TENACITY

The entrance to the Opera Populaire had been locked for five years. The occasional tourist would peer inside the windows of the theater, hoping to catch a glimpse of the mysterious, infamous Opera Ghost…but all attempts ended in discontent.

Christine expected no miracle. Should she be lucky enough to find a means of entering the opera house and locate a way down into the caves of the theater's hidden passageways, her good fortune would surely end there. With no music to soothe his ears, no audience for which to write his masterpieces, her Angel would have descended into the bottomless Hell of his own mind, and fled from his haven in misery.

The sky had been painted a deep violet, with bursts of orange and pink cresting the horizon. Christine stood before the Opera Populaire, the shadow of her form casting a deep, vibrant blue darkness in front of her. The radiant white nightgown that clothed her mirrored the paleness in her face, her teeth chattering in the chilly Parisian wintriness. The footprints her pearly satin slippers made in the snow were petite and dainty, quickly being covered by the increasing flurries of snow.

The theater itself, which had once been a brilliant golden hue, now was shadowed in gray ashes and black soot. Christine made her way up the stairs, her long nails trailing along the railing, leaving four imprints in the snow beneath her fingertips. She stood before the door, looking up at it, lost in her memories. Her gaze was drawn to the roof…the roof where she and Raoul had declared their love for one another. Christine wrapped her arms around herself, and in her mind, she heard their soft duet of tenderness and devotion in her ear…

"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime…

Say the word and I will follow you.

Share each day with me, each night, each morning…

Love me- that's all I ask of you…"

She became lost in her thoughts, murmuring the words to herself. Then, distinctly, she heard a different voice. Different, but not unrecognized…

"I gave you my music, made your song take flight…

and now, how you've repaid me-

Denied me, and betrayed me…"

Her eyes opened, wide and glassy, her breath catching in her throat. Tears welled up in her eyes. "Oh God…my Angel…" she heard herself whimper, her voice husky and hoarse. Slowly, she reached for the door, her thoughts scattered and disjointed. 'It won't be open…but if he knows…if he wants me to come…he could unlock it…he would… because I know he's there…inside my mind…' She grasped the knob and pulled.

It did not budge.

-

"Are you lost, mademoiselle?"

Christine sat in a huddle at the base of the doors, her head resting on her arms. She looked up at the woman addressing her. Her face could not be seen, her scarf covering her nose and mouth, her eyes hidden in shadows. "Pardon me?" Christine murmured.

"Are you lost?"

Christine paused, glancing up at the angelic statues on the roof. "No, I know where I am."

"Ahh…" the old woman sighed. "But do you know where you are going?" Christine looked up at her curiously. "There are other ways to get inside, you know." The woman extended a long, gloved finger towards the darkened alley behind the theater. "Past the old fountain there is a small gate on the side of the Opera House. It looks as though it would not move, that it is cemented into the wall, but it is not. Pull it towards you, go inside, and continue until you see a winding staircase. Go down. There, you will find what you are looking for."

Christine got to her feet gently, watching the woman in disbelief and wonder. "Thank you, Madame." The old woman nodded, and though her lips could not be seen, Christine could see in her eyes that she was smiling. She turned to leave, when the woman spoke again.

"It might have taken you a long time, but you have made the right decision."

Startled, Christine turned back, but the woman was gone, vanished. In the distance, she heard a mellifluous singing, familiar to her ears. The tune she had heard long ago…

"Those who relinquish all their dreams

find, too late, that without risk, there is no gain…

Christine Daaé, don't lose faith,

For your contentment is now within your reach…"

-

She felt the small stones within the cracks of the road through her slippers and into the soles of her feet, but she paid no attention. Her mind was focused, she saw only one thing before her: the gateway. The small, half-circle iron bars that hid the secret entrance to the Opera Populaire. There.

