I will be at your home at three o'clock, we will perform vocal warm-ups for an hour, and we will leave by four. I am taking you to a salon, so do not worry about your hair or makeup."
"I'll see you then," was all she could give for a response, as she struggled to eat her pancakes. She normally was starving in the morning, and it concerned Maria to no end when she could barely eat.
"Child, are you feeling alright?" Please, dear God, do not let her be sick.
"Fine, Mamma." From the lack of color in her face and no will to eat, it was very clear to her maternal figure that this was a lie. But, Maria did not argue, knowing this was the last thing that would help at the moment. She simply allowed Christine to return to her bedroom, where it was silent for the next several hours, only punctuated by the light sighs of Christine's shaky breath as she tried to pull herself together.
I can do this, Christine tried to convince herself, in a last ditch attempt to drive the tears away. Dr. Carriere thinks I can do this, so I must be able to, right? At first, this logic seemed quite solid to her, but over the course of the next few minutes there were several chinks discovered in the surface of that armor. She would forget her music, her voice would crack, she would sound awful. There were countless different versions of the same scenario, all overwhelming her at once and clouding her very vision: she would fail. One way or another, by some, predictable reason, something would go wrong, and she would fail. I can't do this. I can't do this. Oh, my goodness, I'm crying…
Mamma grew even more concerned as the hours passed without a sign. No descending down the stairs for something to drink, no requests for something to eat, nothing. Of course, Mamma knew that the best cure for nerves was some space and time, but this became increasingly more difficult the less she heard from her. Eventually, she came to be reassured by the soft pattern of Christine's pacing footsteps, but even those stopped. And what was worse, they seemed to be replaced by stifled crying. That was it, her guardian could take it no more. She was halfway up the stairs when, as if right on time, there was a knock on the door. Thank the Lord, Maria thought as she went to answer it. Perhaps her teacher will talk some sense into her.
As soon as the door was opened, Erik's face drained of color underneath the mask. There was something wrong, he sensed, immediately abandoning propriety and stepping inside. Something wasn't right. And he did not have to wait long to find out what.
"She's… not doing well," Maria warned him, slightly apologetic.
"Is she ill?" His voice was incredibly low, his heart stopping as his greatest fear might be realized. Please, not sick, anything but sick…
"No." Thank God. "But I haven't heard from her all day, I think she's nervous… She hasn't even eaten."
Erik should have predicted this. She has not been herself all week, and it seemed to be getting worse as time moved forward. I should have reassured her more, I should have asked how she was doing… And then, that's when he heard it. His fine-tuned ears caught hold of her voice from upstairs, and he sighed when he heard the sound of panicked, stifled sobbing. He was ripped quickly from the thoughts in his own head, and his only goal now was to get to her as quickly as he could. He did not have much time to get her to something close to stage-ready.
"May I go get her?" Erik asked, once again abandoning his manners. Normally, he would never ask to intrude so greatly into someone's home, especially someone that he had impossibly come to respect. But he had no choice. He felt the same sense of dread rise up in his throat, threatening to cut off his breath and bring him to his knees. And it all stemmed from the doubt of her failure. That had to be dealt with, and quickly.
"Of course," Maria replied softly, choosing to remain at a distance as he scaled the stairs two at a time. If he managed to jolt her from her nervous breakdown, she would be hungry, and wanting tea. And, as always, Mamma would provide her with that gentle comfort.
Erik did not even knock before he opened the door separating him from Christine. Luckily, for both of them, she was decent, and before he noticed her state he was able to catch a glimpse at the rest of the room. The walls were painted ballerina pink, probably reminiscent of the request of the child that lived there years ago. The furniture was dark, polished wood, all matching as part of a set: bedstead, night table, desk, dresser, and bookcase. It was a pretty room, but there was no time to focus on that now. She looked up as she watched him come in, her face going even more white at the realization that her teacher was going to see her cry. Poor thing, from Erik's point of view, she was terrified, and trembling. He had some serious work to do.
