A/N: All right, this chapter was not updated as fast as I said it would be…but compared to the last update time, this was not so bad, hehe.
I'd like to sincerely thank everyone who has ever stumbled across this story and taken the time to read it. It means so much to me that people actually enjoy the things I write… To those who reviewed…Thank you. You guys are amazing.
I hope you enjoy the last chapter. However, the reader is asked to remember that a story such as this never really ends… Perhaps you can imagine the rest for yourself.
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Madame Giry whacked her cane on the ground and the corps de ballet immediately scurried to the barre of the practice studio where they were meant to be warming up.
Nodding to the pianist, Madame walked through the rows of girls, watching each of them in turn. She circled the room, commenting on turnout or sickling, or the many other things the girls managed to do wrong during their simple exercises.
It soon became obvious to her that someone was missing. She had always kept special watch on Christine Daae due to her past and her close friendship with Meg.
While Miss Daae was prone to clumsiness, missed steps, and vacant expressions, she was not as prone to missing rehearsal all together. Lateness, however, was still a possibility. They had just begun.
So Madame Giry waited as she watched and corrected her girls through plies, tendus, dégagés, and rond de jambes. However, by the time they had started fondues she could wait no longer.
Her daughter was at the end of the barre in the back of the room. Nonchalantly, she went to her. Catching Meg's leg in her side extension, she asked very quietly, "Where is Miss Daae this morning?"
Meg's eyebrows creased in confusion and she automatically looked around. She hadn't seen Christine before warm up had started, but would have thought she would have shown up by then. She shrugged. "I don't know, Maman."
"Find her, will you?" Madame Giry released her leg.
Meg nodded and quickly left the room. She padded through the halls of the opera, alternating between a jog and a polka. Unsure what to think of Christine's absence, she hoped that her friend was not ill.
Finally reaching Christine's dressing room, Meg reached up and knocked lightly on the door. "Christine?" she called gently.
The little ballerina waited, shifting her weight from foot to foot, but received no answer. After another moment, she knocked again, louder this time. "Christine, are you in there?"
Too impatient to wait any longer, she tried the door and found it to be unlocked. She stepped inside, noting Christine's absence from the room. She looked down and frowned at the chair in front of the vanity which had been knocked over. Beside it was a red rose, rather withered from lack of water.
Meg righted the chair, then picked up the rose. She looked at it for a moment curiously then placed it on the vanity. To her right she caught her reflection in the full size mirror. She looked at herself for a moment then shivered, caught by a sudden chill. She left the room and closed the door behind her. Meg made her way slowly back to the rehearsal room, still frowning. It was unlike Christine to not show up at the opera at all without letting her know. Usually she at least sent a note…
It worried her.
When she had made her way back, she told her mother that she had failed to find Christine and then went back to the barre. She hoped rehearsal would end quickly that she might find Christine. For some unexplainable reason, her mind went back to her friend's story of the Angel of Music…and her promise that he would never harm her.
Perhaps she should have told her mother…
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Christine was not seen in the Opera for three days after that. The space she had left was not noticed by the patrons and luckily not noticed by the managers. Messieurs Debienne and Poligny were much too busy putting their affairs in order for their imminent retirement to think about a chorus girl who had never had much attention paid to her in the first place.
Christine, indeed, was at home, taken ill in her bed. She felt she had not the strength to rise. She had discovered that being frightened so severely had physical consequence on her frail person.
After she had awoken to find herself back in her dressing room, she had panicked. Screaming upon finding the rose beside her, she had dropped it and knocked over her chair in her hurry to remove herself from the opera entirely.
It seemed to her that the death's head chased her all the way home. Arriving there she could do nothing but collapse into tears. Those horrible moments played over and over again in her head and she was quite unable to sleep that night for fear it would come after her once she closed her eyes.
At first, it was impossible to make that face and Erik one person. She had separated them in her mind. Erik was her friend, the man who had taught her to sing. That face…she did not know where it came from. It had appeared before her in all its horror and now might never leave her.
Christine could not go to the Opera the next day. She could not go back there ever perhaps. So she sat at home thinking about what had occurred, for she could think of nothing else.
She recalled something that the death's head had shouted at her. It had said that she had seen this face and was meant to accept it. But what did that mean? She had never seen such a horrible image in her life.
But…if the death's head really was Erik's…. He remembered her as a little girl. She remembered people screaming in terror. She had not seen what they were screaming about. Erik thought she had.
The death's head was his. She slowly came to realise what that meant. Christine knew the stories that circulated through the corps de ballet. Though hardly ever invited to join their conversations, she always heard what they spoke of. The ghost of the opera, who played such tricks and appeared at random to frighten stage workers, had a death's head. There could not be a second being that possessed such a feature.
Erik was their Phantom.
