What is happening simply astonishes me beyond all belief! Here, in the year 1923, people still believe in the Angel of Music! Amazing!
It's very strange. I mean, my father and I are the only Angels of Music - and we're not really the Angel of Music. And the other people who think we are the Angel of Music are the people that we are in love with.
I think I understand what that means - history is repeating itself. That's a rather dangerous thing, but I won't think about it. All it will do is make me fear for the future, and I do not need that. I must focus on tutoring my student. He must become the lead tenor at the Opera!
Christine stood silently behind the mirror in the dressing room that she often went through three months after she had started tutoring Cameron, waiting for him to show up.
She checked her pocketwatch impatiently. He was late! He'd promised never to be late to lessons, and yet here he was, not present even after being five minutes tardy.
As she was just about to start to get very angry with him, he rushed in, quietly closing the door behind him. Then he knelt in front of the mirror reverently, knowing that he would hear his Angel of Music's beautiful voice in a moment.
She smiled briefly as she observed his solemn, handsome features, then remembered that he was tardy and that she was cross with him. Straightening herself, she prepared her voice for ventriloquism.
"You are late, Cameron!" she boomed in a scolding, displeased tone.
He raised his head, looking intensely terrified. "I'm sorry, Angel," he whispered. "I was detained... all the male choristers had to rehearse more before we were released! It wasn't my fault, I swear... I tried to leave, truly I did, but Monsieur Latienne caught me before I had the chance to escape!"
Upon hearing this, she sighed and shook her head, for what Cameron was saying was most likely true. Latienne, the male chorus's instructor, never thought that his current chorus was any good - which, in truth, most of them weren't. Cameron was one of only five male choristers who had any talent. However, Latienne only saw the faults in his students and therefore punished the entire chorus by making them rehearse a lot, even after performances, because of the incompetent majority. It wasn't his fault.
"Yes, all right, Cameron," she replied. "You're excused - this time. Next time, however, I expect you to do whatever you must to make it here on time - even if that means skipping out on rehearsal! I won't have you dancing around like a buffoon with Monsieur Latienne's choreography much longer, anyway. Am I perfectly clear?"
He nodded. "Yes, Angel. It won't happen again."
"Good." She paused. "Have you been practicing your scales as I told you to?"
"Of course I have, Angel."
"Then I'd like to hear you sing the D Major scale, three octave," she commanded. "Now."
So he obediently sang the required scale. When he was finished, he waited quietly for criticism.
However, instead of criticizing him, she smiled. He was wonderful.
"Cameron," she informed him, "you and I have only had lessons for three months, but you're already the best singer here. You could probably triumph on the stage of the Opera tomorrow night, if you wished... and even if you wouldn't do it tomorrow night, you'll do it someday. I promise you that."
His eyes widened. "Oh, no, Angel!" he gasped. "I couldn't possibly. Pablo would be furious!"
"Oh, yes," she thought aloud rather crossly. "Pablo Bertelli, the leading tenor. That man's voice makes my blood turn cold. This Opera would be much better off without him." She let out a huffy sigh. "Unfortunately, La Carlotta is his grandmother, so he has connections to remain here. Perhaps I should do something about that. Would you like that, Cameron, if I tried to get rid of Pablo? It would give you the opportunity that you so deserve."
"How, Angel?" he asked doubtfully, frowning. "He's almost impossible to get rid of."
Perhaps, she thought to herself, a slow smile coming to her face as an idea suddenly popped into her head. Or perhaps not...
"I'm afraid that we'll have to stop our lesson early tonight, Cameron," she then said suddenly. "Go home and get a good night's rest, and I'll see you tomorrow night."
Then, without another word and without waiting for him to protest, she turned and walked back down to her lair.
--
The next afternoon, Christine lurked around the shadows, trying her best to stay out of François's line of vision so that he wouldn't catch sight of her. Then she peered out from the flies onto the stage, where Pablo Bertelli, the leading tenor, was rehearsing - very badly, it should be noted. It was time to try to get rid of him.
She crept over to where the sceneries were tied up and very carefully untied a rope to one of the sceneries. She then released the rope, watching with interest as it fell down. Just as she had expected it to, the scenery dropped onto the stage directly where Pablo stood and collapsed on top of him.
Everyone on stage went into a frenzy. Pablo pounded his fists on the floor and screamed like a child having a temper tantrum, as he was too fat, lazy, and spoiled to try and get up himself without someone else's help. The stage hands pointed and laughed. The choristers burst into song with the theme song they'd made up for Christine - or, rather, not for Christine, but about her.
She's here, The Phantom of the Opera!
She's with us, it's the ghost!
Beware The Phantom of the Opera!
She's with us, it's the ghost!
"Shut up, all of you!" shouted Berrain. Then he looked up to the flies, where Christine stood in the shadows, laughing as quietly as humanly possible. "Jannes! What the devil going on up there?"
Upon hearing his name being called, François immediately rushed over, glaring at the laughing Christine with a look that said, "You'll pay for this!" as he caught sight of her.
Then he pulled on the rope for the scenery, lifting it back up off the stage. He shouted over the flies, "It wasn't me, Monsieur Berrain, I swear! It must have been The Phantom!"
"Give them this," she whispered to him, handing him an envelope sealed with red wax in a skull shape.
He took it from her and held the note over the flies. "Look what I found!" he called out. "A note! It's addressed to the entire Opera staff."
"Well, throw it down here, man!" Berrain ordered, and then François tossed it down onto the stage where Berrain was now standing.
Berrain caught it and opened it. Then he read aloud, "Dear Opera Staff, it has come to my attention that some changes must be made to the cast. Therefore, if Pablo Bertelli does not resign within 24 hours, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur. Your obedient servant, O.G."
"I am 'ot queeting!" shouted Pablo, rising from the floor with as much dignity as possible. "I 'ill be back 'omorrow!"
Then, without another word, he turned and stormed off of the stage, shouting something that no one could understand.
Glaring at Pablo as he walked away, Christine stormed away from the flies and walked back down to her lair.
"That's not the last time that shall happen!" she shouted, not caring who saw or heard her. "A disaster beyond your imagination will occur, Pablo Bertelli - I swear it!"