Adelson's Caricatures

When Christine finally fell asleep, it was not to go to the glimmering place of the Garnier Opera house, but to a blank void that strangely fulfilled her unnoticed need for emptiness. When she woke up, she felt refreshed, and she all but skipped to the door, before her happy mood failed her.'My angel must've been waiting for me!' Cursing her selfishness, the girl dressed simply, and went to make innocent inquires into who received what role.
However, the moment she stepped out of her room, the bee nest of activity prevented any thought from being directed towards such things. Jammes, it seemed, was her new best friend, as she and the rest of the ballet girls flocked to Christine during the morning meal.
"Did you hear about La Carlotta?" Jammes asked her, her face mere centimetres away from Christine's. Pulling back, feeling her space invaded, but too polite to send the girl away, she shook her head.
"No, what happened? Another tantrum?" Smiling inwardly, but putting on an air of indifference, the girl pushed her porridge about the bowl, noting that it looked much better then the other girls' meals. The lady, who served it to her, gave her a wink, sending her on her way. It certainly tasted better then before.
"She fainted! She was yelling at the managers for something, and then she just fell. No one knows why, and no one can tell. She was sent home, and a doctor went with her. Some people are saying she was poisoned!" Little Meg Giry broke in, earning a fierce look from Jammes, as if to remind her of her place.
"Some others are saying she has become addicted to her spray she has every time she sings. Sorelli told Meg's mother, who told Meg, who told me, that it most likely had some snuff in it." The uppity girl informed Christine.
"Fascinating. Well, if you excuse me, I need to find out something." Abruptly quitting the table, and taking her porridge with her, Christine hurried from the dining hall, and the gossip, to find her ballet mistress. When she found her, the Mistress had something akin to pride in her eyes.
"Congratulations Christine, you've been made Helene, after Carlotta fell ill!" Shock made her mind numb for a minute, and then the announcement finally sunk in.
"Helene! Wait till I tell the Angel! Well maybe he already knows but still!' After Christine was brought back to reality, and was granted leave to miss practice for the day, seeing as how she would not be dancing, the girl ran back to her room. She wanted to cry out then, but did not know if her Angel only heard her in her dreams.
Not risking it, she locked her door, and pulled the blankets back. Her room had no windows to speak of, so lighting was of not a problem.
The familiar feeling of willing herself away was a brief strike of lightning, before she was aware of the muted world around her. "Angel!" She called out, pulling the door open. It was odd, to stand in the Opera house in the daytime. Blurry colours moved past her vision, oil paintings in a water colour world. She avoided them as she best could, though sometimes she would walk into one, and feel an unsettling cold wash over her. Unsure what to do, she climbed the bustling steps to the roof, and pushed the door open. It was strange that in the day, the statues were mere silhouettes of themselves.
"Angel, can you hear me? It is Christine..." Voice trailing off, she crossed the roof idly, and perched on the ledge. She had all day, and night, after all.

The satisfaction in taking out the livid Prima Donna had Erik in quite a content mood throughout the day. With her fall, Erik had secured Christine for the role of Helene. His anticipation in seeing Christine clutched at him more intensely then it had ever before. The sound of her voice rang in his head, and the thought of seeing her threatened to drag him to the surface early. With this, Erik had begun to pace the length of his room, pausing periodically to look toward the door. He fought once or twice, to draw his mind elsewhere, only he failed miserably and willing gave up all together in deciding there was nothing else or no one else worth thinking of. It was not yet dusk, when his severe impatience had him hurrying to ascend to the surface world. The idea that he was impatient to do so, was nearly laughable, after living for so many years isolated, filled with contempt for humanity and all those who resided in it. But now, with Christine, who stirred a lovely, different sentiment then music ever had, had Erik yearning to see her, who was still a part of the civilization that caused him such an immeasurable amount of bitterness.
Erik had stopped at Christine's room once, to check if she was present with a soft call of her name, and hearing nothing, he instead moved to flee to the roof. On his way, Erik's intent thoughts on Christine had completely stolen away his cautiousness. While careening around a corner, Erik startled and leapt back, as a pair of unkempt men appeared before him suddenly. Fear gripped at Erik, and he made to run, only when he turned, the men's backs were turned toward him, and they were walking the opposite way. One murmured something about the cold, before they disappeared around the corner. For a moment, Erik stood dumbfounded, before warily starting forward again and placing it as nothing else but luck. Upon reaching the roof, he entered through a door opposite of where they usually met to avoid being seen. Because of this, Erik had to move carefully to the other side of the roof, and while he moved, the light seemed to be smearing in the sky, and became only a faint glow. Taking his normal position, Erik spoke promptly, keeping the emotion from his voice. "Congratulations, Mademoiselle. The role of Helene is justly yours and is well deserved; you will give the aristocrats quite a treat. My emanate student, you will excel their prized Prima Donna." Finishing with a touch of scorn, worry filled Erik suddenly, and his hand, in which he gestured invisibly before him, stilled. Would Christine think she was not in need of him any longer? What of the fame? And men would surely flock for a chance to pursue his student, his Christine. And what was there stopping her?

