Author's notes: Things will speed up from now on…storyline-wise, I mean. The replies to your reviews are in my profile.

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Chapter XXVIII

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The theater in Rome became famous right after the premiere of Lucia di Lammermoor, for obvious reasons. That was both a cause of great joy and great distress for the managers, the first primarily because they knew they had hit the jackpot when they accepted Christine Daaé into the business and gave her the main part, the latter because they knew that once the news of this new (and amazing) discovery would reach the nearest other opera house, the young soprano would be swarmed by offers and they would have a hard time in keeping her.

True enough, it took La Scala about a week until representatives nearly assaulted the opera house, demanding to speak with Daaé, and it took them even less to discover where the French diva was living and corner her there. Yet for now, she refused their offers, saying that her uncle needed her. Even the offers of accommodations far greater than they had now were in vain.

"Why do you refuse them, Christabella?" Giovanni once asked her. Christine had been washing dishes after an early supper.

She had discovered what a horrible, empty life he had lead since the… events of a few years ago. Nothing seemed to bring him pleasure anymore, not even masonry. That perhaps, least of all now. But upon her arrival, he either pushed himself into pretending everything was alright or simply her presence had such an effect on him. Christine didn't know which it was, but was determined to make life better for him. She had watched her father fade, and she didn't want the same to come to pass again.

Lowering the plate she had been washing, she turned to face him – he was sitting at the table still, although they weren't talking much right now. Smiling kindly, Christine knew he would not accept her answer. "You are far more important than my… career, uncle."

"And being my maid, my nurse, is what pleases you?" he asked, as she had expected, "You cannot devote yourself to the past, Christine. The future awaits you, and to hide from it would be wrong."

"You are beginning to sound like those reporters." Christine laughed merrily. Indeed, she had rarely had such trouble getting away at the end of the performance – it seemed that every reporter in the city was there and wanted to steal her away for at least an hour's worth of interrogation.

Giovanni shrugged and showed her the newspaper on the table. She made the front page. Christine turned away and continued washing the dishes. La Scala was a tempting prospect, yes, but she had duties here… and she wasn't sure how the audiences were going to take the fact that she would be leaving in a few short months. Perhaps she should have remained in the house and stopped singing for a while.

"Erik would not approve of this decision."

Christine lowered her head and then turned immediately. Giovanni was gazing into space, aimlessly, as he seemed to have been doing very often since she had left. Crouching next to him, Christine attempted a smile. She had not told him of her encounter with Erik, partially because she was afraid of what shock it might bring him (even she hadn't exactly been expecting to run into him) and partially because she hoped that one day, she would bring more than simply news of him back.

"Erik would understand. He loved you very much, and I'm certain he still does." she said firmly, "Whatever had happened, no power in this world is strong enough to change that."

As if returning from a world of fantasy, Giovanni looked at her, smiled briefly and gently patted her head. "I believe you, child. He poured a bit of his soul into you – who would know better? Still, you are meant for grand things and one day, I know you will triumph on the greatest stages of Europe."

"But not today." Christine stood up and went to continue the washing.

X X X

Months passed quickly. The fight between the opera houses continued – each continued offering her more and more. While their household was now much better off financially, Christine cared little for money. She sang without much passion nowadays, still perfect, but her mind elsewhere.

She had visited La Scala on occasion and sang there as a guest star, and Italy was bewildered. She sang Gilda in Rigoletto, and afterwards had been introduced to their "star" composer, Signor Giuseppe Verdi, who was quick to ask her to stay permanently, claiming that even though the operas that would be written for her voice would be impossible to sing to other sopranos, they would be the most spectacular works, if one would have such a magnificent inspiration.

Though she promised that she would return to Italy, she said that perhaps it would be wrong to compose such an opera, if it would be impossible to sing to all but one. Nevertheless, she was honored to meet a rising star of a composer, and confirmed that she too would be glad to meet him again some time later.

However, when the time came to return to Paris, she was more concerned with what Giovanni might say than with the outrage of her admirers and the audiences of Italy. She told him about a week before her departure, telling few details, but assuring him that once her visit to the East was over, she would return for certain.

Giovanni accepted it with a certain passivity which she didn't like. But she could do little about it, since the time to leave was so close. She had done her best. Not late afterwards, she was sitting in a carriage, riding back to France, where she was to meet the de Chagnys again. She had received a few letters from Raoul, telling her that it would be good if she would come to their home, where she could rest, where they could talk for a while before setting off on the long journey again.

Christine entered a city that, due to its current weather, resembled London far more than Paris. The chateau de Chagny stood away from the heart of the city, but the heavy rain didn't get any better there, perhaps the contrary. A butler was waiting outside with an umbrella and escorted Christine into the main hall, where several maids quickly bowed to her and offered to remove her cloak.

"I shall tell the young master that you are here, Mademoiselle." The butler said, bowing and exiting.

Soon after, Raoul strode out of what seemed to be the salon and, spotting her, he smiled broadly as he approached, and brought her hand to his lips gently. "It is wonderful to see you again, Christine."

"Likewise." The reply didn't come from Christine, however, but from the Comte de Chagny, who had just arrived as well, and was now at the door. The butler was removing his cloak, and Philippe seemed to be a little irritated, but clearly not by their guest.

