Angel of Music, Revised
Christine stepped out from behind the privacy screen, tying the ribbon on the front of her dressing gown. Her thoughts were seeped in turmoil over the conversation with Raoul. A draft propelled itself into the room, and she looked up to see a curl of smoke whispering up from a candle's wick. The room fell into an unremitting darkness immediately. Presentiment raced through her, and she stepped toward the door. Just as she reached for the handle, a note, struck from somewhere deep within the opera house, rumbled and made her sternum quiver. She turned away from the door, her movements jagged with trepidation.
Fear paralyzed both her thoughts and body for a heartbeat in time. Thoughts of assailants in the dark left her when she heard her Angel's voice, the voice that had been her companion for so many years, and her apprehension disbanded.
"Insolent boy, this slave of fashion, basking in your glory. Ignorant fool, this brave young suitor, sharing in my triumph." His song, though harsh and mocking, was also undeniably persuasive.
A tremor went through her, though she did her best to still it. She had never heard such anger in his voice before. "Angel I hear you, speak, I listen. Stay by my side, guide me." Supplication entwined itself through her song. She dipped her head when the next words came to her. Shame tingled through her to have to sing them, but she knew they were important…that he was important. "Angel, my soul was weak, forgive me. Enter at last, master."
As she sang, Christine looked about the room, searching for any sign of her Angel. There were no shadows, no quick movements, nothing. A millstone bound itself around her neck for a moment as she recalled Meg's earlier words of Christine's Angel simply being a dream. It was late, but suddenly she felt no fatigue. This, his voice, was no apparition; it was completely and irrefutably real.
"Flattering child, you shall know me," he sang again, his tone more gentle and appealing. "See why in shadow I hide. Look at your face in the mirror, I am there inside!"
Excitement and disbelief rushed through her. Was she really to see her Angel? What would be the cost of a glimpse of such a celestial being? Charily, she raised her eyes to the full-length mirror that hung on the far wall.
The room around her faded into oblivion, and all she saw was him. A well-dressed gentleman, tall and lean, stood, somehow, within the glass of the mirror. The looking glass's gold casing framed him, as though he were a masterpiece in an art gallery. A white mask covered the right side of his face, from hairline to lower cheek. Though unexpected, the mask's stark beauty was breathtaking.
The song came to her naturally, the notes nearly singing themselves. "Angel of Music, guide and guardian, grant to me your glory." She felt a certain force pull her toward the mirror. She crossed the room, her mind devoid of doubts or questions. "Angel of Music, hide no longer. Come to me, strange Angel."
She found herself directly in front of the mirror, sheer inches away from the vision she had dreamed about on so many occasions. She paused as he began calling to her in a deep, hypnotizing voice.
"I am your Angel of Music. Come to me, Angel of Music."
His voice was unlike anything she had ever heard. Its silky, undeniably seductive tone coated her and surrounded her, until it was all she could absorb. Through a thick fog, Christine dimly thought she heard Raoul's voice. Her Angel repeated his call, and all thoughts of the Vicomte disappeared. "I am your Angel of Music. Come to me, Angel of Music."
He stretched out a gloved hand toward Christine, as if daring, asking, begging her to bridge the gap between them. Wanting the same, she reached out her hand, her fingertips hovering just over his. For an instant, she hesitated. Then, for an eternity, her hand was his.