Christine had lived at the Opera Populaire for ten years. She had seen the preparations for the Masquerade each year, but never attended. At first she was too young and later she was too deep in her studies to bother. This would be her first ball and though she knew she should be excited, she simply was not.

Raoul had declared himself her escort. Though Christine was really in no mood to even look at his handsome face, she relented. A proper young lady would not attend the ball without an escort, and there was no one else who would do.

She and Meg acted as one another's ladies in waiting: arranging ball gowns, carefully coifing hair, arraying jewelry, and applying the lightest touches of make-up. Their masks were still hidden, to be worn only after the ball began. Meg left when Raoul arrived, winking at Christine.

"I'll see you at the unmasking. Be good, Christine. Don't do anything that would cause you shame in confession on Sunday!"

Blushing to the well groomed roots of her hair, Christine donned her mask and linked her arm with Raoul's. Raoul was at the height of his fashionable gentlemanliness. For his costume he had chosen the part of Oberon, king of the Faeries. He wore leather breeches and a silk shirt of silver, green, and brown which opened slightly more than was decent at the front to display a glimpse of his well muscled chest. His mask was beautifully decorated with silver dust, lustrous green leaves and brown vines which acted as ties. Christine wondered briefly who had done the exquisite work – it certainly was not Raoul himself.

Christine stood beside him, dressed as the Angel of Music. The choice was deliberate; she meant to remind all who saw her that she had fairly auditioned for, and won, the part of Margeurite. She had altered her Sunday frock to include flowing chiffon and frothing lace. On her back were strapped two large wings made of thin muslin and white goose down. Her mask was plain white with silver treble clefs and golden notes embossed on every broad surface. She had loosed her curls and donned the net of faux pearls and crystals which had inspired her to become Margeurite.

The glittering couple drew many appreciative glances as they entered the ballroom. Lighthearted music filled the air. Several couples were already dancing in graceful rows and circles in the middle of the room. Before she could protest, Raoul was practically carrying her onto the dance floor. After a moment, she lost herself to the magic of the music and movement.

Only one man cut a more dashing figure than Raoul. A gentleman with imposing stature had come dressed as the Red Death. He was enveloped in a voluminous, floor length scarlet cape that swirled around him as he made his way around the room. Beneath he wore an outdated, but finely fitted cloth of gold tunic and breeches. Hs head was covered with a wide brimmed, ornately feathered scarlet hat. His mask, though was the thing that caused a stir among the guests. The man wore a death's head for a mask; such a hideous reminder of mortality that many present found it impossible to look away from him.

IT was whispered that this gentleman of regal bearing must be a nobleman of some rank. The few who spoke with him told others that he was as civil of speech as he was noble of bearing. Every step he took was shadowed by powdered and painted flock of gaily plumaged ladies. They admired the craftsmanship of his costume and asked him who his tailor was. The Red Death spoke gently in a low, pleasing tone, complimenting each but showing favor to none - until Carlotta approached.

"Ah, the diva!" The scarlet cloaked man bowed deeply to Carlotta, then turned towards the crowd. Even over the din of champagne-fueled revelry, Christine immediately recognized the voice. "More beautiful than the radiant beams of the sun, more enticing than the finest wine." She alone among the revelers noticed that when he turned away from the peacock-proud diva, he was no longer speaking of her.

"Speaking of which," he pulled a bottle from the depths of his cloak and poured some into his own glass. "I have the finest vintage in the opera. Madame, would you care to join me in taking the first taste? A toast to your success!"

Flattered by the attention, La Carlotta raised her own glass to allow him to fill it. He poured her a ladylike serving, then raised his own glass high, tapping it to gain the crowd's attention. "A toast!" he cried, catching Christine's eye across the crowded ballroom. "To the beautiful and talented diva of the Opera Populaire! Long may her golden voice grace the halls!"

A host of glasses were raised high and drained. La Carlotta swallowed every last drop in her cup before she felt the sting, and realized that the Red Death had not put his to his lips. The sting burst into a tingling, then a burning sensation. She screamed, dropped her glass and tried to scream again, but this time no sound came. All revelers froze, trying to comprehend the scene unfolding before them.

Red Death jumped on top of a table. He intended for everyone present to hear him. "This is the fate of those who oppose the Phantom of the Opera! Look on her suffering and weigh well your actions!"

He swirled his cloak, gestured, and smoke rose up around him. Amid shouts of "It's the Phantom of the Opera!" "Catch him!", "Help Carlotta!", and "Find the Phantom" he disappeared.

When the smoke cleared, the crowd gave up pursuit of the Opera Ghost and turned to Carlotta who was clutching her throat and trying desperately to speak. The house physician pushed his way to the front of the throng and picked up a piece of her shattered wine glass. He lifted it to his nose and sniffed it. This revealed nothing, so he dipped his finger in the remaining liquid and touched it gingerly to his tongue. Instantly, it began to sting and burn. He turned to the crowd, which was beginning to press forward dangerously With a dramatic flourish, the wizened man raised his hands for silence. When everyone had quieted sufficiently, he announced, "Carlotta has been poisoned."

Carlotta responded to this by opening her mouth as wide as she could in a silent imitation of a scream, then fainting into the arms of a surprised gentleman dressed as a playing card. In her fainting state she missed the rest of his short speech.

"But she is not fatally poisoned. This wine has been mixed with the flesh and juice of Arisaema triphyllum, Jack in the Pulpit. It is burning my tongue mercilessly as I speak. She will live, though she may wish to seek the privacy of her own apartment for the next few hours, and her voice may not return for many days. Could someone please assist me with carrying the good lady to her room? The rest of you can go on with your party. The diva will be fine with time and care." He scooped the fainting lady up with the assistance of the playing card, and carted her off to her room.

A few of the more skittish people chose to leave the party, but this was the Opera. Dramatic things happened here with great regularity. After a few minutes of excited gossip over the sudden appearance of the Phantom, the music was struck up again, and the dancing resumed. Christine had hung back with Raoul, paralyzed by what she was witnessing. This was what Erik meant when he had said he'd see her at the Masquerade Ball! When she heard the physician pronounce Carlotta's fate, she knew precisely what had occurred. Erik, in trying to respect her wishes that Carlotta not be killed, had merely taken away her voice so that Christine could have her debut.

Christine turned to Raoul and took his hand. He led her out on to the dance floor, oblivious to her sudden change of demeanor. She was glad of her mask. If Raoul saw her shocked expression, he would drag her away from the throng to comfort her, and if she left the party now, she'd be suspect. For the rest of the evening, she danced and laughed, all the while struggling with her embattled emotions. Erik's method was cruel, but not deadly. He was accustomed to playing such tricks on residents of the Opera. TheOpera was accustomed to his tricks as well. He could have done much worse. Carlotta would not ruin another production of Faust and as her understudy, Christine would make her debut after all. If she made her debut, she would have to tell Raoul that she could no longer see him, because of his brother's concern for the family name. By the time midnight struck and all the party-goers pulled off their masks, she was smiling believably.