Title: Broken Like an Angel

Summary: Christine reflects on the events of the past months. A final gift from her angel finalises what her heart always knew: that she cannot leave. EC, ALW

Rating: K+

Amazing, the things you will notice when you've been in a state of total frenzy for longer than you care to remember. For instance, right now, as I am about to go onstage for Don Juan, all I can remember is the look in his eyes that night at the Masquerade. He was hurting, and it was because of me. I could hardly bear it, when he called me a star. His steps toward me seemed to take an eternity, and I could not move, could not breathe, could not think as his eyes held me. Those dark, endless pools of golden green, which held more pain and hatred than I had ever seen in anyone.

At that moment, I was sorry for having worn the ring. Raoul was so insistant that I wear it; in reality, I had no more wish to wear it than I did to even attend the Masquerade. The murder of Joseph Buquet had done little to ease the overall opinion of the Opera Ghost, as I now knew my Angel of Music. I was frightened that night, frightened as I had not been since the day my father told me that I would be staying at the Opera from now on, and that he would always be watching over me. Then, I cried. Now, as a young woman and rising star, I could not cry. I was breaking in two inside, my heart tearing itself apart because of my angel's act, and because of that, I turned to Raoul. And then three long, slow months of nothing but Raoul, Raoul, Raoul.

Raoul was my safety at a time when I was no more sure of who I was than who my Angel was. Everything I had known was turned upsidedown. I no longer had my angel, I no longer had the safety of being in the back of the chorus as I worked through my steps, trying to keep up with Meg and the others who were better dancers than I. My father was now nothing more than a fleeting memory and my mother, a sound, an old photograph. During the years since Father died, my Angel had been my rock, my safety, and now that he had seemingly betrayed me, Raoul was the only thing of my childhood that I could still cling to.

And my Angel, it seems, is determined that my image of him be tarnished even more: His Don Juan is the strangest things I have ever seen or heard. It is beautiful, in its own way, but the content would never have been allowed on stage under normal circumstances. It is in the vein of Il Muto, though in a different setting, and about as subtle as La Carlotta's mood changes. It has been horrible rehearsing with Piangi, especially Aminta's largest appearance, the Point of No Return. Perhaps worse is that I know that while my Angel wrote this opera, he also designed the sets, the costumes, the dancing...and the choreography in Point of No Return is particularly reminiscent of that one time I was in his world, his world of music. I would almost believe he wishes to torture me, making me rehearse and perform this with Piangi with my memories of him to compare it to.

''Christine!'' It is Meg calling me. She is as excited at the prospect of catching the Opera Ghost as are Raoul and the Managers. Am I the only one who wishes to take it all back, go back to the beginning and start this anew? ''Christine, oh, you are about to go on! Maman said to give you this. She does not look happy, Christine, I think she is slightly offended by this opera...'' Meg continues to prattle as my gaze is held by the object she had pressed into my hand: a blood-red rose, tied with a black ribbon.

That was why Madame Giry was unhappy. I can feel myself tremble, but I know what I must do. My Angel, my Phantom, whatever he is, has offered me my choice. This night can end in love, or in hatred.

I am shaking now, both from the stage fright I have become accustomed to, and the enormity of what I am about to do. I carefully pull the ribbon from the rose and tie it to the edge of the corset that is a part of my costume. I slip the rose into my hair and square my shoulders. I do not know how tonight will end; but I do know that I have hope, knowing my Angel has not forgotten me, and I know that he will let nothing come between us, should he forgive me. I am truly sorry for Raoul, though I may not have a chance to tell him. This journey began, truly, the night I was thrust onstage in La Carlotta's place. That one event started everything: Raoul recognised me when he did not earlier, I met my Angel for the first time. And so on.

Perhaps the pain in my Angel's eyes, and the pain in my heart, will be taken away.