3

Lise felt embarrassed but proud of her performance for the managers, and was even more thrilled to learn that she would basically be the star in about all of the shows. Normally the managers wouldn't make such a promise, but Lise's talent was so great and reliable that André and Firmin would promise the world to her if she wanted it.

They showed her around the opera house, and brought her finally to a dressing room and informed her it would be officially and only hers. Lise stepped inside, and loved it immediately: the walls were painted a soft light pink (her favorite color for everything), there were delicate but luminous lamps shining warmly upon an antique mahogany dressing table. There was an empty closet on the left side of the lovely room, empty of clothes and costumes but full of sunny yellow hangers that longed to carry a beautiful dress on their shoulders. On a small square chest of drawers behind the door sat a fragile light purple vase full of fresh lilies which filled the dressing room with a sweet perfume. Finally, on the right side, there hug a mirror which went completely from ceiling to floor, and though the outer edge was magnificently carved with gold, the mirror itself had a queer foggy look in it. But Lise could see her reflection well enough, so what more could she ask of a mirror?

"This is lovely, really," she sighed to André.

"Hasn't been used in quite a while, so it's a tad dusty," he remarked, running his hand along the vanity table and examining his gray palm. "But we'll have it sorted in no time. The maid Sofie can dust this afternoon, in fact."

"Take your time," Lise assured him. She was so grateful, and felt so lucky to have such a wonderful place to be as this: she could use her talent to its best extent, and she got a wonderful place to stay besides. Firmin owned a few very nice apartments that he would let to some of the cast of the operas that were currently going on, and Lise had been lucky enough to score the last one: the nicest one of all. Being the daughter of the former prima donna, she had the money to let the grand suite.

Meanwhile, Christine ushered Meg into a private little lounge opposite the managers' office.

"Meg, before I tell you any of this- I know you're very trustworthy, but you must promise me you won't tell any of this- absolutely anything, not one word of it- to anyone at all. Not even your mother- though doubtless she has her suspicions."

Meg, feeling a little frightened at the tone of her dear friend's voice, shook her head vigorously. "You have my word," she whispered. "What is this important secret? It must be a lot. I've not seen you this anxious since.since it actually happened." She gave a short nervous laugh, and glanced worriedly at her friend. "Tell me. You must be bearing quite a burden by keeping this to yourself."

Christine nodded. "It's been difficult...I've never felt so alone in my life." Clearing her throat, reluctantly, she began.

"I did tell you of how the- the Phantom- was the one who trained me, trained my voice, did I not? Yes, well, he had always come to me in my dressing room, behind my mirror. I thought.I thought then that he really was some angel, some ghost, who was magically appearing, somehow.

"But no sooner had I explained to you how he had taught me- after you left, and after a visit from Raoul- he appeared to me, and the mirror- he- opened it somehow, and.there was a passage. A secret tunnel.dark, and dank, and deep beneath the opera. He brought me to his- his hiding place, I suppose it was- though I still to this day don't know why he was there at all. Raoul told me your mother said he had been a runaway from some traveling freak-show- no doubt because of the deformity on his face.oh, Meg, if you had seen it-! Terrible, terrifying; like seeing the rotting insides of some creature-!" Christine stopped short with a gasp, breathing shallowly, trying to get back her breath. What she spoke of touched on painful memories. Meg steadied her, gently holding her shoulders and looking into her face. "You needn't continue if it..." But Christine shook her head forcefully, regaining her composure. She had started this- she now had to continue, all the way.

"I was horrified then. I grew used to it eventually.not for a while, though. But- when he took me down.took me down across an underground lake, down a dark, slimy path, and into his- his lair, in a way. Where he dwelled and pondered ways to scare those in the opera." She shivered. "That's really all he did, how he spent his days. But I should tell you.I should have known why he was teaching me at all...why he came to me, and not some other, right from the start- he wanted me for his own; I suppose- he loved me; if he even knew how to love- having had the world hate him for all his life- but he had taught me, and he was my angel, Angel of Music, and I feared him not because he developed my talent and the mask he wore.he hid himself from me until that night, when I took it off." Again, she shuddered in bitter remembrance. "He was furious. He told me now that I had seen him, I would never be free...and he loved me because I didn't hate him. That was why. And because I was so ignorant and naïve that I went with him because I thought he was an angel.and he wanted me to stay with him because I was beautiful, because I could make up for him the beauty that he had not...

"But he returned me the following morning because I had angered him, by removing the mask and viewing his deformity. He had to get me away; perhaps so that the memory of his hideous face would fade from my mind. But I still thought he was my angel- a much harsher and more frightening angel, but an angel nonetheless.a guide, a helper...he supplied my talent. It was my face but his voice onstage there, his talent shining through me. I carried his fame for him; the mask he wore never was what shielded him from the world- I shielded him. I was his mask.

"You know what happened after that, Meg- you read all the messages, saw all the horrors.but after we performed his musical- "Don Juan Triumphant"- you saw the dead body behind the curtain after the Phantom disappeared with me, but I don't believe you were aware that it was Piangi's body?"

