Chapter 4
"Good morning!"
Christine turned, startled. "Oh, Yulia. Hello. You're not usually here this early."
"You appear awfully tired, Daaé. Didn't you sleep well?" Yulia asked sweetly.
Christine sighed. "I've had a great deal to think about, recently."
"Ah…"
The younger woman bit her lip, then asked, "Is there something I can help you with?"
Yulia's face lit up. "No, no, nothing, really…I was just wondering if you could tell M. Erik that I need to speak with him."
"Oh, I—How do you know about Erik?" she demanded in a hushed voiced.
Yulia's face took on a satisfied smirk. "I'm a chorus girl, Daaé! We all know about the Opera Ghost! And it seems you know him very well, indeed."
"Quiet! He'll hear! What do you want?"
"I want you to tell him not to repeat another chandelier incident, or any other destructive activities."
"I haven't spoken to him for quite some time…maybe he's given up…"
"On what?"
"Nothing! Nothing, at all!"
Yulia nodded. "I see. So, what do you do with him in your dressing room?"
Poor Christine turned red. "Mlle. Kazakova! He is—was—merely giving me singing lessons..."
"And you've done very well, recently. Your teacher is to be commended. You hear that, Phantom! Your humble servant is giving you a compliment!"
"Hush!" Christine cried.
"I will, for now. Just be sure there are no more 'accidents'…"
"He won't listen to me! Don't you understand…?"
Yulia collapsed in her dressing room after rehearsal. As she went to organize her music, she noticed a small envelope on her dressing table. She opened it to find a slanted red scrawl:
Mlle. Kazakova,
I am working and do not wished to be disturbed. Hold your tongue or lose your position in this Opera House.
-O.G.
Yulia crumbled the foul note and burned it. "I left home in hope of speaking my mind; am I forbidden that privilege here, as well? Don't let your fixation with Daaé endanger the rest of us, Monsieur!" she shouted.
She sunk to the floor. "Damn you, Monsieur, for what you've done! God damn you!"
"Good morning!"
Christine turned, startled. "Oh, Yulia. Hello. You're not usually here this early."
"You appear awfully tired, Daaé. Didn't you sleep well?" Yulia asked sweetly.
Christine sighed. "I've had a great deal to think about, recently."
"Ah…"
The younger woman bit her lip, then asked, "Is there something I can help you with?"
Yulia's face lit up. "No, no, nothing, really…I was just wondering if you could tell M. Erik that I need to speak with him."
"Oh, I—How do you know about Erik?" she demanded in a hushed voiced.
Yulia's face took on a satisfied smirk. "I'm a chorus girl, Daaé! We all know about the Opera Ghost! And it seems you know him very well, indeed."
"Quiet! He'll hear! What do you want?"
"I want you to tell him not to repeat another chandelier incident, or any other destructive activities."
"I haven't spoken to him for quite some time…maybe he's given up…"
"On what?"
"Nothing! Nothing, at all!"
Yulia nodded. "I see. So, what do you do with him in your dressing room?"
Poor Christine turned red. "Mlle. Kazakova! He is—was—merely giving me singing lessons..."
"And you've done very well, recently. Your teacher is to be commended. You hear that, Phantom! Your humble servant is giving you a compliment!"
"Hush!" Christine cried.
"I will, for now. Just be sure there are no more 'accidents'…"
"He won't listen to me! Don't you understand…?"
Yulia collapsed in her dressing room after rehearsal. As she went to organize her music, she noticed a small envelope on her dressing table. She opened it to find a slanted red scrawl:
Mlle. Kazakova,
I am working and do not wished to be disturbed. Hold your tongue or lose your position in this Opera House.
-O.G.
Yulia crumbled the foul note and burned it. "I left home in hope of speaking my mind; am I forbidden that privilege here, as well? Don't let your fixation with Daaé endanger the rest of us, Monsieur!" she shouted.
She sunk to the floor. "Damn you, Monsieur, for what you've done! God damn you!"