Author's notes: And we finally get to the PoTO storyline! Mwahahaha!
The title is from Mozart, if you didn't guess….
Aww, "Meant To Be" was such a success! Thanks to everyone who reviewed (or will review soon enough)! I'll do more phics, I promise. I already have a very AU storyline ready, but I guess it won't be from Christine's (or anyone's) POV. It's gonna be long, though, but I promise it'll be worth the wait!
longblacksatinlace – heh, here you go. Enjoy.
Enrinye – yeah, I hope "kukatko" is proud of me. His opinion matters greatly… you know why! ;-)))))
erikfan – Here you go!
EriksIngenue – What girl in her right mind would care? Thanks and read on.
X X X
Chapter 4 – Queen of the NightX X X X
The following years – a decade of joy! – seem to be a blur of learning all about being a ballerina, growing closer to the world of the Opera and meetings with my Angel.
By the time I was twelve, I was one of the more prominent dancers of the corps de ballet, with my own dressing room, a remote but beautiful kingdom of paintings and fine furniture. But the dominant "feature" of the room was without a doubt the large mirror on my wall. It seemed almost too splendorous for the small room, but I certainly wasn't complaining.
Compared to the rest of the dressing rooms, this was a palace – fortunately for me, when I was moving from the common dressing rooms, there seemed to be no other available rooms. All were occupied or "haunted".
Once I moved in, the Angel of Music suggested we move the lessons to my dressing room – in the chapel, you never knew when someone would walk right in. It never happened (fortunately), mostly because the lessons were quite late. Now we could start earlier… and that was an appealing idea. Not because of the harsh schedule of the ballet rats. Because it meant I would be in the company of my Angel for longer.
Over the years, even though I befriended many of the Opera's workers, the Angel continued to be my closest companion. Strange, really, that I never pried more than I thought civil about his world, since he so patiently learned all about mine, my dreams and fears, listened to the trivial troubles of an average child, never showing any sign of boredom or irritation.
The lessons were different, however. Because he knew my voice far better than I did, he would always push me to what I thought was the limit of my abilities. Praise came scarcely – even his approval was a reward. His voice, his presence was my reward. I was the richest girl in the world.
His rules were strict, but also reasonable. I could sometimes sense changes in my voice, even as I tried to keep it quiet and unnoticed, for the first and foremost rule was to keep my… talent… hidden.
"All things in time, Christine." He would say to any question involving bypassing rules or information about him. And such questions became more and more scarce.
I was sixteen when the Angel said that I would soon be ready to star on the stage. By then, he would give me whole operas to learn, starting with minor parts, moving to the main roles. My current part was that of Elissa, queen of Carthage in the opera Hannibal, which was also the current production.
The opening gala night was only days away. While my Angel gave me the lead role when I sang for him, chances of truly singing it in front of the whole city were small.
For five seasons now, we had a permanent Prima Donna. And I often understood why the elderly women here would recommend earplugs to everyone who had the "privilege" of hearing her voice. Carlotta, while possessing some raw talent, had the ego of at least ten Prima Donnas combined, so she would never allow a singing teacher near her. Maybe that was why she never knew her high-pitched soprano voice sounded like a scream, at best. At worst, it was an echoing scream.
I had just finished dressing and fixing my now waist-long mahogany hair into golden clasps – all the outfits were golden, at least in this particular scene, but the slave girl costumes were meant to make us look simple yet seductive, the gold symbolizing mostly manacles and chains. While I liked ballet outfits because I could run without tripping over my skirts, this outfit was far more… revealing… than we normally wore. I couldn't decide whether I looked like some Egyptian courtesan or a princess preparing for a bath. Perhaps both, depending on where such a dress would be worn.
A breeze swept through my windowless room – I couldn't hold back a smile of joy. He was here. I could sense it, I was sure of it.
"Angel of Music, guide and guardian, grant to me your glory…" I sang softly, looking around, even though I knew he wouldn't appear in physical form.
But I got the response I was waiting for. "I am here, child."
"Is something wrong? I thought we postponed the lesson today – you said you had something very important to do and then they said we'd have an extra rehearsal today…"
"Lefévre is leaving, Christine. He will bring his successors to the rehearsal today." He noted, with some degree of irritation. I knew that that would probably mess up the whole schedule, so I understood his concern. "But, more importantly, I have decided you are ready to bring Paris to her knees." My eyes widened with both confusion and excitement. "You must be ready to sing in Carlotta´s place today."
"But…" I never got a chance to object.
"You know the words, Christine." It wasn't a question, but I nodded obediently nonetheless. "I shall be watching the rehearsal closely."
"But Carlotta isn't ill. She will be singing." I quickly said, so I would get an answer to the unsaid question – how in the world was he going to remove her from the stage?
"You will be singing Elissa, Christine." Who the dangerous commitment in that simple sentence was directed to, I didn't know. Suffice it say it put me in my place.