Startled, Christine almost lost her balance on the ledge for a precarious moment. Regaining it, she shakily moved away from it.
"Angel!" She cried, forgetting what she had almost done, in her pride.
"It was the oddest thing too! The Prima Donna became ill!" Laughing at such good fortune, she spun around in dizzying circles, stopping only when her breath was far from steady.
"If you had a body, I'm positive I would hold you right now and never let go! My father would be so happy!" Letting her unstable legs rest, she fell to the cement of the roof of the Opera Garnier, and watched as the sun set slowly in the sky.
"Angel?" She asked, not sure if her angel had stayed during her bout of sill childishness.
"What will happen now? You won't go away will you? You could still teach me right?" It was odd, how attached she was feeling for a voice. 'Still, my Angel provided me comfort in my time of sorrow. Also, he taught me to sing, and sing well enough to rise above my circumstances. I owe him quite a sum.'

What were they to do from here? The amusement Erik felt, in seeing Christine so ecstatic, faltered. There was still much he could teach her, concerning a great number of subjects and in every aspect of life. The wise decision would be to slink back underground however, since he had accomplished his set goal. Though, the twinge of sorrow that pricked him at the idea had him discarding the idea. Christine was such a naive girl! Erik chose the word naive with the gentlest precision, for reasons concerning culpability. With fame came the notorious libertines of Paris, who would surely overpower the girl with temptations and iniquities. This notion frightened him so, that Erik began speaking before he cared to mull any longer. "There is still much for you to learn, Christine; of marvels beyond your diaphanous imagine- you could know the world, as you never have dared to perceive it before. There are wonders of music you have yet to experience; and it is I and I alone, who can show it to you. But Christine...for this to be, you must devote yourself to two things, and two things alone, the discipline of music, and your mentor." While indicating himself, Erik gestured toward himself absentmindedly, pressing his back against the stone, and wishing he could see Christine. "If you do, Christine, on the eve of your premiere, after the world has heard your voice- you will see your angel as reified." With the reverberation of his last word, Erik's heart stilled. With those words, his tongue had decided before his mind that he would reveal himself to Christine. Only to her knowledge, it would be viewed as an act of divinity, and not one of pragmatism. Erik pressed a hand to his mask; it would still remain. With it, Christine would never know. And there was only so much a voice alone could teach. Erik excused his impulsive behaviour with this, which was made easier with the willingness he had to do so.

Christine pressed her hands to her mouth. 'Me! Me, out of all the unfortunate girls in Paris. Out of every orphan and unwanted in all of France, I am to be the one that shall learn so much!' Admiration shone from Christine's eyes, as she stared at the newly begun night.
"I swear it Angel! I swear it on my Father's grave!" Strangely, the girl felt at peace with his death. Not that she did not miss him, but she felt secure knowing that there was something beyond death. That he had sent her an Angel, in his place. 'An angel who will appear to me…and only me!'
"When shall we start? Oh - please, teach me the stars. Not the ones in this sky, but in the real ones." Smiling, Christine gestured vaguely.

