Btw, AriesSolar, please don't hurt yourself. (^)^;;
Christine:
It felt as if an army of butterflies was flying around in my stomach as I waited for my cue. I was rather shocked when the audience had reacted positively when the managers had announced the change in roles. This had all been planned out, and I'm afraid to say that I too was one of the conspirators.
The managerial duo had, after many long days, persuaded Mlle DeVan into playing a supporting role and, after an even longer time period, convinced me into playing Marguerite. It wasn't to be announced that the cast had been changed so as to still bring in Julia's fans (however few in number they were) and let gossip do its work. Of course, I already knew that they weren't announcing my return because of the events that had happened when I was last on the stage. Quite a clever plan, actually; that is, it would work wonders if I did well that night. Even I, myself, had doubted my ability during the agonizing time backstage. It felt as if ages had passed since the last time that I had sung on stage, though it had only been months.
What if my voice cracks? I thought as I wrung my hands apprehensively. I'd die of embarrassment if I forgot my lines! What if he became ashamed of me? If I made a mistake, would he forgive me?. . .
Too soon it seemed that my time had arrived, and I walked onto the stage; the butterflies suddenly felt as if they had turned into bees. For a split second, I hesitated and my lines suddenly escaped my mind. I glanced out towards the audience and the glow of something white caught my eye.
It came from Box Five.
And at that moment all my fears disappeared as I began to sing. I ignored everything else and only concentrated on singing to my protector; my friend; my love. The music washed over me, filling my throat in that familiar way. I was no longer Christine - innocent, daft Christine. I became Marguerite and completely lost myself in the role. I imagined that I was simply singing to Erik in my dressing room and I could feel his gentle influence guiding me. My Angel. . .
The audience suddenly erupted. I snapped back into myself as I was taking my bows; I had no idea how I had gotten there and relief flooded over me as I realized that I had finished. The auditorium was filled with resounding applause. People began to stand, catching me off-guard, and soon everyone was on their feet. I felt my cheeks turn red, my lips going into a wide grin. Tears fell from my eyes and I soon wavered, being caught by unseen hands. All the time I looked up into the boxes. And for a short time, I thought I could see a tall, enigmatic form standing in the shadows of the fifth box - standing and clapping.
That had been too much, and I remember everything disappearing into blackness.
I awoke in my dressing room to hear my name being called out. I looked around numbly at the ballet-girls and, to my surprise, well-dressed young men. I smiled at the doctor weakly while I rubbed by temple. After a word or two, he was satisfied with my health and ushered everyone out of the room, closing the door behind him. I stayed on the divan a few moments longer, reveling in the silence as my mind settled itself slowly.
As I sat-up, I saw that various groups of floral arrangements had been left around the room, filling it with a sweet smell that made me dizzy. There were so many flowers of different size and shape, and for some time I was mesmerized by the rainbow of colors that dazzled my eyes. Despite myself, I laughed quietly in happiness.
"Christine!" Meg's muffled voice called through the door. "Christine, are you in there?"
I opened the door for her and she hugged me tightly. "You were wonderful tonight!" she exclaimed, and we were soon giggling like we once had when we were both in the ballet chorus. "Julia was absolutely infuriated when the audience gave you that standing ovation - you should have seen her!"
Meg helped me take off the thick stage make-up at the vanity table and she told me of all the suitors that had suddenly rushed into my dressing room. "They were all fops," she said jokingly and her grin was contagious. "When they found that you hadn't woken up after five minutes, they started chasing after the ballet chorus."
She abruptly became subdued when I put my hair down, shaking out my curls in a most unlady-like manner. As I watched her beside me in the vanity mirror, her hand touched a single, crimson red rose on the table, just barely blooming from its bud; the flower had been de-thorned by a skillful hand. Attached to the stem by a black silk ribbon was an envelope addressed "To Christine, from your Angel" in red ink and a labored hand.
"Christine. . ." she said with a touch of alarm, instantly recognizing the handwriting; obviously she had reached the same conclusion as I, but she was reacting in a much different way than I was.
I could see the shadow of fear in her eyes and I took the flower from her with a shaking hand. "It's all right," I assured her, my voice wavering as a flood of giddiness washed over me. "Really, Meg, I swear, it's all right." When she seemed unconvinced, I opened the envelope in front of her, savoring the mild scent of sandalwood that wafted from the paper. I started reading the brief letter aloud as she read it over my shoulder.
"Dear Christine,
You were exquisite tonight. Why didn't you tell me you were singing the lead? I'm proud of you, and I am very happy to say that I am your tutor.
I assume that you will be exhausted by your performance and you would most definitely require rest - you most certainly deserved it.
The angels wept tonight,
Erik, your Angel of Music"
I was vaguely aware of the grin that had found itself on my lips; though the letter was short, that did not keep me from swimming in the ocean of joy that his praise always left me in. I giggled softly, to Meg's surprise, and she eyed me strangely. She snatched the paper from my hands, provoking a cry of astonishment from me. She flipped it over as I tried to get it back, but her voice froze me when she read:
"I will be on the banks of the lake if you need me - you should know the way."
She handed the letter back to me and pointed at the sentence on the back of the paper. I stared at the note incredulously, dropping it back onto the vanity. A vast myriad of emotions paraded through me that I can not, even now, account for; in fact, most of the feelings that I had felt in that moment I couldn't even name! When I regained my bearings, I examined the sentence carefully. It seemed as if it had been written reluctantly, the letters looking as if they had been penned with a sort of stabbing movement. Indeed, the writing was just barely noticeable - had Meg not been paying such close attention, surely it would have slipped past my eyes. The small words had not been intended for me to read; but there they were, nonetheless, and had, most definitely, been read.
