"No, dammnit! We have been over this you must feel the notes if you wish to have a prayer of singing them!" Erik shouted at her, growing more enraged with each mistake she made.
"You're not focusing! Do you wish to succeed at all?!"
She cringed under his thundering words. They were true, of course, she was distracted. Ever since Meg had contracted her fatal disease she was distracted. Her every thought was consumed with grief over the loss of her friend, and the few times she was not focused on mourning she was instead thinking about her lovely little nephew. Christine had begun to attend Sunday morning service at the asylum Tyler called home, and would occasionally stop by for Wednesday afternoon service as well.
Her focus was horrible and without a doubt her voice showed it.
"AGAIN!" he boomed and restarted the piano accompaniment.
She cleared her throat and adjusted her posture before singing weakly. She winced when her voice broke on the ascending of a crescendo and resisted the impulse to recoil at her maestro's shouts.
"Are you even trying?" The room seemed to fill with his voice, as though hundreds of him surrounded her and she cowered against the piano.
"Do you think yourself above my teachings now? Are you disgracing your lessons out of spite for me?"
Christine attempted to reply that no, she was not. Erik continued to criticize her, standing up from his piano bench and stalking towards her like a predatory animal. She felt very small in the vast room, crushed under the gaze of her maestro who appeared to tower over her. She could feel the anger radiating off him in waves.
For nearly 6 weeks now Christine had been infected with worry then grief over her friend. The lack of improvement in her voice must have been slowly enraging Erik and now his temper was set aflame.
"Do you have an excuse for me?" He now loomed over her, so close she could feel heat radiating off his being. Without waiting for an answer he continued "No, you don't."
Master Destler seemed to growl at her, spitting the last word like it had a sour taste. "YOU DON'T, DO YOU?"
Christine found her legs, but not her voice, and did the only reasonable thing. She ran. Around her maestro and through the door, across the landing, down the stairs, through the kitchen, finally collapsing on her bed. Her whole body seemed to shake from nerves.
Her maestro's anger had never been directed at her in such ferocity before. In her heart, she felt terribly guilty. She felt guilt over enraging her maestro, the man who had inspired within her soul a deep and unrequited love. She felt guilty over letting her friend die without being able to do a thing other than watch. Her sorrow deepened when the sounds of angry destruction could be heard above her.
Tentatively, Mabel tapped on her door and peeked in. "Christine…?"
The sobbing brunette did not look up from her lap upon hearing her name and Mabel walked into the room, sitting carefully on the mattress.
"Christine, are you alright? Are you hurt…?" the silent 'Did he hurt you?' hung over them.
Christine shook her head and scrubbed tears from her eyes looking up. "Oh- everything is just horrible!" With that, the story of Meg's illness and passing poured forth and it was followed swiftly by tales of little Tyler ("he's such a beautiful child,"). She then confessed to letting her singing deteriorate and explained that such carelessness was the source of Master Destler's rage.
Ruth walked into the room while Christine was brokenly sobbing and Kathleen followed shortly after. They listened quietly and let their friend release all her grief. Tragedy was an infection which poisoned the citizens of New York, and the manor staff cursed the city's toxin for scarring Christine's happiness.
At dinner, Raoul tried his best to tell jokes and lighten the atmosphere. With great effort he managed to elicit a few smiles from Christine after she had calmed. He gave her his roll, since he remembered they were her favorite snack, and he magically produced a foil wrapped sweet which he set on her plate. The sweet chocolate melted on her tongue and she thanked him, feeling the soothing taste numb her emotions slightly.
The next day, Christine braced herself as she rapped lightly on the door to Erik's music office. After waiting a few minutes and receiving no answer, she tapped again. At ten passed five, she hesitantly tried the door and, finding it unlocked, entered. The room was empty with a dead hearth and no sign of her maestro. It did appear as though he had replaced whatever items had been toppled by his rage last night, since most everything was in its correct place, save for several shattered ceramic pieces.
She stepped inside and closed the door behind her, at a loss for what to do. Slowly, she made her way across the room and stood awkwardly by the piano to await her lesson. At half five she was still alone and decided to do her warm up scales alone.
