"Put the needle through, take it around, put it through again, take it around, and so on." Madame Lywren instructed. She was a teacher at Rose's School for the Unfinished Woman, teaching sewing and tea-class (the art of sipping your tea correctly) to all of the girls who came to the school.
Christine leaned on her desk, elbows on the wood. She was having a ghastly time. She had pricked her finger over five times already, and had to re-do all of the stitching once when she had accidentally knotted the string. She was trying to sew a picture of a duck onto a swatch of cloth- so far she had sewn the bill, the top of the head, and half of the neck.
"Daae, are you having trouble?" Madame Lywren asked, hovering by her desk. She was a relatively young woman, at least in her late twenties, with wavy, slightly graying blonde hair that she kept in a bun. She had odd eyes; they were no distinct color, just 'dark'.
Christine glared up at her teacher, and then relaxed. "Yes, yes I am. I can't sew."
"No, you just haven't learned. Try to stay out by the rim of the duck's outline, and use littler stitches. We have enough string." Madame Lywren smiled vaguely, and then wandered off.
Christine tried doing what the Madame had said. It worked. She began sewing rhythmically, her fingers getting used to pulling and pushing.
Her mind wandered.
Raoul. Where was he? What was he doing? Why had he kissed her? Why had she liked it?
Meg. Would they ever be friends again? It was nother fault that Raoul had… attacked her! If she should be mad at anyone, it should be him!
Erik. Where was he? What was he doing? He had left her that morning, saying he was to intend the opera with the daroga, and would be back on the night of her play.
Juliet. She had gotten the part. How couldn't she after her performance at the theater?
Christine, amazingly, finished her duck as the other girls finished too. She was kept her triumph quiet as she got up a cleaned the scraps of cloth and bits of string off her desk. She then big the Madame farewell, and went to her next class: Horse riding.
The teacher there was Mademoiselle Clancy, a girl barely older then the girls she was teaching; she had tons of freckles and coppery brown hair she kept in a tight ponytail.
Mademoiselle Clancy started pairing up girls with horses.
"Giry, Jaylan."
"D'clare, Ginger."
"Shylee, Cowell."
"Tenar, Isaac."
"Daae, Cesar."
Christine walked slowly over to the giant white stallion, which was digging into the ground with a yellowed gray hoof. He had big brown eyes and a pale blonde mane. "Here… horse-y, horse-y…" Christine clucked her tongue and reached out to pet it, but it scrunched up its neck and snorted, so that she missed.
"Aw… horse-y… horse-y…" Christine took a step forward and stroked the fuzzy muzzle of the stallion. He blinked, and then snorted once more.
"Mounting is simple. Put your foot through the stirrup and then hop on. Make sure you don't kick your horse because these horses do buck. We are going to learn how to ride first, but we'll quickly switch to bareback. Then, if we all are ready, we'll learn sidesaddle, which is defiantly the hardest." Mademoiselle Clancy swung up onto a tiny paint mare and showed the girls each of these three techniques.
"How you all brought breeches, right?" Clancy asked, her eyes shifting over each girl. One girl- Shylee- raised her hand. "I didn't."
"You can barrow some of mine. Everyone put on your breeches and trying mounting while we're going. C'mon, Shylee." The two girls ran off towards a small hut beside the grassy arena. Christine looked at Cesar skeptically.
"Your going to buck me, aren't you?" She asked the horse. It didn't answer. Christine put on the tight breeches, and then she stepped up onto the log that was there to help her, slipped a boot through a stirrup, and then swung onto the horse's back. She almost just swung over the horse, but she caught his mane just in time to stop herself. Cesar jumped, stood on only his hind legs for a second, and then rested peacefully, all four hooves on grass.
"Whew." Christine sighed in relief, and grabbed the reins in her hands. She liked the feel of the soft yet firm leather in her hands, and the way she could feel it when Cesar breathed, his great lungs working beneath her. But, he was too big for her, and having to ride him made her legs stretch.
