Here is Chapter Two! It is a bit more explanatory than I would prefer, but I hope it sets the scene without being too boring. Enjoy!
Chapter 2: A Delicate Dream
Christine Daaé rolled one of her chestnut curls in between her fingers. She was deep in thought, lost in the wanderings of her imagination. Before her was the rolling green hills of her childhood home. It was a shade of green she had not seen anywhere else, rich and vibrant; full of life. She looked up and admired the small clouds sprinkled among the blue canvas above her. Sometimes, if she reached far enough, she could imagine their texture; like soft wool or fine cotton. Something so gentle that she could melt into it and float peacefully through the sky. She would do anything to live in that dream now.
Instead, she sat on the back of a wagon, scrunched under the small scrap of tarp covering the equipment beside her. Despite her minimal shade, her skin singed and burned against the intense heat, draining her of all energy and motivation. Instead of doing something productive, she day-dreamed to paint the sandy, barren stretch of nothingness surrounding her. Never had she imagined she would miss the colour green so much.
Her fickle dreams came to a halt when she heard an exasperated sigh. A young woman with long blonde curls tied in a sloppy bun leapt onto the end of the wagon across from her. Her once alabaster skin had grown pink from her time in the sun, but it complemented her round face and robust lips, regardless of her frown.
"Damn proprietary." She grumbled and unbuttoned the front of her dress, barely revealing the top of her plump breasts that peaked out her corset. She fanned herself with the little cloth she had freed. "Had I known that Persia would be this hot, I would have reconsidered."
Christine smiled. Meg Giry was, without a doubt, her closest friend. As a young girl, Christine had studied ballet at the Opera Populaire while her father travelled or played the violin in their productions. She had known little French, yet Meg had been the first ballerina to accept her with open arms. They grew to be quite close; Meg relieved to find another woman that was not obsessed with drama and Christine happy to have a friend.
"Remember though, after this we go to Greece, along the coast to Italy, and then onward to Paris. That will be a beautiful journey, especially once we hit the mountains again."
"Always the optimist, Christine." Meg chuckled. "I still don't understand why we have to go so far east. Firmin and André haven't given me a straight answer yet! And I've asked at least a hundred times."
Christine shook her head, chuckling at the image of the fiery blonde interrogating the two managers, a comical sight that happened quite often. Yet, she wasn't alone. The entire travelling cast had argued that there was no need to travel so far east to perform in a distant country, but both managers were unusually insistent. The tour was supposed to leave late-summer so they'd return to Paris before winter and still avoid the heat. Yet, while the cast was still rehearsing, the managers rounded up everyone early spring and threw them onto a boat to begin the tour. When asked why, the managers gave short, flippant excuses or quickly changed the subject. They were hiding something, but no one could figure out what.
"I bet it is about money. I wonder if they are renting the opera house right now or maybe they are getting paid a ridiculous amount for performing in Persia." Meg muttered. "At least, they better be. I am expecting good compensation for parading across the world in the heat of summer."
Personally, Christine didn't mind leaving sooner. Paris had been her home for many years, yet it had grown suffocating. Everywhere she looked, everything she did, she was reminded of her late father. At least out here in the wilderness, she couldn't hear his violin haunting her dreams.
"Maybe the people of Persia just love travelling theatre." Christine joked, earning an eye roll from her friend.
"Maybe they love French Opera too." She teased. "I knew a man from Persia and he said that ballet was not common in his land as the clothing is indecent. So, I cannot imagine the Persian people thinking very highly of us."
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Madame Giry, Meg's mother. Despite the intense heat, she still wore her trademark long black dress and tightly pulled bun. She walked with a long black cane, which when slammed against the ground, pulled all the ballerinas into a terrified state of attention.
"My goodness Meg!" The revered instructor exclaimed. "Show some decency please!"
"I am dying from this heat, Mama! All the men are up front, no one can see me."
"I can see you. At least button the last two buttons, the whole world can see your corset!"
Meg groaned as she obeyed her mother, casting a side glance at a snickering Christine.
"I wish we were back on the boat, sailing through the Mediterranean. At least there we had a breeze." Meg grumbled.
"I never want to sail again." Her mother huffed, walking behind the wagon. "I hadn't been that nauseous since I was pregnant with you, ma fille."
"I think if we had stayed on the boat, you would have adjusted sooner. But since we ported at nearly every coastal town, you body mustn't have had the time to get used to sailing."
Madame Giry shrugged. "Whatever the cause, I still have no desire to step on a boat again."
"Well, I for one wish we could be sleeping in the small cabins of the ship."
Christine chuckled. "You did nothing but complain about those rooms."
"Oh they were dreadful, but sleeping on a wagon is far more uncomfortable."
The two girls reminisced over their journey. Yes, it had been difficult, but Christine was grateful. They travelled to every coastal city imaginable to perform their shortened rendition of Hannibal. It was always met with great applause and the cast enjoyed rehearsing and performing all over the world. Yet, once they landed in Beirut, they mostly spent their days travelling by train. All they could do was sit and watch the green coast turn into a wide desert. Christine wished she could be out exploring this new land, but was stuck watching it fly by from the train window.
The mysterious east. A land she had only heard about in her father's stories. He used to tell her of their luxurious gardens and enchanting music, but even he knew little of the empire. His tales enthralled her, terrified her, but above all else, they intensified her curiosity.
But her curiosity was again dashed when they had reached Baghdad. Instead of experiencing the new world, their managers introduced them to their new home for the next 10 days: wagons.
"Now look at us." Meg wondered aloud. "Do you really think this is the 'trip of a lifetime' as Firmin says?"
Christine pondered. Yes, the journey had been long and arduous. After their first week abroad, she had decided she would never complain about the long days at the opera when she would always have her own bed to return to. But out here, she felt free. She wasn't tied down to the memory of her late father. The music of her childhood didn't taunt her there. She could finally breathe again. Even though they were thousands of miles away from home, Christine finally began to feel more like herself. Maybe this peaceful trip to Persia would be exactly what she needed to heal.
Christine squeezed her friend's hand. "I know it seems bleak now, but I just have the feeling the rest of this journey will be magical."
I need it to be magical. She thought. Things cannot go back to how they were.