------------A/N: Okay, my dear readers didn't say much about what they think of this. It's okay, I guess the chapter wasn't that gorgeous. I'll write some more to make sure you see the development.

------------Summary: When Raoul gets to the Opera, he doesn't remember Christine. He lays his eyes upon somebody else. How Christine deals with the loss of her love and how Madame Giry responds. Raoul/Antoinette

Chapter Two --- Performance

Madame Giry stood up and approached Meg. She sat down next to her on the ground and watched her sewing her pointes.

"You want new ones?" she asked and handed her a new pair of shoes. "Yours are thoroughly dead." Meg smiled but shook her head. "These are my lucky ones. I can't dance without them."

"Meg, there's no luck in the world but hard work."

The shrill voice of a complaining Christine sharply rushed though the air. Madame Giry frowned. "What is it this time?" she said to herself and turned around.

There she was, in her white Sissi-dress, looking like an overdressed bride. At least they didn't have to buy a new dress - she had exactly the same size as the Italian singer. Her face was red and her eyes big with fear. "I can't go out there", she whispered, "I can't. He's out there. He didn't even recognize me! I can't!"

Madame stood up and patted her shoulder. "You'll be fine. Who is the man you are talking about?" Her patience would find its grave in Christine's answer.

"It's Raoul!"

Madame sighed loudly and rolled her eyes. "You're so distracted by a man?" She turned away to help Meg sew her shoes.

"But it's my big night! I have no man watching me!" Obviously, she pouted.

"You've got the whole audience. Shut up."

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Raoul set down in a chair and took some looks around. He liked to watch the audience prepare for performances. It had something holy, sacred, the excitement crept onto his skin to dig its way into his veins where it poured into his blood up into his head. This was his new empire. He'd be the king. He'd rule all of them. He'd make them smile whenever he wanted to, he'd make them laugh or cry. It was the power of the dancers, the singers, the performers. He felt like a king.

After some minutes of audience-watching he had enough, though. The faces looked all the same, rich people with their dresses and diamonds. No one of them knew what a real Opera was anymore - they all forgot it. All they wanted was entertainment, so they'd get it. 'Excellent entertainment', he thought and smiled to himself, 'your eyes will pop out.' Then he decided to stop dreaming about his soon-to-be empire and rather find out how much work he'd have to do. He waited for the light to dim and for the dancers to start moving their stiff arms and legs. Of course, it wouldn't be as good as he hoped, but he had a lot of time on his hands to turn this Opera into a first class theatre. God, and Madame Giry would be by his side, all the time. He hoped.

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Meanwhile, Christine stood behind the curtain and felt her heart pumping. She heard the excitement of the audience and waited for the evening's performance to start. She shivered and closed her eyes to calm down. She expected a lot of her voice, especially tonight. She would have to impress him. Maybe he'd remember.

Then, the curtain lifted and the hot spot shone onto her. She blinked and tried to smile. Everything seemed so big in front of her. The music started. But she couldn't. Her neck felt stiff and fear grabbed her. She didn't open her mouth. 'I can't sing', she thought slowly and hissed a "Sorry" into the air. She turned around and ran off the stage: the end of her career. No performer runs from the stage and ever comes back. No one.

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"Christine!" Madame Giry ran behind her. "What's going on? Stop! Christine!"

Christine stopped running in front of her room. "What?" She hissed back at her. "What do you want?"

"What's going on? Why didn't you sing? You've done that so many times!"

"I can't. I just can't. The audience frightened me."

"But Christine, don't you know the rule for performers who flee?" Madame's eyes grew wide and expressed pure sadness. "They're fired."

Christine shivered. "Well."

Madame opened the door and pulled Christine into her room. "Why, Christine, why? Don't you let your life be destroyed by some boy!"

"He's not only a boy", Christine tried to defend her upcoming feelings for Raoul. "He's my Raoul!"