"Back!" Mademoiselle Clancy called as she climbed over the fence and tumbled back into the grass clearing with Shylee behind her.
"Everyone press slightly against the horse's stomach with your stirrups. This should make them walk."
Christine put the small amount of pressure against Cesar. He began to walk slowly forward, going around the circular arena. The other girls soon joined her, and they became a parade of horses, sunlight gleaming off hair and newly groomed fur.
"Good! You all are great! Now, lets just get used to steering…" Clancy said from her position in the middle of the arena on her tiny paint mare.
Christine tugged on one of the reins. Cesar stopped, and then made a sharp left turn. All of the girls behind her followed suit.
Christine felt a tiny flame grow inside form being the leader. She hadn't been the leader of anything in a long, long time.
If she turned, the others would turn. If she trotted, the others would too. It was exhilarating.
"That's good for today! Daae, Giry, and Shylee, you all have play practice. The rest of you take a break."
Christine dismounted Cesar, patted him, and left him so that Mademoiselle Clancy could tend to him. As she walked towards the big theater, enjoying the fresh air and the blue sky, Shylee caught up with her.
"Your Christine, right?" The girl asked. Christine nodded.
"Are the rumors true?" The girl asked. Christine started to nod, then stopped. "Rumors?" It was her turn to be curious.
"You know… the rumors of you and some man, or you and Raoul, or the one about Raoul proposing to you?"
Christine shook her head quickly. "No! He proposed to Meg!"
"What!"
Oops.
"Raoul proposed to Meg? Meg Giry? When did this happen!"
Christine gulped. She had just burned whatever remained of Meg and hers charred friendship
"Do you promise not to tell?" They were coming up to the vast, square, brown and black theater. The roses painted on the sides were beautiful in the sunlight, she noted for the first time.
"Of course!" Shylee put a hand to her lips and made the motion of zipping them. "I'm just dying of curiosity!"
"Well… okay… I went out with Raoul once, and, well, he didn't have a nice time… so… so I think he's gone into denial."
"Aw. That's so sweet." Shylee opened the door to the big theater, the cool air from inside brushing against their faces.
"It is?" Christine asked, blinking her watery eyes- watery from the wind, of course.
"Yes! He must like you, and he's on the rebound… aw…" Shylee lead Christine down the stairs to the wooden stage, her hands playing with her long, sand-colored ponytail.
Christine sighed sadly. "I'd rather him not like me."
Shylee gasped, her fingers falling limp, letting go of the ponytail. "Why?"
"Because, there is another man. And… I'm pretty much married to him." Christine got onto the stage, loving the way her breeches allowed her to climb and not be dragged down, like a skirt would; she wore the pants underneath the silky bottom of her dress.
"You're engaged?" Shylee's big brown eyes widened. "That's wicked, Christine! Your only, what, fifteen years old?"
"I love him." Christine mumbled. "I don't believe that, you know." Shylee countered, swinging her hips a bit as she walked over to the ground of actors and actresses gathered for their first meeting.
Christine glared. She hadn't had the chance to say anything.
"Okay, Romeo, Juliet, go over there." Madame Giry pointed to one of the sides of the stage. Christine walked over, her heart beating a bit. It would be the first time she had seen Raoul since the incident in the hall.
He looked horrible. His normally rosy complexion was pale, his eyes big and dark, and he trembled slightly. Raoul looked down at Christine, and she could see that he was on the verge of breaking down and sobbing. There were twin dark bags under his eyes, shadows that etched into his once-handsome face.
Raoul seemed like he wanted to say something, but his mouth didn't move.
"Raoul…" Christine whispered as she began to take off her breeches from underneath her dress. Juliet did not wear pants.
He shook his head, though his tired eyes never left her.
"What happened to you?" She asked, leaving the breeches on the floor and stepping closer to him. His shoulders suddenly got rigid, and he took a step back. She saw that he had a bandage wrapped around his shoulder underneath his tunic.
"I'm sorry… I told you that he would hurt you… He… Are you still going to be Romeo?" Christine asked, her hands clutching each other in anxiety. She didn't want to have any other man as her leading man.