Before he said anything, before he addressed her in any way, he began to sing. A lullaby he wrote, never expecting it to be used in any way, but a beautiful melody nonetheless. He did not want to disturb the grandmother, for this was something that she did not need to witness, and so he deliberately threw his voice so that it sounded quietly right next to her ears. His voice was not just enchanting, not just calming… It was intoxicating. With more intensity than ever before, Erik wrapped Christine in the shroud of his voice, strands of gossamer weaving her thoughts seamlessly into an empty sea of calm. Almost immediately, she stopped her crying, and soon the tears ceased to fall down her cheeks at all. She listened, frozen for a few moments, before she felt the overwhelming need to lie down. She did so, leaning against the pillows on her bed as she closed her eyes. She was compelled to listen to the voice for several more minutes, its smooth, consistent rhythm lulling her breathing into a deep, natural pattern. Once he no longer doubted the serenity that now overtook her, he returned her awareness to her. He was still standing in her doorway, like a patient sentinel, waiting until the lucidity returned to her eyes.
"How do you feel?" He asked softly, like the first time he had ever sung to her.
"Better," she breathed, without hesitation. Even with that one word, Erik could easily tell that her tone was still clear as a bell. She was still a little bewildered, after her near-meltdown and the suddenness of his voice, but that faded in a few moments as she continued to breathe. She would be alright, Erik reassured himself.
"Good." His speaking voice, while remaining soft, returned to its authority and command. "Dress in something warm, it doesn't matter what. Come downstairs and eat something, and then we will sing. Breathe, Christine." And with that, he left her, descending the stairs before Maria had the mind to be worried. The old woman, who was already preparing something to eat for her child, bless her, confided her fears in Erik, who reassured her with patience and civility. This day was going to go as planned, under his control. And there was nothing that anyone could do about it.
To the relief of both her guardian and her teacher, Christine soon descended the stairs, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a knit sweater. It was not the most fashion-forward of choices, but she was warm and cozy, which helped her to relax. She thanked her Mamma dearly for lunch, taking a grateful sip of her tea before she started to eat.
"Child, are you feeling better?" She asked with concern, leaning over the counter to catch Christine's eye.
"Much better, Mamma," Christine assured her guardian, a small smile pulling at her lips. "I'm fine, I just… forgot myself."
"Well, there is no use in doing anything on an empty stomach," Maria replied happily, breathing a sigh of relief when her granddaughter even looked better. Still visibly shaken, but better. "Eat, before you do anything else. And finish your tea, it will help your throat. It's licorice, if you haven't noticed."
"Perfect," Erik commended Maria's efforts nonchalantly, leaning against the doorway to the kitchen. "Once you are done, Christine, I need to start warming you up."
She nodded, and before long, she swallowed the last of her sandwich, clearing her throat with the last of her hot tea. Once she had eaten, she felt infinitely better, and with almost natural step she followed Erik to the piano. It was her first time singing that day, and Erik listened with terrifying attentiveness to the accuracy and quality of her pitch. His instructions to her were barely a whisper, low and intense, and he was pleased to find that she obeyed his corrections without hesitation. Now that she was calm and focused, her voice could settle into its new technique and beauty. After some adjustment and time, she sounded gorgeous, and he was quite satisfied.
"Excellent." Praise of this caliber was almost nonexistent from him, and she allowed it to signal the end of her singing for now. "You sound wonderful, Christine. Now, we must be going."
Suddenly, a pair of arms closed around Christine, and a pair of lips pressed kisses to her forehead. It was her grandmother, hoping to give her a good send-off.
"Good luck, my child," Maria cooed as she squeezed her grandchild, smiling all the while. "You can do this. When you get back, I want to hear all about it."
"Okay, Mamma." Christine's voice was barely a whisper, rather timid in comparison to her singing just moments before.
She bid her grandmother goodbye, following Erik as he led her firmly out of the front door and into his Mercedes. He did not allow her any room for fear, keeping her strictly under his control and adhering to his carefully planned schedule. He kept the car in a comfortable silence on their drive into the city, and his first stop was the salon he had hired for Christine's preparation. Upon their arrival, Erik gave his keys nonchalantly to the valet driver, having the sense to open Christine's door for her, seeing she was in quite a daze.
If she was truthful, she had never been to somewhere as high-end as this. The salon was near the center of the city, all glass windows and clean white from the outside, it's name engraved in script on the door. Over the past few years, she had taken to cutting her own hair, for all she needed was a trim of the ends every couple of months. And, to her grandmother's disappointment, she never wore makeup. She owned a few items, but they generally sat, abandoned, in the drawer of her dresser, instead looked over in favor of a bare, comfortable face. Christine was a very beautiful girl, but she was also one of practicality.
