Chapter 5—Why So Silent, Good Messieurs?

It was ready—finished. Aminta Triumphant was complete, and Christine was ready for its introduction. She would appear at the merry, mad Bal Masque de l'Opera that celebrated the New Year. Secretly, as she blacked the area around her eyes with makeup, she desperately wanted Erik to be there as well. He had been gone these past three months. There was no doubt in Christine's mind that he had run away with the Vicomtess. Desperate to forget all that had passed there, on the rooftop, she had flung herself completely into composing, and barely knew anything else. She hardly ate, she scarcely slept, and she only ventured out on brief excursions to collect her salary or drop a note to the managers for one reason or another.

Finally, finally, her masterpiece of darkness was complete, and the only thing left to do with it was send it out into the world of light. Who knew what horrors waited in the Phantom's opera?

When she emerged, she stayed in the shadows at the top of the Grand Staircase. It was quite a sight, this mad Masquerade, themed in black, gold, and white and silver. The Phantom had dressed in the prominent guise of Red Death, draped in shades of crimson, vermilion, and scarlet. She held in her hand the bound score of Aminta, and a rapier was buckled at her waist. She delighted in what she planned to say, and awaited the perfect moment to make her grand entrance.

She shrank back into shadows as the two people she'd been waiting for—Erik and Meg—stopped in front of her, their backs to her. They held hands, and Christine felt a clutch of anger.

"Think of it!" said Erik to Meg. "A secret engagement!"

"Look, your future bride!" she said, toying with a ring on a chain around her neck.

"Just think of it!"

"But why is it secret? What have we to hide? You promised me…"

She leaned in to kiss him, but he pulled away, glancing around nervously. "Please don't, they'll see!"

"Well then, let them see!" she said, exasperated. "It's an engagement, not a crime."

Erik looked at her, pleading. She sighed.

"Erik, what are you afraid of?"

"Let's not argue."

"Let's not argue!"

"Please pretend—you will understand in time!"

"I can only hope I'll understand in time!"

They moved away. Christine grimaced—her Angel was engaged, and he hadn't told her! She turned her attention back to the dancers.

"Masquerade! Paper faces on parade! Masquerade!

Hide your face so the world will never find you!

Masquerade! Every face a different shade! Masquerade!

Look around, there's another mask behind you!"

Christine smirked—how little they knew!

"Masquerade! Grinning yellows, spinning reds! Masquerade!

Take your fill—let the spectacle astound you—"

She delighted in the way people drew back and silenced at her sudden presence at the top of the stairs. She scanned the room slowly through her skeleton mask, noting the presence of Erik and the Vicomtess with glee. With a measured step, she began to descend.

"Why so silent, good messieurs? Did you think that I had left you for good?

Have you missed me, good messieurs? I have written you an opera!

Here I bring the finished score…Aminta Triumphant!"

With the same fluid motion, she tossed the score at Firmin's feet and drew her rapier out of its sheathe. She descended further, approaching where Piangi stood with his mistress, La Carlotta.

"Fondest greetings to you all! A few instructions just before rehearsal starts:

Carlotta must be taught to act, not her normal trick of strutting round the stage!

Our Passarino must lose some weight…it's not healthy in a man of Piangi's age!

And my managers must learn that their place is in an office, not the arts!"

She had smoothly pointed the deadly sword at each person in turn, but she now sheathed it again, drawing near Erik at the very bottom of the staircase.

"And as for our star, Monsieur Erik Daaé…"

She caught her breath for an instant, watching him. She saw the sound of her melodious voice beginning to take its toll on his mind. She forced herself on.

"No doubt he'll do his best; it's true, his voice is good!

He knows, though, should he wish to excel, he has much still to learn,

If pride will let him return to me, his teacher…his teacher…"

She placed a hand on her chest to further her point. She was within arm's reach of him now, but as a small, white hand, Meg's hand, laid itself on his shoulder, she was filled with a burning rage like none she'd ever felt. She glared at the two of them through the eyes of her mask. She reached out and slapped the Vicomtess's hand off of her Erik's arm.

"Your chains still are mine…you will sing for me!"

The silence broke then. She heard swords being drawn all around her, and drew hers, spinning. She stepped forward, and vanished into a trapdoor. Those merrymakers tried to follow her, but she was gone before they noticed how.

Erik felt himself jerked back to reality. One moment, his Angel had stood in front of him, begging—subtly, but begging—him to return. Then, she was gone, and his fiancée stood in her place, tugging on his hands. He drew her to him absentmindedly, still thinking.