The idea of it filled her with horror once again. He was not a ghost, not the Phantom the corps idealised him to be, but he existed! It was true. And she had trusted him…
But when she thought of Erik…. Erik! He had been so good to her. Then the death's head appeared and he had changed so horribly. He had hurt her…something she was sure he would never do. Yet she could still feel his fingers twisting into her hair, wrenching her arm…
The second day away from the Opera was also spent mostly in bed. Slowly in her mind, she struggled to put Erik and that awful face together. It was…it was Erik's face. But she had never seen such a thing! Was it possible for a person to be so deformed?
She cried more, but she began to think more and more about Erik. Despite the rage in his voice, there had been so much pain in his eyes… She…had hurt him. She realised this slowly, but it was true. He was disfigured horribly, that was why he lived below the Opera. And she had screamed in horror at the sight…just as everyone else had surely done all his life.
She missed Erik. He had been so good to her, she had begun to value his friendship above everything else in her life. Even Meg could not be her friend as Erik had grown to be.
"Oh, God…what have I done?" Christine whispered pitifully to her empty room. Erik was her friend…and she his! And she had treated him in such a way… Now she would surely never see him again. It could not possibly be the same between them if they were to meet. She wasn't sure if she even wanted them to to.
Christine was frightened still, afraid of his reaction to her revulsion of his face. But despite her fear, she felt awful for what she had done. Erik had been her friend…
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Christine returned to the production at last, pale and not speaking to anyone, on the same day as the arrival of the new managers.
Rehearsal was interrupted by Monsieur Poligny, who was flanked by Monsieur Debienne and two strangers. After a struggle for attention, he was finally able to make his announcement.
"Ladies and gentleman, as has been previously noted, today is the day that we turn over the lease of this fine establishment to new management. It is my pleasure to introduce you to your new employers, Messieurs Richard and Moncharmin."
There was some sparse, random clapping from a few, as everyone looked over the two men who now owned the Opera company.
La Carlotta took it upon herself to make it immediately well known that their job would for the most part consist of groveling at her feet. Shoving Carolus Fonta aside, much to his chagrin, she struck a pose before the new managers and cleared her throat loudly.
Poligny started and stepped forward, "Forgive me, senora." He turned to Moncharmin and Richard. "May I present our lead soprano, La Carlotta."
The diva made an elaborate curtsy before the two men and smiled demurely. "My managers, it is a pleasure."
Moncharmin, the more amiable of the two, seemed impressed with Carlotta's display. "The pleasure is ours, madame," he said, kissing her hand.
Carlotta smiled airily and Moncharmin continued, "Perhaps you would grace us with an aria, if it wouldn't be too impertinent of me to request such a thing." He chuckled.
"My manager commands," La Carlotta answered with another smile and curtsy.
This seemed to be too much for Richard however who pulled Moncharmin away from the soprano and said, "Really, Armand, we don't have time for this. There is work to be done here, papers to be signed…"
Moncharmin waved him off. "It will only take a moment, Firmin."
Carlotta had already made her way to center stage, everyone else had fallen back to give her enough room. One look from her was enough to make them move. Christine and Meg had hurried away to sit downstage left and watch.
With a signal to the conductor in the pit, the introduction of The Jewel Song began.
Christine wasn't listening to La Carlotta. For the upteenth time that day, her mind wandered and she stared blankly out into the house. She started suddenly, grabbing Meg's arm.
"What is it?" Meg whispered, turning away from Carlotta to look at Christine.
Christine stared up at Box Five. She was certain she had just seem some movement within it. After a moment she released Meg's arm.
"Nothing," she said quietly.
Meg smiled gently and took Christine's hand, turning her attention back to center stage, still ignorant of what had occurred between Christine and The Phantom of the Opera. Christine tried to pay attention as well, but she felt an odd chill and could not shake a feeling of trepidation as Carlotta sang.
Carlotta had moved throughout most of her aria, making the most of the limelights. She was now settled upstage where she continued to milk her aria much to the delight of Moncharmin and much to the annoyance of Richard who was anxious to get to work.
Suddenly, there was a loud snap. The sound of metal wheels grinding together much too fast began. Carlotta screamed and was saved by a male dancer just before a large, painted backdrop fell to the ground with a large crash exactly where she had been standing.
The entire company jumped to their feet, screaming and yelling. Many rushed forward to see La Carlotta, who had fainted. Amidst the uproar the younger ballet girls made their voices heard.
"It was the Phantom! It was he who did this!" "Yes the Phantom must be here! Look what he's done!"
Upon hearing this, Christine latched onto Meg's arm tightly, tears springing to her eyes. Erik had done this… Why? Because of her?
It was several minutes before Carlotta was revived. It was several more before the managers, both past and present, were able to regain some amount of order as Poligny continually shouted for a man called Buquet.