Meg stared back at Christine in horror. "What- who-!" Then she understood. "No..." she breathed. "It- I- why did I not realize?"

"No one did- but me. I was the one who had to look into his face, feel his arms caress me all through the song." Christine's eyes grew dim and looked past Meg, remembering. Remembering terrible times. "I recognized his voice at once, that angelic yet hellish voice which taught me, sang to me, rang through my head in the dark of my mind as I slept. And at the end...when I revealed his face...

"I thought he might be caught- I was afraid to betray him, my angel of music, but I was afraid also of what he might do to me. But my fears were confirmed, after all. He took me to his underground domain once more, and..." Christine's voice trailed off. But then a state of panic took her over. "He was a fallen angel- he took me, not caring about my own desires, he wanted me to be his- his- "

Christine suddenly went silent, and looked down. She was shaking- in anger? fear? Meg struggled to untangle her emotions.

Finally, after a long silence, Christine looked up again. "You say you don't see Raoul in Lise?" she whispered, her eyes dark and glinting. She looked like one possessed, with dark circles under her eyes, and lines suddenly appearing, twisting her soft, pretty face into a hard, wild distortion. "Look at my daughter. Maybe in her you'll see- you'll find- you will see the parts of me...and others of." She paused, then opened her mouth to continue- but wasn't quite sure how to phrase what she was trying to say. "The Phantom lives on.the phantom is alive...in my daughter...or, rather, in..." Christine slowly and menacingly pulled out from her cloak a simple white mask- "...our daughter..."

Sofie, the maid who worked at the Paris opera house, had been sent to dust the old, abandoned dressing room.

It wasn't in such a bad state- it was just that no-one had used it in years; not after- well, they all knew what happened: at least, all of the staff and workers who had been there at the time. Newcomers only heard rumors and tidbits, but didn't know the true story. Sofie knew, because she had worked at the opera house back then, too, and had also been among the crowd to go down to the Phantom's little underground habitat to find Christine, and capture the Phantom. They had all seen him flit across the room and cover himself with a black cloak in a tall towering chair, but when one of them had gone boldly forward and pulled back the cloak, there had been nothing but a white mask- the mask the Phantom had used to hide his horrible, deformed face in. They had left it there, too afraid to even touch anything the Phantom had- it had become a kind of superstition among those in the opera who knew that tale. Anywhere the Phantom had gone they would not go, and the Phantom's belongings and anything in his 'home' they left alone. And fortunately, there had been no sign of him at all since then- no more messages, no more disturbances or 'accidents' anymore. But to stay on the safe side, Box Five was no longer in use at all. No one dared to even set foot on the dark, ominous staircase which led up to it.

And so Sofie was immensely surprised, and suspicious even, that they would send her to clear it up. And when the informed her that the new girl, Lise, would be staying in it- why, she laughed at first! The very dressing room in which the Phantom of the Opera had appeared to Mademoiselle Daaé? The dressing room in which he had taught her, then somehow taken her down underground? Sofie trembled even as she placed her hand on the doorknob and turned it slowly, and with difficulty too- the lock had gotten rusty and didn't slide the way it should. Sofie saw to that first of all, trying to delay actually entering the room for as long as possible. Then she made sure the hinges were working properly, and then stalled for a few minutes longer outside the door, polishing the perfectly cut gold numbers on the front of the door. And finally, out of excuses, she went in.

The room looked just as it used to- only dimmer and dirtier. She set to work first (cautiously, carefully, very aware and attentively, listening for the slightest noises or strange sights) on dusting the dressing table and the chest of drawers. That done, and feeling more confident, she approached the lamps and checked the oil. She busied herself attending to the smallest of details- making sure the hangars hung strait in the closet, tightening the screws on the drawer handles, cleaning out any dust or dirt inside the drawers.

Then she noticed the lilies.

If the entire room was so dusty and unattended to, and hadn't been entered until that very day, then why were there fresh new lilies in the vase? And the vase wasn't even clean- it too was dusty and old. But the flowers- they couldn't possibly have stayed in that beautiful condition since all those years ago- precisely eighteen, wasn't it? Yes, eighteen years. Who could have come and put those flowers in?

Sofie frowned, a little worried. They said no-one had been in here.well, one of the workers might have just come in without telling anyone.no, that was absurd. Why would the poorly paid stagehands waste money on flowers that weren't even for them or a friend or anyone? It wasn't even a thought worth thinking. Sofie could come up with no possible answer.

But, being a maid, she knew she should just get on with her job and get it done and leave the room as soon as possible. She turned to the large full-length mirror, and set to polishing it.

However, no matter how hard she scrubbed, the fogged-up look lingered on. It was the oddest thing. Why did it remain in that dusty manner? Sofie cursed the mirror in her head, attacking the mirror with her rag. She pressed it hard to the mirror, rubbing the cloth almost raw until-

The mirror gave way. It just swung forward under her fingers, and Sofie found herself staring down a dark tunnel, where beyond in the distance lay an underground lake.