She stooped down and dropped into the small hole that covered the entry, like a giant-sized windowsill. Clutching the black bars in her small hands, she gave a great tug, using a power she never knew she had. The gate opened easily, and Christine flew back against the corner of the brick wall. Wincing, she rubbed her back and felt a warm, sticky substance on her fingers. Bringing her hand in front of her face, she found her fingertips covered in scarlet blood. Ignoring the sharp pain that seized her lower back, Christine ducked into the entrance and stepped inside. Once inside, she peered around her, not knowing what to expect.

A long candelabra rested on its side in the center of the room, two long white candles lying nearby. The light that shined upon her was a multitude of shades, the colors dancing across her face. And at the far end of the room, a winding stone stairway. She took a few steps towards them, when something made her turn… A large stained-glass window sat magnificently before her, a blonde angel with gleaming wings looking down at her, his hands clasped around a small lyre. Christine stared at it, her lips parted slightly, recognition twinkling in her eyes. Without realization, she began to sing, her voice soft and melodious…

"Father once spoke of an angel…

I used to dream he'd appear…

Now as I sing, I can sense him…

And I know he's here…"

She reached out a trembling hand towards the glass, softly stroking the angel's face. "I remember you…" she whispered, smiling gently. Turning, she started towards the stairs.

-

He sat alone. But what surprise was there in that?

He trailed his hand over the untainted whiteness of the candle, his fingers almost dancing with the fire. There was a sharp pain on his skin, but he continued to drift his hand through the inferno, almost with a languid ennui. Barely audible, he hummed a strange, enchanting tune, dark and eerie in the shadows. In his blue-green eyes, the flame dipped and twirled.

"…I know he's here…"

He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. A moment passed, and he returned to his work. After all, her voice was always in his head.

-

At the bottom of the stairs, Christine was met with an unusually small door. It was constructed a rich, dark wood, the bronze doorknob shining in the fading light. She turned it and pushed her body against the frame, hoping it would open. It did. Inside, she was greeted by the sight of a long, dark canal, filled with black water. Her eyes scanned the face of the water, searching for the wooden boat. The surface was empty. Frowning, she knelt down on the dock and extended her hand, the tips of her fingers skimming the surface. An unexpected coldness met them, and she withdrew her hand quickly. She looked around desperately, looking for something…

Nothing. Slowly, she removed her silk stockings, exposing her bare legs, and placed the wrinkled white cloth on the ground. She uncrossed her knees and, gingerly, dipped one foot into the water, followed by the other. For a moment, Christine just sat, watching her feet move back and forth beneath the arctic waves. Then she propped herself up on her hands and slid gracefully into the waters.

At first, the water was mind-deadening. As if she had been frozen in a block of ice, she floated, half dazed by the extreme cold. Finally, her body became numb to the waters, and she started to push herself down the canal. Her feet could not reach the ground beneath her, and she pulled her arms back and forth, propelling herself towards the darkness.

Her teeth began to chatter together uncontrollably, and goosebumps broke out on her skin. The silk robes she wore drifted behind her lazily, almost like wings in the water. Her fingers grew lost all feeling, and the tips of her hair grew hard as ice began to form. Still, she kept going.

She looked up at the ceiling above the canal, her eyelids half closed. Covered in cinders and blackened with smoke. And the lingering scent of flames… She blinked a few times, trying to bat away the icy sweat that dripped into her eyes. The walls around her grew cloudy, and she turned her gaze back to the never-ending corridor of water before her.

Fog was floating on the water. Shapes danced before her eyes. Dark shapes. She tried to swat them away, but they wouldn't leave. The mist began to enter her eyes. Blink. Blink. Gone. She swallowed a mouthful of water…the corners of her lips were open. The water was like ice as it went down her throat. It burned, as if she had swallowed fire.

There.

The Iron Gate…rusted and covered in moss. There. It took a few moments for Christine to realize she was standing. Slowly, she walked towards the bars. Something moved within the shadows behind the gate, but it did not see her.

"Angel…?" she whispered.

Then she fainted.