Oh, God, do I feel so incredibly bored lately. All I do all day long is sleep, eat, get one moment closer to death with morphine, try and write music, visit François at the upper levels of the Opera, cook for François, and cry over the death of my father.
I need something to do. I'm not very easy to amuse any more, and it rather pains me. I suppose it means that I'm getting older.
Wait a moment - a thought just occurred to me. A bloody brilliant thought! Why didn't I think of it before?
"What are you writing?" François asked Christine as she sat at her organ, scribbling something on a piece of paper in red ink.
"A note," she mumbled, too occupied with writing to look up. "A note to the management."
"The management?" he inquired. "Whatever for?"
She didn't reply for a moment as she finished her note. Then she sat upright, put the note in an envelope, and sealed the envelope with a skull-shaped red wax seal.
"I'm going to be hired by the management," she said simply, turning around on the organ bench and looking up at where he stood. "I'm going to have a position at the Opera."
He laughed a little. "And what are you going to do? Scene-shifting, perhaps?" he joked.
She smiled a small smile and shook her head. "No. I'm taking over my father's post as The Phantom."
"You're going to be The Phantom of the Opera?" he echoed, his smile suddenly fading. "You're going to be the Opera Ghost?" He tried to think up an excuse for her not to have a rather dangerous position. "You're female."
Shrugging, she replied, "The words 'ghost' and 'phantom' don't necessarily apply to one sex. I could be The Phantom, if I really wanted to. And that's exactly what I'm going to do."
She stood up, the envelope in her hand. Pulling on her cloak, she finished, "I'll be back soon."
Then, before he could make a word of protest, she stepped on to the gondola, grabbed the paddle, and rowed away.
She silently crept to the managers' office as she reached the upper levels of the Opera.
This had better work, she thought to herself. If it doesn't, maybe I'll just make the morphine a slightly more dangerous level... I need a purpose in this life.
As she reached the managers' office, she saw that the door was shut and that the light was on inside. She heard the managers, Berrain and Erisma, talking.
"Oh, thank God we've gotten rid of our Phantom problem!" sighed Erisma in a slurred, drunken voice. "Now nobody will be afraid to come to the Opera, listen to horrid music, and give us more money!"
"I'll drink to that!" agreed Berrain, and then she heard the sound of glass clanking together.
She chuckled. So, they were glad that The Phantom was gone, were they? Well, they would be pulled out of their perfect world in a split second with one motion!
Smiling to herself, she slid the note under the door and waited, crouching down by the doorframe.
"What's that?" asked Erisma as he apparently took notice of the note. "An envelope. Here."
She heard the envelope being ripped open. "It's a note," Berrain mumbled. "'Gentlemen, I have written to apply for a position at this great Opera. Actually, not apply for a job, but demand a job. I am now, as of this day, going to become the Opera Ghost. As did the previous Opera Ghost, I demand a salary of twenty thousand francs a month and also to have Box Five exclusively. I shall look forward to having my salary inside Box Five on the first day of every month. Should these commands be ignored, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur. Your obedient servant, O.G.'"
"Bloody hell!" exclaimed Erisma. "Another one! What is this about? Why must this Opera have a bloody ghost?"
Deciding now would be a good time to persuade the managers further, using her ventriloquism, she said, "Every good Opera has a ghost, monsieur. This Opera won't be very interesting if it doesn't have an urban legend living inside of it!"
"What was that?" asked Berrain nervously. "I'll bet it's someone outside the door! Go look, Erisma."
There was a pause, and then the door opened, shedding light on Christine's crouching form. She quickly moved into the shadows so she wouldn't get caught.
Erisma looked around. "There's nobody there!" he said crossly, closing the door. "No one! There is a ghost! We'd better do what he says."
Her face twitched in anger. He? He? How dare they automatically assume that the Opera Ghost was male! Quietly letting out a huffy sigh, she crossed her arms underneath her cloak.
"All right, so what does the ghost want?" continued Erisma. "Twenty thousand francs monthly and Box Five. That can easily be arranged..."
Smiling with satisfaction, she stood up, turned, and headed back down to her lair.
"What happened?" asked François when she returned. "Did you get the job?"
"Indeed I did," she replied. "I'm now The Phantom of the Opera."
Sighing with dissatisfaction, he picked up a book and started to read it.
She raised her eyebrows, surprised at his reaction. "What?"
He glanced up from his book, sighed, and rubbed his temples. "Look, Christine," he began. "It's a dangerous idea, being The Phantom. Look how it turned out for your father in the end, God rest his soul."
She glared at him. "I'm fully aware of the consequences that will possibly come from my job, François," she snapped. "What do you take me for, some witless, naive, teenage deformed monstrosity?"
He shook his head. "You're not a monstrosity, dear," he replied. "Your deformity means nothing to me. It doesn't automatically define you. You shouldn't be so hard on yourself. And no, I don't think you're idiotic."
"Good," she said, then turned around and started to sit at the organ. Then she saw her morphine sitting on the organ. Gasping, she quickly grabbed it and stuck it in a safe spot.
"What?" he asked, looking up from his book.
She faked a smile. "Nothing," she lied. "Nothing at all." Then she turned back to the organ and started scribbling on a new piece of music.
He looked at her suspiciously, then shrugged and resumed his reading.