"Christine, will you answer something for me?" Meg asked warily, refolding the note scrupulously for me and placing it back in its envelope. "Why exactly are you back at the opera house? And don't lie to me." I began staring at my hands in my lap as she watched me suspiciously. She suddenly gasped in understanding and took a step back.
"Don't tell me. . . Christine, you can't be. . . you aren't. . ."
I turned to look at her beseechingly. "Meg, please don't tell anyone. I mean it - don't tell anyone. . ."
Meg nodded slowly, biting her lip for a brief second. She began whispering urgently, "But Christine. . . why? He's a murderer! He killed Buquet and Piangi. . ."
"I know," I said mournfully. "But that doesn't matter to me. . . I just do. I don't know why, but - no, I do know why. Meg, he has the most beautiful soul I've ever seen, and the fact that he may have done some bad things in the past doesn't change that. And it doesn't change the fact that I lo-"
A rap at the door distracted me from my doubts and I opened the door to greet my visitor. I was fully expecting it to be Madame Giry to collect Meg.
"Well," he said lightly, his voice surprising me, "it doesn't quite look like I'm welcome tonight; am I, Christine?"
As realization struck me, I laughed while we hugged for a moment. "Raoul!" I exclaimed softly. "I didn't know you were here!"
He bowed low, as if I was royalty, and said with theatric formality, "I made a promise, did I not? I said I would reserve a box so that I could see you after every performance. And a Chagny always keeps his word." Raoul took my hand and brushed his lips against my fingers. He straightened and glanced around the room with a gesture. "I see you have a few admirers," he joked.
"That would have to be the greatest understatement I've ever heard." I smiled as I stepped aside, offering him a seat on the divan. He sat down a plucked a note attached to one of the more ostentatious of the flowers. "Hello - Meg, is it?"
Meg nodded and giggled nervously, blushing as she gave him a timid wave. "I'll leave you two alone," she murmured. She discreetly replacing the rose on the vanity behind another floral arrangement as she left the room.
"Dear Miss Christine Daae," Raoul intoned unexpectedly as he read the letter aloud, taking on the air of one of the many love-sick men young men who frequented the opera. "After to-night, I fear you have made-off with my heart! I love you with all my soul. And it's signed, Your future husband. No other name, I notice."
We both laughed a bit loudly at that point, though it seemed mean-spirited to do so. After that, we lapsed into the usual pleasantries from health to weather. It felt as if nothing had changed since our childhood - when we were simply very good friends and nothing more.
"What was that? I'm sorry, Raoul, I was distracted. . ."
"I asked," he repeated kindly, standing and bowing in one rather graceful movement, "if you would give me the honour of taking you out to a late dinner? That is, if you aren't tired. If you remember," he chided jokingly, a shadow of sadness finding its way into his voice, "you promised me that you would see me once in a while. . ."
"Oh, of course - I'd love to. If it's no trouble."
He placed my cloak around my shoulders, offering me an arm, and escorted me out.
"And it doesn't change the fact that I lo-"
Raoul suddenly became miserable at that point as he listened to their conversation outside the door. Before she could go on, he knocked loudly on the door, if not a tad bit too obnoxiously. He put on the biggest smile he could when she opened the door for him, using his almost boyish charm. No, Christine could never see him sad - if she did, then she too would share his sorrow. And that would only prove to worsen his demeanor.
He was irrationally triumphant as he whisked her away from her dressing room; there was a sort of poetic justice in that. He was taking her away from the Phantom's realm of darkness - in much the same way that the Phantom had taken Christine from Raoul's world of light.
I win this round, Phantom, Raoul thought victoriously, I win this round. . .
It was hours that Erik waited on the bank of the lake, but it felt like thousands of years to him. With every passing moment came another pang of morose. Why am I still waiting? he mused, standing as still as a statue, staring out across the placid lake. The odd blue light from the waters danced across his mask, causing it to glow ethereally. His hand was raised and he let his mind wander off as the blue glow played on his long, tapered fingers.
He remembered once having touched her face with those fingers. . . A ghost of a smile found itself on his lips as he remembered his first and last moment of bliss - a moment he wasn't sure that he deserved. All he wanted was a normal existence; all he wanted was to be liked and accepted for himself, despite the mask and the deformity it hid. All of his life, the only thing he truly wanted was to be loved. . .
Erik's jaw muscles tightened as he ground his teeth together, cursing his emotional weakness. He crouched down and submerged his hand into the icy cold water; fixedly he watched as blood curled in tendrils. Apparently, he thought distantly, he had dug his nails into his palms more forcefully than he had presumed.
He sighed aloud - a sigh so full of melancholy and pain that it would have brought even the most cold of men to tears - and dried his hand on his pant leg, pulling a white glove over his fingers. With a sort of meek optimism, he glanced behind in hopes of seeing her coming nearer. His gold eyes pierced through the darkness, but he wasn't surprised when he saw nothing there. He pulled out a pocket watch and, seeing how late it was, gave up any childish dreams he had. Resignedly he sat down in the small boat for a few moments, unable to motivate himself to begin the journey home.
Erik stood slowly and took the paddle in hand. The boat moved slowly as he rowed with relatively feeble strokes. She hadn't come, and though it didn't shock him, it still hurt to think of it. She simply hadn't come, and, like many times before, he was forced to make the trip home in solitude.
No matter what he did, he realized ruefully, his music and his voice could not fill that dark void.