I lowered my gaze to my feet. "I apologize, Angel – please forgive me. Who am I to doubt you?"
"I can understand, child." He said softly, almost fatherly. "But you must trust me."
"I do, Angel." My truthful reply seemed to ease the tension. The next words slipped from my mouth without any thought. "All I wish is that you would trust me too."
We have debated this before – thus, he knew what I was getting at. I was expecting refusal… but not in the form it came.
"Soon, my angel. But now go and await your moment of triumph."
The smile on my face reappeared for various reasons. Relief, confidence… and, certainly not least, because it was the first time he had called me his angel. And from the Angel of Music, that was without a doubt the highest praise.
"Christine." I turned back from the door – I was about to walk out, but I looked up again. "A word of warning – don't stand near our resident Spanish disaster today."
I nodded, though I was unsure what he meant by that, thanked the Angel and soon ran into the rest of the chattering ballet rats.
X X X
One of the things about Carlotta that I never understood was why people worshipped her so when they couldn't understand what she was actually singing. Her voice was always so high-pitched, I could never make out the lyrics.
I knew "Think of Me" by heart – it was the most wonderful song about love, partings and memories. But since she was supposed to sing it for Piangi, who, while always polite to everyone and generally nice, was hardly Don Juan, I suppose it was understandable why it was such a disaster. Remembering the rumors about him and Carlotta, however, I dismissed that thought. How could it be so horrible when she was singing it to someone she was supposed to love?
The dancing was put to a halt as Lefévre and the new managers arrived, much to the irritation of Monsieur Reyér and Madame Giry, who was trying to round us up. I wasn't really paying much attention – I knew enough from my Angel. But it seemed there was one more new thing – a new patron.
"The Vicomte de Chagny." The new managers announced, my breath catching in my throat at the sound of the name and the sight of…
"Raoul…" I couldn't help whisper. Despite the years I had not seen him, it was without a doubt my childhood sweetheart, the only person who called me Little Lotte, as I quickly whispered to Meg.
"Christine, he's so handsome!" she whispered back, glancing at him again.
Yes, Raoul was no longer the shy little boy who rescued my scarf from the sea. He was now a young man, handsome and proud, but he paid no heed to the hungry stares of the ballet rats, saying only a polite hello to both Piangi and Carlotta.
"I shall be here tonight to witness your triumph." He said after apologizing for interrupting the rehearsal. I smiled as he was walked towards me… but my smile faded as he passed me without any sign of recognition.
Meg seemed surprised, but I simply shook my head. "He wouldn't recognize me." And that was true. I had changed – I was no longer small. Come to think of it, compared to most girls, I was quite tall. My hair had changed a bit, my features were no longer those of a smiling child.
"He didn't see you!" Meg insisted, trying to lift my spirits, unsuccessfully.
But in a moment, we were supposed to start dancing, so I lost myself in the moves. Step. Two. Three. Drop. Step. Jump.
"We are particularly proud of our ballet, Monsieurs." I heard Madame Giry saying as she and the new managers walked past us.
"I see why. It's very good." One of the two men noted. "Especially that blonde angel."
I couldn't stop to see who he was talking about, but Madame Giry was quick to inform both of us. "My daughter, Meg Giry." The manager ceased to flatter Meg quickly – it was amusing, really.
"And that exquisite beauty? No relation, I hope." I wasn't sure if that was a joke or not.
"Christine Daaé." An exquisite beauty? Me? "Promising talent, Monsieurs. Most promising." Only my Angel's music could have sounded sweeter to my ears.
The chorus was finishing the song and with the grand arrival of an elephant prop, Piangi stepping on Carlotta´s dress (accompanied by her cursing him for being clumsy) and him failing to get on the elephant's back, I daresay the rehearsal was over.
The managers were satisfied. Carlotta wasn't.
"I vill not be singing!" Was the only thing I heard before she began rambling in Italian, but I understood two words: "Ubaldo! Andiamo!" She was leaving.
"What do we do now?" The two new managers turned to Lefévre.
He smiled nervously. "Grovel. Grovel, grovel, grovel."
Eventually, however, flattering, groveling, begging, they convinced her to stay to sing "Think of Me". Everyone was supposed to stay silent so she could sing the first two bars of the song, thus ruining it for everyone.
Think of me
Think of me fondly
when we've said goodbye
Remember me
Once in a while
please promise me you'll try
When you find that once again you long
to take your heart back and be free
I shuddered… but not because of the song. I thought I sensed unseen eyes watching us and I glanced up… and at that exact moment, a large prop collapsed inches from Carlotta´s head.
Meg quickly turned to me. "He's here. The Phantom of the Opera." she said, looking up in hopes of seeing him.