Leaning forward from the wall, Erik inclined his head to catch a glimpse of Christine, her enthusiasm inspiring his own. "After you have sung, Christine, after you have sung. And then you will be taught all you need to learn." Erik replied, voice carrying in the dark, before he stepped back into the shadows idly. "Rest, and practice my dear; I anticipate our meeting- you will not hear from me until that time." Tearing his gaze from Christine, Erik turned and fled into the night, and soundlessly from the roof.
Hurrying down the long, empty hallways of the Opera house, Erik felt consumed by a light sentiment he could not name. Christine would see him on the fortnight, as an angel rather then a man, but it did not matter in any case. He would not be instructing from the shadows, but by her side, and perhaps then she would take notice to his gaze. Erik paused on the vase, stone staircase, in pitch darkness, of the fourth cellar, and waved his hand idly to dispose of the idea. He started his descend again, with his reeling thoughts pushed to the back of his mind.
In the days that followed, Erik's excitement slowly dragged into sorrow. The thought that Christine would see him faltered dramatically, in the negative light that now shown on the aspect of her believing him an angel. All lies would have to come to an end, at one time or another. How many nights could he simply lead her to the roof, without inquires? And when Erik sought to pull himself out of his thoughts, with ones concerning their cordial conversations, he was only dragged down again, when he realized how his name had not passed once from Christine's lips.
Nearing the end of the second week, Erik's mind had fallen into a state of stupor, that carried him around the never changing halls of his home listlessly. It was only of the day of Christine's premier, that he at attention with the world in which he was forced to reside. The familiar feeling of anxiety and uncertainty clutched at him again, marked with a sad sort of hope. He could teach Christine, below the Opera house, of all the marvellous attractions that existed in even the darkest of places. Christine, who was his student, and so frivolous and compassionate, surely she would sympathize if she knew! With weak assurance, Erik made his journey to the surface early, without a care of breaking the familiarities of his Phantom counterpart, as the ghost that ran the Opera Garnier. He would watch Christine from the first Act, and leave only when the last of her songs resounded.
His trip to the tiers was of more surprise, and though he was early, Erik expected to have to work on remaining unseen after he had slid from the passage to the left of the door. Only, there was no one. The distant, muffled sounds of music could be heard, from the foyer, Erik presumed, that played to entertain the guests in the reception hall. Was that not the same that had played during the last performance? Erik stilled in the well-lit hall, and for a moment, tried to remember what it had been. Feeling as if he was suffering from amnesia, he pressed a hand against the upholstered door and strode to enter the fifth box. It was left empty; Erik was pleased, and was clean as usual, as the only one who dared to venture in it was the box keeper. Settling down in a shadowed chair, close to the curtains, Erik assured he was well hidden, before his nerves calmed, and he was left feeling impatient.

The weeks passed by, and every night, Christine felt as if her Angel was growing farther and farther away from her, after her initial triumph. This made her all the more desperate to prove herself once more. She threw herself into her practices, awake, and asleep, with a fervour she dared not even call her own. Though, as her performance drew increasingly closer, a new emotion started to bubble in the pit of her stomach. Fear. Many times, the words "I can not do this" lay on her tongue, a bitter accept of defeat, and her own idiocy. She could never say them aloud though, especially not to her Angel. 'A heavenly being does not want to hear about my sorrow.' She would mock inwardly, hating her weakness. So she persevered, until opening night shone like a beacon in a storm sodden night.
With heavy feet, she was escorted by a high spirited Prima ballerina, Sorelli, as if only the elitists could talk to one another. Smiling vaguely and excusing herself, she went to costumes, donning each piece once, before the show, to ensure it all still fit, then she changed to her first once more. The plain wool spun skirt clung to her trembling body, as she tried to remember all her lines at once. Horrifying moments full of blanks, and thoughts of being laughed off stage, darted with ghoulish grins across her minds eye.
Her traitorous legs carried her to the spot she would wait, until the opening curtain swept the dustless floor. Then it did.
Inhaling her last breath of true air, she floated gracefully across the stage, her arm linked with her counterpart.
"Non, ce bruit ce n'est rien. Mais il faut,mon Hélène, il faut nous séparer." Her Gaston sang, his tenor ending abruptly. Then it was her turn, and unlike her fears, everything fell into place. In startling clarity, her voice soared above the wooden stage, lime lights, and crowd.
'Go to heaven, so that Father could hear me now, and finally know that Lotte has become more then an absentminded girl!' From there on, the awed crowd, the unearthly singer, and the dancers took such a wonderful opening to heart, and put on a magnificent show.
It felt to the uplifted girl, that even as the first words passed her lips in a puff of breath, they were followed by the final words from all the chorus and main characters. "À toi gloire, ô Dieu de victoire! Enmémoire de ton ferme appui, que des
anges, les saintes phalanges, en
louanges éclatent pour lui!" 'Glory to you, oh God of victory! In
memory of your unfailing support, let
the angels, the holy hosts of heaven,
resound their hymns of praise about him!'
With tears in her eyes, as if she too were gazing upon the holy city of Jerusalem with her beloved, Christine gave her heart and soul into every meticulously pronounced word, and let it carry to only God knew where.Silence, then a thunderous applause followed the curtain dropping. Then two curtain calls and three bouquets of flowers later, Christine was forced to change into a generously provided dress, and appear to the cast party. She pleaded a headache, going to the point of fainting, to get away from the crowd.
When Christine finally deemed it was safe to 'wake up' anxious faces peered down at her, as she lay on the couch of an unfamiliar room. 'Perhaps fainting will be an immeasurably useful talent to develop…' Christine mused. Still, worry gnawed at her that perhaps her Angel would be unable to find her. She waited for her new room to be completely empty of people, before she called out to him.
"Angel, can you find me? Are you here?" She called, ignoring a knocking on her door, which announced a Monsieur De Chagny. "Give me a sign?" She pleaded.