"Is that all you care about?" Raoul hissed, not loud enough for the others (Though they were already out of earshot) to hear.
"No! Of course not!" Christine reached out to take his hand, but this time, he jumped backwards.
"You're his servant! Witch! You're a witch! I shouldn't have trusted you… I thought you were so innocent!" Raoul began to take shaking steps away from her, tiny little steps.
"I'm not a wi-" Christine retorted, her voice growing angry.
"Yes you ar-"
Don't you dare call her a witch, Chagny-boy!
Raoul's eyes grew gigantic. It was the voice! Erik was back! He bottled up the scream that had risen up in his throat, and jumped down from the stage, ran up the steps, and fled the theater.
Madame Giry looked at Christine questioningly. "Romeo doesn't come in until the second scene, anyway… Monsieur Lillic, if you would…?"
A broad man with a thick brown mustache and dark brown hair looked up. He had been cast as the king (Madame Rose had imported boys and men from local camps and military schools) and was a bit too old to be Romeo.
"You will do, for today."
Antoinette, I do not think that is necessary
"Erik, please, if he is too old-"
Oh, please. I think I look quite handsome. Don't you think, Christine?
"Y-yes…Erik… charming… you are just… charming…" The words were like molasses in her throat.
"Christine!" Meg's petite body popped out of the crowd, her face creased with fright. "Don't speak to him!"
Please, Meg, this is none of your business
"It is the Opera Ghost!" Meg seemed delighted that her gossip was true; she was not one bit scared for Christine anymore.
"Erik, I guess… I guess if Raoul does not want to be Romeo, then you can. But, if I suspect foul play, then you will be thrown out from this school faster then-"
Thank you, Antoinette, I understand
'Is it possible to throw out Erik?' Christine thought briefly, but her thought was interrupted, just like Madame Giry. Erik slid down from the rafters of the stage, black cape hanging all around him. He jumped down the twenty feet between the beams and the theater's platform, barely making any noise as he landed… just like a shadow.
"You know, Romeo doesn't wear a mask." Madame Giry said as she combed her hair. She knew Erik was near by, for they were having a conversation. It was just after the first practice for the play, and everything had gone wonderfully. Everything except Christine Daae; she had been stiff and not as passionate as before. Shame, really. She had such a pretty little voice.
Maybe he got his face cut up from a sword fight over Rosaline? Erik suggested, deep voice just bubbling up from the air; it didn't seem like the noise came from anywhere.
"Perhaps. Well, Christine Daae is a beautiful young girl. How long did you say you've taken care of her?"
Nine years
"Did she have any other human contact?" Madame Giry thought back too seeing in the paper an ad for a missing girl with curly brown hair and bright green eyes, stolen from the local Orphanage. She hadn't thought anything of it at the time.
My friend, the daroga. Most call him The Persian, though
"Does he have a real name? You could easily be The Parisian- he must have a real name."
No, no. His name is the daroga… from Persia
"That is odd."
The world is odd
"I agree. Well, I predict a wonderful performance in July. I am going to be Madame Capulet, you know. And, I predict we have Raoul as Paris, you know."
So do I
Erik managed to keep the hatred out of his voice.
"Well, please, encourage Christine somehow. I'll take care of Raoul-"
Chagny-boy, Erik growled, losing whatever willpower he had had a second before.
"Yes, I'll take care of Raoul. He'll be Paris and he won't even know it." She placed the comb on the table and then twisted her dark hair into a bun. She inspected the reflection for a moment, and then got up, the chair feet scraping against the floor.
"Well, Erik, it has been nice talking to you."
I agree, Madame
"Good day, Erik."
Good day, Madame
(A/N: When Madame Giry and Erik talk it is fun :D Yes, Erik, you look absolutely charming. I guess no one has figured out the ending, so I will close that little contest. :clucks tongue: Shame, shame. The prize? You would've gotten to name one of Christine's children… shame, shame.
-LL )