Letter Two – Starting Off Strong

Special thanks to Dkk5 and LikeLightInGlass for my first reviews!


Christine blinked hard several times in an attempt to make her eyes feel less dry. It had been weeks since she had sufficient reason to put in contacts, and her eyes were rebelling.

Foolishly, she had left her glasses at home. That meant one whole, glorious day of weathering the pressure in her head and the occasional blur, and she was so, so very happy to have left herself with no options.

She stood at the edge of the sharp shadow cast by the Metropolitan Opera. The fountain bubbled quietly beside her, and she mused distractedly on how simple the shadow was in comparison to the building before her. The towering, symmetrical arches. The clean, modern lines. All that gold and elegance visible through the almost entirely glass front was not at all reflected in the strong contrast of sun and shadow.

It was easier to muse on the concept of substance and shadow than actually go inside, but she knew she couldn't be late on her first day. She stood and grabbed her bag, pulling out a small bottle of eyedrops. She dripped the saline solution into her eyes, straightened her shoulders, and walked through the door.

Christine migrated toward the loosely gathered group of men and women in the far corner. They had the same air of awe and confusion she felt, and she found she was correct in assuming they were also new chorus members.

After a group tour of the Opera, they filed into a rehearsal room, and found seats. She found a chair by herself in what she hoped would turn out to be the soprano section, and began flipping through the folder of music she had found on the seat.

Christine felt nervous. She felt awkward, and shaky, and scared. She hated it. She used to be so open. She used to think making friends was as simple as making someone laugh, and now she couldn't even meet anyone's eye. She had sequestered herself in a corner, she was avoiding people by perusing this folder, and she knew it. She knew it, and she couldn't stop. She didn't even know what song she was reading, but she did know she was starting to panic. Her head was hurting from the pressure of the contact lenses, her breath was coming out in shorter and shorter bursts, and her eyes were starting to burn.

She wasn't ready for this. She couldn't do this! Everything was slipping into that hole to the left of how she knew she should be feeling. It hadn't been enough time, and she wanted to go home. She closed the folder and grabbed her bag when a group of girls sat near her, cutting off her exit. She stayed in an awkward half crouch for a long moment before sitting back down. One of the girls met her eye and smiled at her. Christine smiled weakly in return, and forced herself to take long deep breaths.

She thought about all the reasons she accepted the position. It was her last tie to her father. It didn't matter what she thought she could do. This was something she had to do. It was she was made for. It was all she ever dreamed of, and she was going to hold onto the burnt little husk of that dream with all the strength she had left.

She was just starting to feel calm when the conductor entered and introduced himself. He congratulated them on having mostly sorted themselves into the proper rehearsal configuration, and after shuffling the few incorrectly seated parties, he tapped his baton on his music stand.

"Congratulations, all, on being accepted into this prestigious company." The conductor scanned the group gravely. "For those of you returning, welcome back. For our newest members, I am Mr. Reyer. As I'm sure you are aware, we received applications from hundreds of talented individuals from all over the world. You were chosen. That means something."

"It means we impressed the Phantom." whispered the girl who had smiled at Christine. The girl's friend elbowed her and both tried to hide their smirks. Christine wondered at the comment, but turned her attention back to the front of the room.

"Endeavor to be worthy of the spot you hold. Never stop striving for excellence." The conductor continued. "Remember that you can be replaced, but work to make yourselves irreplaceable. Now. We begin!"

They went through the typical warm ups, and sight read some of the season's upcoming production. By the end of the day, Christine felt exhausted, but a little better for the rehearsal.

o...o0o...o

Each consecutive day proved busier, fuller, and she felt the dawnings of excitement. She was here. She was singing at The Metropolitan Opera! Everything was unfolding almost smoothly, and she began to be glad she had accepted the position.

A week passed in this manner, and the conductor had led them to the stage for the first time. They had no blocking, but he had wanted the group to get a sense of their sound in the space in which they would be performing.

A group of people burst through the doors to the auditorium and filtered onto the stage, interrupting their progress. Christine lowered her music, grateful for the pause. The song was one she had learned with her father, and she was beginning to feel unsteady.

She looked toward the ceiling and took a breath, collecting herself. The chattering group was joining them on the stage, and as she turned her attention towards them, her eyes passed over the boxes. A flash of something drew her attention back towards the box seats, but it was nothing but a gently undulating curtain.

The party consisted of the managers, Messrs Debienne and Poligny, and several of the leads.

"Mr. Reyer!" Poligny called warmly "So this is our new crop of singers, eh? Mind if we pop in for a bit, give them a listen?"

Reyer acquiesced, and the group had begun to shuffle off the stage and towards the seats when a sharp cough halted the progress. The managers turned and regarded the well dressed, elegant woman standing center stage with her arms folded. She tilted her head and shot them a look, self-importance dripping from the gesture.