At six o'clock she seated herself in an armchair and continued to wait. By seven her maestro had still not shown up and she exited the room, feeling very confused. The next day he was not there either. Nor the next day, nor the next, nor any day for the following week. Sometimes she would enter the room and find the fresh smell of ink and burning lamp oil still in the air, as though he had only just left.
On the tenth day of his absence, she realized he would not be coming to her lessons any more. She stopped knocking on the door at five o'clock and instead only entered his musical sanctuary to clean.
It was in the final months of summer that a change in Master Khan became evident. Christine had fallen into a routine of cleaning the house and socializing with her friends among the staff. Raoul would accompany her on any errand she was tasked with, teasing and joking with her as much as he could whilst still drawing breath. He became something of a shadow to her, as though he viewed her much more delicately since her breakdown. On Sundays and Wednesdays she would make her pilgrimage to the asylum to visit Tyler and see him take part in the ceremonies.
After months of consistent behavior from Master Khan, he became irritable and rather sluggish. The man would wander the house at odd hours and never seemed entirely present when he was spoken to. Christine observed the strange behavior closely until her concern got the better of her and she caught him while walking through the manor.
"Excuse me, Master Khan?" She murmured quietly, still managing to get his attention.
"…Hmmm oh, yes child?" He took a moment to respond, seeming to look through her before his eyes focused.
She looked at the dust rag she was holding and cleared her throat "I'm worried for you, sir, the whole staff is. You are not acting like yourself."
"Oh it's nothing to be worried about. I'm perfectly fine."
"Sir, I do not mean to intrude, but I know of your addiction and I've seen these effects in other men before."
He was quiet, seemingly at a loss of what to say. After a few moments he released a heavy sigh and his shoulders slouched forward "Yes… I suppose it is taking its toll."
"Please, stop going to that place, your condition will only worsen with more use of the drug."
He shook his head slowly "I cannot child."
Nadir held up a hand to calm her protests "I have tried in the past. But the withdrawal is very violent and I always succumb." His expression turns haunted "Days without it turn to nightmares."
Christine felt a pang of sympathy for the dark skinned man. "Will you at least try to lessen your visits?"
He smoothed his hand over his hair in a gesture quite similar to Erik's, and Christine wondered if her maestro had rubbed off on Nadir. "Very well," he agreed.
"But, only on the condition that you audition at our theater. I've heard you sing and I'm sure you could secure a roll."
Christine looked down "I would rather be hired for my talent, not because the patron recommends me."
"I won't speak a word!" He assures her, smiling happily "Just arrive and audition, I shall pretend to never have met you."
Nervously, Christine accepted his compromise, and he informed her that the auditions for the fall season were taking place that week, ending on Friday. He swiftly strode off, humming a silly tune to himself and Christine was left alone. This week? She would have to practice. Not only that, she would need to discover what the audition song was! What if she didn't know it? A week was hardly enough time to learn a song to its perfection.
"Ruth! I got a part, I'm now officially a lady of the opera!"
Christine ran into the kitchen and hugged the motherly woman who returned the embrace. The audition had run rather smoothly, and she was happy to say her voice was steady when she sang. At first the conductor had been suspicious, given her status as a novice within the world of opera. But a smug pride infected her as the older man's face lit up in surprise at her skill. He happily applauded her and gave her a chorus role.
The rest of the staff crowded around Christine, begging details from her and even requesting a sample of her voice. After a short demonstration they whooped and cheered (Raoul acting with exceptional vigor), causing her cheeks to flush with heat. She proudly showed them her sheet music and pointed out her parts, explaining what some of the symbols meant and occasionally singing a few bars. She was encouraged to practice while in the house, and could frequently be heard singing while she cleaned.
Christine swiftly memorized her parts and fell in to the favor of the chorus master, who praised her fine singing and eagerness to learn. Every evening she would attend rehearsals at the Palais Garnier for the winter debut of Il Muto. Once Christine knew her parts by heart, she moved on to the rest of the musical numbers, teaching herself to sing the arias reserved for the prima donna. The difficult songs meant for a seasoned soprano proved to be a challenge for her, and she delighted in perfecting the comical tunes. Not only did the songs help to improve her voice, they also served to distract her mind from the absence of her maestro, her maestro.
It didn't matter to Christine that he no longer taught her, that he didn't seem to be able to stand her presence. Her thoughts, ever possessive of the man, would always affectionately call him hers.