Shock.
That was the first thing she felt. Shock, then horror. Shear and utter horror as she stared at the body lying before her behind the curtain backstage.
Denial came soon after. It couldn't be true! It just couldn't be! It was impossible! It had to be her imagination!
Then truth. But it wasn't imaginary. . . was it? That truth that seared a painful path straight through her heart, shattering the small fragments of her life that remained.
The first sob, torn from her throat by Despair's cruel hand. She stumbled forward, falling to her knees beside his body, the body of the only thing that had been left solid in her shattered world.
"No . . . no, no, no." Her voice, ragged from despair, chanted out its denial, even as her hand caressed his cold cheek. "Ubaldo . . . mi amore . . . my darling . . ." She turned away from the body, lashing out at the nearest available person. "Why! Why did you let this happen!" All she could feel was hatred. Pure, unadulterated hatred. What had she done to deserve this! What had HE done! He had done nothing! Only performed in this Opera set up by a wicked Phantom! And still he had paid the price.
Curse them! Curse them all!
She rose to her feet, rage fueling her as she flew at the nearest person who was to blame. The older man took a step back, slightly startled, but mostly guilty. "You! This is your fault! How could you let this happen!" But even before she reached him, all her energy seemed to fail her, and she collapsed onto the ground in hysterical sobs, unable to bear the weight of an incredible burden.
There was no light left for her. It had all been taken away, stolen. For what? For a Phantom, a Vicomte, and a little girl!
Two pairs of arms lifted her to her feet, but she no longer had the strength to stand. She no longer cared, no longer felt the need to be alive, to live.
"Signora Guidicelli . . . we cannot stay here. Come with us."
And she went, knowing that there was nothing left. The great La Carlotta was finally broken, and there are no joys left for a broken woman.