I felt a rush of heat pass through me. I was naïve, true, but I was also a bit skeptical. Wasn't it at least a bit too convenient that the Phantom of the Opera and my Angel of Music could be found in the same building? It was part of the reason I wanted to see the Angel… I wanted to be sure. I wouldn't blame him for anything. I simply wished to know the truth.
"Signora, are you alright? Buquet, for God's sake, man, what is going on up there?" Lefévre asked the chief of flies, who appeared above us. He was one of those who never grew tired of spreading tales of the Phantom.
"Please monsieur don't look at me. As God's my judge, I wasn't at my post. Please monsieur, there's no one there. Or if there is, well then... it must be a ghost." he said dramatically, causing the ballet girls to squeal.
"Signora, these things do happen." The manager – Andre, I think – assured Carlotta, trying to sound jovial.
He obviously knew nothing of the diva's temper. She scowled at him and began with her heavy Italian accent. "For the past three years, "thesethings do happen." And did you stop them from happening? No! And you two!" she pointed at the new managers. "You are as bad as him! "These things do happen."" She growled in frustration. "Until you stop these things from happening, thiss thing does not happen! Ubaldo!" she shouted at Piangi, "Andiamo! Bring my doggy and my... "
The tenor glanced at the new managers with contempt. "Amateurs." And he marched off after Carlotta, obedient little watchdog that he was.
Lefévre exhaled, smiled wearily and noted: "Gentlemen, good luck. If you need me, I shall be in Australia." I'm sure he was celebrating inwardly. God knows he was almost driven insane by the Ghost.
The new managers were horrified.
And, all of a sudden Madame Giry appeared, holding an envelope with the infamous seal we all recognized. "I have a message sir, from the Opera Ghost." There was a hint of a smile in her voice.
"Oh, God in Heaven, you're all obsessed."
She ignored Firmin´s sigh and began reading the note. "He welcomes you to his opera house…"
""His" opera house?"
Again, Firmin was ignored. "…and commands that you continue to leave box five empty for his use and reminds you that his salary is due. "
"His salary?"
Now comes the good part…the money."Monsieur Lefévre used to give him 20,000 francs a month."
This shocked the managers so badly, they were gawping at Madame Giry as if she were insane. "20,000 francs!"
She shrugged slightly. "Perhaps you can afford more with the Vicomte as your patron?"
"Madame, I had hoped to make that announcement public tonight when the Vicomte was to join us for the gala. But obviously," to the horror of the cast and crew, he began ripping the Phantom's note to shreds, "we shall now have to cancel as it appears we have lost our star!" And to his fellow manager, "A full house, Andre! We shall have to refund a full house!"
I sensed an arm rest on my shoulder and saw Madame Giry – God knows how she got so close to me so quickly. "Christine Daaé could sing it, Sir." I felt as if a trap door had just opened beneath my feet and I was dropping into an endless abyss. Me?
"What, a chorus girl?" Andre shared my opinion. "Don't be silly."
"Let her sing for you. She has been well taught." Madame Giry persisted.
"By who?"Yes, by who? "I don't know his name, monsieur." I said anxiously. How was I supposed to tell them the story of the Angel of Music? That would make them think I'm insane! And I would be breaking my promise to the Angel!
But the managers summoned me forward nonetheless.
"Andre, this is doing nothing for my nerves."
"Well, she's very pretty."
The silence… the silence was killing me as I stepped forward! I glanced up at the boxes above. The Angel was watching. And I promised to myself I would not disappoint him. As I sang, my thoughts turned to him – it always helped me to think I was singing to him. This was just a normal lesson, no one was watching us. Only the Angel was here – the Angel that required perfection.
And perfection is what he would get.
Think of me
Think of me fondly
when we've said goodbye
Remember me
once in a while
please promise me you'll try
When you find
that once again you long
to take your heart back and be free
If you ever find a moment
spare a thought for me
We never said
our love was evergreen
or as unchanging as the sea
But if you can still remember
Stop and think of me
Think of all the things we've shared and seen
Don't think about the way things might've been
Think of me
Think of me waking
silent and resigned
Imagine me
trying too hard
to put you from my mind
Recall those days
Look back on all those times
Think of the things we'll never do
There will never be a day
when I won't think of you!
Flowers fade
The fruits of summer fade
They have their seasons
so do we
But please promise me that sometimes
you will think…
I raised my voice to its greatest heights as I sang the coloratura. It was the end… the end had to be grand…
Of me!
I finished the song, scared of the silence that surrounded me. I glanced at Meg, who was speechless, then at the managers, who had their jaws on the floor. Only Madame Giry was smiling triumphantly. The rest of the Opera was gawping at me.
My gaze dropped to my shoes – was it really that bad? The silence was broken after almost a minute by Firmin´s shout of:
"I want every seamstress in this Opera preparing costumes for our new Elissa immediately!"
Andre smiled almost too eagerly and nodded to me, saying: "Well done, Miss Daaé."
Only when the managers stormed off did the full-scale applause begin.