Christine's plea had gone unanswered. From the exact moment the curtain fell, the fifth tier was abandoned. Despite the wish Erik had to relish Christine's performance, and the magnificent accomplishment that was both his own and Christine's, Erik desperately needed to arrive at Christine's room before her. Sliding into a passageway between two adjoining walls, Erik began a lithesome run through the network of black hallways. The walls became unheeded, and as he sprinted, mind in a sort of trance, attention only on the idea of seeing Christine. Erik paid no notice, as he seemed to be passing through walls, and would find himself considerably further then he had been moments before. Still, he moved with skilled ease, and arrived at Christine's room, heart palpitating rapidly, as he found himself inside Christine's room, with no knowledge of how he had entered. Instead of question, he only cast a glance around, and found the room empty. With a cry of irritation, and disappointment at the fall of his hopes, Erik turned swiftly and left. For some time, Erik wandered lost, along the hallways of the Opera house, which was deserted, for reasons he could not explain. Periodically, he would call out Christine's name softly, and it was only when it seemed he had done so a hundred time, did his voice weight heavy with sorrow. The words of reverence he had once fought to stifle faded in this time, as Erik feared the worst for his Christine. It seemed hours later, when Erik began to followed a pulling at his chest, and he felt almost as if he was being lead, and so he began to run. What the force had brought him to, was a lavish hallway complete with golden sconces and red carpet. From the number of doors that opened into posh room to the right, in front of the Prima Donna's dressing room, was a young man. He appeared perturbed and leaned leisurely against the wall, as if expecting someone. Erik bridled, when he heard the man murmuring, and scowled, his look of contempt hidden by his mask. They must have moved her for a time, Erik deciphered, and that boy must surely being waiting to bombard her! With a cold glare, he watched the man chafe his arm, before starting and dashing aside as the man turned to look in his direction. Inclining his head subtly and scoffing, Erik left the man to wait pointlessly, and instead fled to once again down into the bowels of the Opera house by hidden trapdoor. Starting along the dark, moist stone hallway, to the stairs, that ascended to another passageway that led to the swivel mirror of the Prima Donna's room. Behind the two-way mirror, Erik leaned to catch sight of Christine who lay on the upholstered armchair to the left, as if she had fallen asleep while waiting for him. With no time to scold himself, Erik instead, called out for Christine, in a melodious voice, that passed through the mirror, and reverberated through her room and back through the darkness in which he stood. When she stirred, Erik absentmindedly gestured toward her, despite him being unseen, as with a subtle movement of his foot against a steel lever, the mirrors began their illusion. "Come here, Christine. Step forward." Erik instructed, as a single violin began a dark sonata from somewhere beyond the walls. Christine's blue eyes were wide and hazed, and gazed through the mirror, and as she moved to pass through the mirror, Erik drew back into the shadows against the wall, unable to tear his gaze away from her. Suddenly, the music came to an abrupt stop, the glass snapped close noiselessly, and the hallway was consumed in darkness. A pause, Erik listened to Christine's erratic breathing, and then, movement tentative, he reached gingerly and grasped her wrist with delicate care. And then she screamed. The sound so startled Erik that he winced, and without a second thought, turned to slid behind her. Wrapping an arm around her waist, as the girl struggled, he lifted her off her feet, only she cried out again, and so Erik clamped his free hand over her mouth. Her scream cut off, and Erik was taken by surprise, when Christine's body fell limp against his. When his sound mind returned, Erik gave a mournful groan, which cut through the dead silence, and taking Christine into his arms, he strode down the stairs, to the flat cement of the second cellars. Slowly, Erik first lowered Christine to the ground, before giving her a fleeing look, and moving to the wall to retrieve a lantern from a hook on the wall. After lighting it, the light filled the cellar with a bluish glow, and it was in his lit, he kneeled down beside Christine. Erik placed the lantern aside, and situated Christine so as to rest her head on his knees. Taking a cloth from his pocket, he began to tenderly dab Christine's forehead, frowning faintly.