"Of course," said Poligny. "My apologies. Everyone, these are our leads. The majority of them will be taking the smaller bit parts, but it is my honor to introduce our primo uomo, Ubaldo Piangi, and our primma donna, Lana Carlotta."

Lana Carlotta curtsied, actually curtsied, before taking Piangi's arm and striding from the stage. The rest of the group joined them, and the opening notes began.

Christine tried to shove down the emotions swelling inside her, and focus on the music. She sang, trying to give herself over to only the notes, but images rose, unbidden, of her father on his violin. The two of them reading by the fire. His eyes crinkling over the bowstrings as he signaled her entrance to a song.

She felt her voice crack, and saw a few curious heads turn towards the noise. She tried to sing softer, but a powerful swell in the music required fortissimo, and she felt her voice strain away from her, sour and sharp.

Reyer looked at her sharply, and she glanced down. The music suddenly made no sense, and she had lost her place. She moved her mouth, but no sound came out.

"Miss Daae! Eyes forward! You are referencing the music, not reading a novel." called Mr. Reyer. Christine felt her face flush, and she met his eyes. He gave her a warning look, and turned his attention to the tenors.

She followed along as best she could and sang as softly for the rest of the rehearsal. As soon as they were released, she darted to the wings. She slipped backstage and wedged herself into the shadowy space between two flats.

Christine waited until the sounds of the company retreated, and silence fell over the stage. She had decided to wear her glasses that day, which she removed as she sank to the ground and began to cry softly into her hands. She thought of Reyer's words earlier that week "Remember that you can be replaced, but work to make yourselves irreplaceable."

She didn't want to be replaced. She wanted to be here. It was a small, tiny wish, the desire to stay, but it was there, and knowing it was there was something warm and good.

She wiped her eyes, and took a shuddering breath. She knew she wanted this. She knew, and she wanted to tell someone. It had been about a week since her last "letter." She had started a YouTube channel specifically for it, and uploaded the video without tags. She didn't really want anyone to find it, but the act felt incomplete without putting the letter somewhere other than her hard drive.

She picked up her bag and walked toward the door, wiping her glasses on the edge of her white tank top as she headed out, into the sun. When she got home, maybe she'd try to film another letter. Maybe she would make it a weekly thing. She had a feeling she might need it.

o...o0o...o

He watched the girl go with a mingled sense of annoyance, and...pity? Disgusting. He hadn't felt pity in years.

He had handpicked this chorus, and she was a discordant thorn in what was meant to be a harmonious bouquet.

He slipped quietly down a rope from the flies, and moved toward shadowy space between flats she had been occupying. He hadn't meant to watch her as she cried, but she'd been standing on the trapdoor above the quickest route to his lair.

He liked calling it a lair. It sounded dramatic, and so terribly important.

He slipped through the trapdoor and into the tunnels, winding his way through the near complete darkness by muscle memory alone.

He remembered the girl's audition. She had been good. She had had promise. Nothing spectacular. Julliard taught, if he remembered correctly, and that lot usually bore the stamp of their prestigious education with insufferable pretension.

He unlocked the door and turned on the siren sensor. Crossing to his desk, he rifled through the abundant papers looking for his notes on the choral auditions.

Ah, yes. There she was. Christine Daae. Voice decent, but rough. Not her fault really, those fools at Juilliard couldn't train a canary to sing. Chorus, possible promotion to bit parts after a few years. She'd been acceptable. It was why he had chosen her.

But then, this first week! Exhausted, out of tune, distracted, her tone breathy, her posture atrocious. She was slipping by, singing just well enough the Reyer didn't notice.

But he noticed.

He noticed everything. She needed to be replaced, and he had the letter to the managers written and sealed with the name of her replacement. He had meant to deliver it that afternoon with his usual flair; drop it from his box just as Debienne and Poligny passed below.

But he did not deliver it.

She was sad. He could see it now. He'd been watching through vent slats and listening behind walls, picking out the discord by ear. He hadn't truly watched her sing, until now.

She was heartbroken. She was shattered. Looking at her was like picking up shards of glass, dangerous but necessary.

Oh, all those others, acting acting always acting. Painted smiles, the comedy, the tragedy. Their work on the stage was them at their most honest. He knew details about everyone who worked in his opera. All the little sordid ones that could be useful. But no, everything was always fine with them. They shuttered themselves up, smiled their big, perfect smiles, breathed through their noses, and there was nothing in their singing because they never let themselves really feel.

But she felt, she felt and she didn't hide. Yes, he could see she was trying to hide it, but her face was too open, her exquisite pain too deep. Something melancholy and tragic.

Familiar.

Looking at her was like looking in mirror, and for once, he did not hate his reflection.

So he let her stay.


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