The costumer adjusted Christine Daae's braids after putting the crown on her head.
"Now that is perfect," Erik proclaimed standing beside the camera. He smiled at his wife, "The perfect Marguerite."
A couple of chorus girls watched promotional photo shoot from the wings of the Phantasma Stage.
"Perfect if your idea of Marguerite is an old maid," one whispered to another.
"I wonder how long that henna sat on her hair. Just last week the silver strands were obvious," another mumbled.
"You know they can hear you," Violet, Christine's understudy, spoke up.
"And done!" The photographer called. "Do you want another pose, Sir?"
Christine looked towards the wings and met the girls' gaze. They ran back stage.
"That's enough," The Prima Donna dropped the fake jewels into the chest and yanked the crown off her head. It fell onto the jewels with a clink. "I am exhausted and I am sure Arthur is tired of the nanny."
She stormed off the stage the direction the chorus girls had gone. They were in their dressing room when Christine reached hers. Slamming the door behind her, she made quick work of pulling the costume off, the white robes pooling on the floor. She refused to look at herself in her undergarments in the mirror; buttoning her green mutton sleeve top as fast as she could before fastening her skirt.
Her pregnancy and birth with Arthur changed her body in ways one never had before. It had been six years since his premature and difficult birth and she had not been with child since. Not that Erik and Christine wanted another child; they just knew they were never perfect with their prophylactics and knew the consequences. Yes, she was getting older but was still too young for the change of life.
Christine also never returned to her old figure after Arthur. The extra weight stayed. She laced her corsets tighter; Erik chided her because it affected her breathing.
The silver in her hair was there before him, but there was no denying there was more. Though was that just age? Or the added stress of young children and being a singer? All the nannies in the world never replaced her.
Christine was thankful she kept on her boots under the costume for the photo shoot. Not caring to redo her hair, Christine exited her dressing room as swiftly as she entered it. She refused to cry until she got home.
"Mama, come, look what I drew!" Arthur waved from his desk as soon as Christine walked into his nursery; once was what his father's work room.
"That's all he's done today, Mrs. Y," The nanny curtsied as Christine entered.
"That's a lovely picture of the Ferris Wheel," Christine stroked the boy's deformed cheek as she looked down at the drawing. So advance for his age; the obvious talents of his father but was thankfully showing the temper of his mother.
"When can I ride?"
"Soon."
Christine turned her attention to the nanny, "You can go for the day, Bridgette."
The nanny curtsied again before taking leave.
"I do believe we are done with drawing for today. Do you want to read to me?" Christine turned her attention to the book shelf in the room. "Do you want me to pick or do you…"
"Dada! Look at my picture! I just showed Mama!"
The Diva spun to see The Phantom standing in the doorway of the nursery. Her eyes narrowed. He had done this on purpose; seizing in on her alone time with Arthur. She hated him yet loved him for it.
Erik removed his mask and wig and held them in front of his chest, "Matilda is at ballet, Charlotte is rehearsing; I do believe Mama was choosing a book for you to read. Would you like to go down to the parlor and read it to both of us?"
The boy sprung up from his chair, "I want to pick!"
Erik chuckled, "Then do so." He held his hand out to his wife, "Come Angel, I do believe you had an exhausting day. A story and a sherry will do for now."