"But he doesn't know you", she gave back, "stop dreaming! Vicomtes never marry ballerinas, or singers, neither anything below nobility!"

"That's what you think! Times have changed!"

Madame laughed snidely. "No, that will never change. Why, Christine? Why? You were the most talented singer I've ever met! Now your career is trash. It's a golden rule, the Golden Rule, didn't you know?"

"I knew. You taught me."

"You may never get back on stage at all, maybe as a cleaner. And that might be honorable for such a behavior. What a pity."

"Who'll decide?" Christine asked as if she hoped that person would be full of goodness and mercy.

"Monsieur Le Vicomte, who else?"

With those words, Christine started to cry and sank to the ground. Her career was indeed over.

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Madame Giry moved back to the big hall to talk to the Vicomte. He had told her he'd wait for her to talk about the future of the Opera. 'He plans to make it grand', Antoinette thought and took the steps up to the hall. 'He'll make us famous.' She thought about wearing a green dress the next day instead of black. A little color could help their relationship. 'What am I thinking?" she asked silently as she caught herself thinking about Raoul in that way. 'It's not my place to think about a relationship to him, any other than a business relationship. He's the Vicomte. I'm the ballet teacher. Or was Christine right? Would he …'

Her thoughts were interrupted. She had reached the hall and there he stood, leaning against a wall, looking out of the window. He looked so fresh, so certain, so young. Not foolish, not aggressive, but smart. 'Antoinette, immediately stop these thoughts.' Then, he saw her and stepped next to her, taking her hand to kiss it.

"Good evening, Madame", he said and smiled at her, a gentle smile. It stroked her cheeks and made her blush.

She stared at him in disbelief. No man had ever done this. No one ever thought she'd be a Lady, a Madame. No one. Her hand remained in his.

"An interesting performance this evening", he said calmly.

"Yes", Madame gave back. "Indeed."

"It's not very good for our reputation."

"Our?" Madame asked, surprised. "It's your Opera."

"No. It's ours. It belongs to everyone, but especially to both of us. I'll need you. You are my instrument. I need you for the girls to perform well. I can't do it alone, or with anybody else." He still didn't let go of her hand. "I want this Opera to be grand. Please, help me."

Madame shivered and wanted other matters to be talked about. It was ridiculous to think he would really want her help. It made her blush again, let alone the fact that his hands were so soft and warm. She was way too old for such young feelings. But she couldn't tear her hand out of his.

"Monsieur, please tell me you are willing not to fire Madame Daae. She's a perfect singer… it's only… she was not … I know it's unusual, but we need her."

"I understand. You might want to leave her in ballet. She doesn't need to search for another Opera. If that is what you want."

"Yes, thank you", she said.

"It's your wish?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Good. Would you like to …"

"I really have to go. Thank you."

"Very well then. We shall meet tomorrow morning for ballet training", he said, "when you can show me what the other girls are capable of."

"Good night." He kissed her hand again. She couldn't respond, totally amazed by the happenings. She only turned around and left. An aura of total inaccessibility was left by her, the Vicomte turned back to look out of the window and watch the sleepy Paris calm down. Smiling.

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The Angel of Music closed the door. A smile on his face, he turned from the hall and took the stairs down up to Christine's room. He'd talk to her through the mirror again. He had heard enough of Madame and Raoul's conversation to be calmed down. There was nothing for him to fear. He was astonished about Christine's weakness, but at least Raoul did clearly not respond her feelings. Of course he'd have to amaze Christine with his voice again, again and again until she would realize that he was the only one for her. Her sadness would fade away… he'd work it out. 'If it doesn't fade away', he thought, 'I'll kill some more people. She's mine. She'll always be.' The people he was going to kill were still not clear to him. He'd maybe start with Meg, Christine's best friend. Then he could kill some more ballerinas. They annoyed him, anyway. They didn't sing… that was their mistake. After some ballerinas for dinner he could make his way up to …………