Smiling slightly, Christine nodded to both of them respectfully. After the usual questions concerning the time they had been parted, the three proceeded to the dining hall, where nothing short of a feast (to Christine, at least) was awaiting them. She stopped herself from staring just in time and sat down. That night, she felt probably for the first time like a princess would, and realized that the nickname Principessa was suitable only for this occasion.

They talked about many things, and it almost seemed like a tennis match, because whenever one asked something about the other's life, a question was fired back at them. Raoul, who seemed to have been keeping track of her to some degree, knew most of what she had been up to. When Christine inquired how come he knew, she was told that the family had become patrons of the Paris Opera House, though it seemed to be a little less profitable than they expected, and even there, they watched out for concurrence.

"I must ask you for a favor, Christine." Philippe said, "Once we return, please move back to Paris so I might finally kick out our resident Prima Donna." Christine laughed, but Philippe's face remained serious. "I mean it. The Italian wench has been driving me out of my mind for the past few weeks."

"Signora Carlotta Guidicelli." Raoul explained. Christine recognized the name. "She's our Prima Donna, but ever since the managers lost control of her, she's been complaining about pretty much everything. She can sing, but her ego overshadows any kind of ability."

"The Prima Donna syndrome." Christine concluded, playing with her fork a bit. "I can't say. I haven't made any definite plans after our return, so…" she kept the sentence hanging in the air, "but I would like to return to Paris, someday. It also depends on my uncle – I have no wish to leave him alone any longer. He is able, but growing old. And he needs some company."

The night didn't prove as restless as any of them imagined it, but nevertheless, none seemed too eager to leave early in the morning, not even Christine, who knew that she should be looking forward to seeing Erik again. They bade farewell to a stormy and dull December in Paris and proceeded to the train station.

Though the ride was as long as it was before, the last one seemed like a minute compared to the eternity of this journey. This time, however, they spoke far more than during the last journey, so it was a bit more bearable than it would have been otherwise. Nevertheless, all three were glad to finally see the end of it. Tehran was their destination this time.

Another lavish feast had been thrown upon their arrival, but they were grateful for that. And once they reached the main dining hall and each took their bows, Christine felt a pair of eyes watching her. Looking up, she saw not gold, but jade, and the ghost of a smile passed through her face before she was forced to move her gaze from Nadir Khan.

The shah addressed them far kindlier than they would have at first expected, since there seemed to be talk of political clashes in the country. "It pleases me greatly that our European friends have accepted my invitation and came to spend the winter with us, brightening these days for all of Persia." The speech went on for a minute before the feast was officially opened, but it seemed to last even longer than the journey and not even Erik's sudden appearance would have made Christine want to stay any longer. He did not show up, however, and she hoped that Nadir's presence didn't signify anything bad. But the Persian didn't look grim, so she assumed that things were going semi-well.

Servants have been appointed to show them to their quarters, but they were more than certain that they knew the way. The two de Chagnys were escorted away, but as Christine moved to follow the slave, someone called her and she turned to see none other than the khanum herself (with an interpreter, of course) a few steps behind her down the corridor, with a thin smile beneath her veils.

"I have wished to speak with you, my dear." the khanum said, "You have graced me with entertainment better than I could think of during your last visit, and I have been wanting to repay the favor."

"There is no need for that, your majesty." Christine shook her head.

"I insist that you join me tomorrow." Her tone showed that she was not to be argued with, so Christine remained silent. But then the sharpness vanished and her smile reappeared. "I have few to talk to in this palace, few worthy of conversation. And I would be pleased if you wouldn't feel… left out. Political affairs must be boring to a lady."

"If you wish it…" Christine said uncertainly, "I have no plans for tomorrow, seeing as we have only just arrived…"

"Excellent." the khanum said, and her eyes flashed with something close to victory, "One more thing, my dear." She nodded to a slave girl that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, but then Christine realized that she had stood there for the whole time, but was so young and petite that she hadn't seen her. The slave held out a box to Christine. "I would ask you to wear this. Do not worry – it is not indecent. I know women of the West prefer a different type of clothing, but here, you can wear it freely, without being frowned upon."

Taking the package, Christine took off the lid, revealing a dress. It reminded her a bit of the costume the slave girls had worn during the production of Hannibal. Consisting of two pieces, the top was of an earthy brown color. Oriental symbols were embroidered upon it in the colors of copper and gold. For all its beauty, it would probably only about an inch bellow her breasts.

The lower part were trousers, but they reminded her more of a skirt. Most of them were made of a flowing chiffon-like material, only the top that would reach to a few inches down her tight was made of satin, or something very similar to it, also embroidered. But despite that, she realized that it wouldn't be revealing at all, for accompanying it all was a very long mahogany veil that would surely reach down to her knees, at the very least.

Christine looked at the khanum with some shock. Not because she didn't want to wear it. It was that she wasn't sure why the khanum was giving her this – the attire worthy of a Persian princess, surely. But the shah's mother smiled again.

"You are my guest and I would like us to be friends. A servant will come and fetch you around midday. Good night." she said and motioned to the slave and the interpreter to follow her.