Letter Four - Let's Discuss My Situation


Christine smiled at her reflection in the large mirror in her dressing room.

Her new dressing room.

She had come to the opera a few hours early to start organizing the crowded space, and she still couldn't believe her luck. Was it far away from the other chorus members? Sure. Was it down a lonely, dark corridor? Absolutely. Did she care? Not one bit. She had her own dressing room! She did! Brand new soprano Christine Daae!

Dropping the backpack she'd loaded with cleaning supplies, she started with the largest pieces; clearly props from old shows that must have some nostalgic value, but were far too outdated to be used in current productions. She could practically feel the 1980's oozing off of some of them, and wondered what show had been "modernized" all those years ago wherein a tryptic of orchids in pastel pink and soft gray vases would be appropriate scene decoration.

The room would be eclectic, Christine decided, and she did not mind this. It made the place feel lived in, like a second-hand sweater found at a thrift store. Moving the pieces into a nook along the back wall, she felt something small and warm beneath her ribs ruffle.

This room could feel like home, and that thought felt like hope. Maybe not yet, but it could. She smiled to herself as she tacked the heavy gold curtain across the nook, blocking the more outlandish pieces from view. She pushed, pulled, dusted, and scrubbed until an alarm on her phone chirped. 30 minutes until rehearsal.

Wiping the thin film of sweat from her brow, she surveyed the room. The walls were teal with outdated, but charming, columns of gold fleur-de-lis. The gold curtain cordoning off the 1980's stage relics complimented the pattern nicely, and played off the gold lettering of the books on the shelf. A glass goblet that might have been used in the final scenes of Hamlet sat next to old opera collections, scripts with stage directions written by cast members long since gone, and a few novels, lost and never found, with masquerade masks dancing across the top shelf.

Christine was delighted by the fact that there was an actual changing screen in the dressing room. It matched every mental picture she'd ever conjured of being an opera singer, and she could imagine herself, after a night spent dazzling the crowd, slipping behind the screen and emerging in an elaborate dressing gown. She would drop gracefully into the ornately embroidered armchair she had found, and eat chocolates left by men who were madly in love with her. Now I just need to buy an elaborate dressing gown, she thought with a small laugh. Next to the door, she had moved a tall, antique, chest of drawers painted dark green, and decorated the top with crystal decanters, cut glass perfume bottles with squeeze bulbs, and a pair of small silver egg cups that let out a bright Ting! when she tapped them together.

Against the opposite wall, she had moved the vintage vanity to a place of honor next to the large mirror. The oval table was painted white, and affixed to it with curving wooden arms was a matching oval of mirror surrounded by small, round lights. In the midst of cleaning she had found a box of replacement bulbs, and the mirror was now glowing cheerfully.

Christine crossed to the large mirror and swept her shoulder-length brown hair into a ponytail. She brushed her bangs out of her eyes, and surveyed herself critically as she straightened her shirt.

She looked ok, she thought. It wasn't her best day, but she'd certainly looked worse. She was just short enough to make fun of herself for being so, and curvy in ways other girls jokingly claimed they envied. She didn't buy it, feeling more often than not that she took up too much space, but she appreciated the gesture. In the past, she'd tried very hard to take her father at his word when he called beautiful.

"Do not be cruel to yourself, älskling." he'd say, using the Swedish term of endearment. "You have beautiful, big eyes that can see the wonder around you. You have a beautiful, big smile that can bring cheer to others. You have a beautiful, big heart full of love. Those are things that make you beautiful, älskling, no matter how you might feel about yourself."

She met her own eyes in the mirror.

I have eyes that don't look as sad today.

I have a smile that is not forced today.

I have friends and coworkers to whom I can show kindness.

I have faith that corpulent sopranos will always be in fashion at the opera.

Christine smirked at her own stupid joke, and then smiled wider as she remembered the previous night's activities with Meg and a handful of others. It had been fun. Her life had been a repetitive schedule of home and work, and she had been so far removed that she hadn't noticed the pattern until she was doing something different. She let out a shaky breath, nervous suddenly that the others might think she was getting special treatment because of her dressing room. She was on her own, on the opposite side of the stage from the other dressing rooms. What if no one wanted to talk to her anymore? What if they-

Shaking her head, she breathed a quick prayer, and thought once more of her father's kind words.

I have eyes that don't look as sad today.

I have a smile that is not forced today.

I have friends and coworkers to whom I can show kindness.

o...o0o...o

The girl glanced at her phone before grabbing her folder of music and leaving the room. He watched her go.

He'd been watching her for some time.

It had been calming to watch her work, to see how determinedly she cleaned and reorganized the room. He'd made sure this room had remained unused for years. It was uniquely positioned, and had masked his comings and goings quite nicely.

It had taken more...finagling than he would have liked to get the girl this room as her own.

He smacked an open palm against the one-way glass of the mirror in frustration as he thought of the managers.

Idiots.

Half-wits.

He felt the buzz of rage that had been vibrating through him for the past week grow louder. He had built this opera from nothing.

Sales had been dropping, production value was abysmal, and cast members were jumping ship like rats to go sing show tunes on Broadway.

And then he came along. He had given them, through hints and gentle persuasion, direction. Purpose.

And now they were leaving this magnificent monument to music. For what?

Nothing.

Obscurity.

They said retirement, but they'd forgotten that he could hear everything. He knew everything. They didn't want to be harassed any longer, they didn't want to be bullied, they didn't want to be 'puppets in the hands of an unseen madman.'

"Well. If they didn't want to be puppets maybe they shouldn't be such EMPTY-HEADED FOOLS."

He slammed his hand once more against the glass, which shook violently.

He smoothed the hair away from his forehead, his fingers brushing the cool surface of the mask.

He straightened his shirt.

They had complied in the end. They always did. He had done what he needed to to get her away from the others. Away from that filthy stagehand. He didn't need any complications to his plans, and even a greasy, rat-faced scene shifter could prove a distraction.

The new managers would learn the ways of his opera soon enough. He would string them up with the wires Debienne and Poligny were leaving empty and play them like the master puppeteer he was.

In the meantime, he would listen in on the chorus. Rehearsal was well underway, and he must keep an eye on his investment. The strings were already tightening around her, and it wouldn't be long now.

Soon.

Soon.


ANYWAY. Our precious little ingenue might meet her Angel of Music in the next chapter, so come back for that, K THANX BYEEEEEE.

*Reviews always greatly appreciated, and a special thank you to Igenlode Wordsmith for the in-depth reviews! Thanks!