This man, Buquet, finally appeared and was approached by Poligny. "Buquet, what is the meaning of all this? That backdrop could have seriously injured La Carlotta! We've narrowly avoided a complete catastrophe."
Buquet, obviously a simple man, looked slightly bewildered and shrugged his shoulders. "Begging your pardon, monsieur, but this weren't my fault at all. I was standing backstage when it fell down, sir. With God's my witness," he added quickly.
This answer was followed by a chorus of ballet rats shouting about the Phantom once again.
"Now that is quite enough!" Richard shouted out suddenly. The company fell silent and Moncharmin hurried to La Carlotta's side. "Madame, I'm so sorry that this has happened."
Carlotta stopped fanning herself suddenly and glared at Moncharmin. "You are sorry?" she asked incredulously. She stood suddenly. "What does this apology do for me? Nothing! Will you do anything about these things happening? No! You are as bad as them with their ghost!" she shouted, gesturing wildly at Poligny and Debienne. "Well! Sorry is not good enough this time! You shall not have La Carlotta!"
With that finished she huffed and stormed away. There was silence for several seconds, finally broken by Poligny. "Well then, gentleman…It seems you have everything under control. Unfortunately, we must away. We will see you tonight!" And with that, he and Debienne all but ran from the theatre.
Moncharmin stared after them, his eyes wide. He turned to Richard desperately, motioning for him to say something.
After a pause, Richard cleared his throat. "Well, this is rather inconvenient isn't it?" He spotted Monsieur Reyer, the director of music, and called him over. "You there, who is the understudy for La Carlotta?"
Reyer looked very pale. "For…for La Carlotta?" he stammered. "Monsieur, Carlotta has no understudy!"
"No understudy?" Richard exploded.
Moncharmin hurried over to him as the entire company became chaos once again. What would they do? How could the show go on?
Then, through all the rabble, a small voice made itself heard.
"I can sing it, sir."
The company fell silent.
Richard took a step toward Christine. "What did you say, mademoiselle?"
"I said…I can sing it, sir."
The ballet chorus gasped in unison and immediately began whispering behind their hands at the insolence of Christine Daae.
Even Meg was surprised. "Christine, what are you doing?" she asked.
Christine stood up and faced Monsieur Richard as he approached her. "You know La Carlotta's role?" he asked disdainfully.
"Yes," Christine answered without hesitation. "I can sing it."
Richard laughed then, but immediately grew serious as he turned back to his partner. "Now we don't have time for this, Armand. If we have to cancel…"
"Maybe we should let her sing, Firmin," Moncharmin interrupted, looking curiously at the defiant chorus girl.
"Yes," Meg said, standing up beside Christine. "Let her sing for you."
The chatter among the petite rats resumed at this bold statement.
Firmin stared at the two girls, slightly shocked by what he was seeing. Finally he sighed and put his hand to his forehead as if he felt a headache coming on. But he conceded. "All right, all right…Sing for us, Miss Daae."
There was sarcasm in his voice, but Christine didn't care. She was going to sing The Jewel Song. She knew she could do it. She had done it for Erik many times… He had loved listening to her sing… Perhaps this would slow his anger? Christine would not be afraid. Refusing to be intimidated by the crowd around her, drawing confidence from everything she could remember Erik teaching her, she walked to center stage. She was going to sing it as she never had before. She would sing it for Erik, for her father…and for herself.
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Needless to say, Christine Daae was accorded the role of Marguerite. The curtain went down that evening on the most beautiful performance of Faust anyone could remember. She had brought the audience to their feet. Seemingly overwhelmed by her success, she fainted into the arms of her fellow singers.
Once revived, it took Christine nearly an hour to reach her dressing room as the halls had been packed with well wishers. After greeting what seemed to her like hundreds of people, graciously accepting compliments and blushing at proclamations of love, she finally reached her quiet, little room.
Inside was a veritable garden of all different kinds of flowers. Massive bouquets in vases or in stands on the vanity and on the floor. They were beautiful, but Christine ignored them.
She went carefully to her mirror, looking in it as if she meant to see past it. After a few moments she whispered, "I sang for you tonight, Erik… I gave you my soul and I am dead…"
She turned away abruptly, crossing towards the center of the room, she collapsed on the floor, tears threatening her. "I'm sorry I'm frightened," she said out loud. "Oh God…"
Christine cried then. She cried because she had brought Paris to its feet that night. She cried because she was afraid and confused. She was afraid that Erik was listening and afraid that he might not be.
When she had composed herself, she turned back to look in the mirror again.
Her eyes widened. Very slowly, she stood and went to the mirror. Crouching down, she picked up a red rose that had been placed in front of. She was certain it had not been there before.
She stood and stroked its petals. Then she looked back up at the mirror. Her fingers brushed against the glass.
"The Angel of Music…"
FIN
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A/N: Please review! Thank you.
