Welp...Here I am again. I am sure that I will regret posting two a week when I catch up to where I am now, but I hope I will not be as antsy to post by that point. (That does happen, right? No? Great.) I also realized that I can't use italics for everything, so the underlined portions are when characters are singing and the italics are their internal monologues/voices from their past. Hope this helps!

Chapter 5: An Envious Encounter

-Erik POV:-

The shadow perched near the window of the small, barren room. The 30 ft drop and crowd of people below were the only reasons he didn't leap out of the window to destroy the monstrosity before him.

He had travelled here, as instructed, to witness their travelling performance. As of now, his plan was going smoothly. The managers had taken the bait completely. They were on their way to the Shah with all the required goods, inevitably bringing the Chagnys' pestering influence to its demise. After months of grueling work, his patience was finally being rewarded.

But the second that wretched creature took the stage, he was ready to throw away all his hard work just to strangle all of the air out of her lungs. Carlotta Giudicelli's screeching shook the glass of the open window from which he peered down onto the amphitheater. It was the closest building with an empty room, but more importantly, it faced the amphitheater from high above. It was the best place he could watch every detail from afar. Now, he wished he was in another city entirely.

He hadn't been at the opera in quite some time, his duties requiring him to stay in Persia. Yet, he didn't imagine that his absence could worsen Carlotta's voice. The diva had been near intolerable then. Now, it seemed her new found comfort with his absence led her to laziness and development of a revolting pitch.

In his rage, he grabbed the closest pottery and chucked it towards the stage. He nearly smiled when it crashed against the makeshift wall; an impressive throw from this distance. The entire crew and audience looked around for the source, but they would never see him lurking in the darkness of the abandoned room. He chuckled to himself as the prima donna screeched in terror.

"Why you filthy barbarians!" The fat pig had wailed. "I don't know what kind of repulsive life you live but this is not how you treat a prima donna! Especially one of my standards."

His rage got the better of him. "STANDARDS!" He bellowed. Realizing his mistake, he ducked down below the window frame.

Dammit! Control yourself.

After the crowd hushed, he returned to peaking over the windowsill, watching one of the flustered managers try to console the diva.

"Finally." He muttered under his breath as she stormed off the stage.

The manager now talked to the cast and crew hiding behind the set pieces. Even though he was apathetic to their cause, he was curious to see how they would bounce back from this debacle. They could shamefully end the performance for all her cared. Regardless, they were already entangled in the spider's web with no hope of escape.

Then a ballerina appeared. He internally groaned, recognizing those bright blonde curls even from this distance. Meg Giry had always been a nosy pest as a child, one he tried to avoid at all costs. She often went looking for him, something that he had killed others for. But she had been a young naive girl and one that, unfortunately, was affiliated with the few people he had cared about at the time. Her babbling gossips reminded him of the buzzing of a pestering fly. Despite this, he wasn't surprised to see her. She was basically attached to the hip of her mother and there was no way she would allow the ballet to fall under someone else's control, whether a travelling opera or not. He felt a small pang of guilt. Antoinette Giry had helped him in many ways in the past. It was a shame it had to come to this.

Then another ballerina appeared. She was petite, her slave costume scandalously tight for the audience. The shadow had warned the managers to learn about the customs of the East, something they clearly ignored. Her head was down, the loose strands of her brown hair covering her face. He presumed they were asking her to sing in Carlotta's place. He remembered many of the ballerinas being able to sing, some of them taking on both dancing and singing roles.

He smirked. Very few of them had the talent to sing opera. In fact, only one ballerina ever did. For just a second, his heart fluttered. Maybe it was her? Maybe she was here? But he shook his head. That was impossible. She was probably married to that fop by now. Why bother getting his hopes up?

Yet, when she walked to center stage, her chin lifted, his heart stopped.

Think of me, think of my fondly when we've said goodbye. Remember me, once in a while please promise me you'll try. When you find that once again you long to take your heart back and be free. If you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me.

"Oh God." He gasped. His vision tunneled as he stared at the angel before him. Her gentle voice filled him with emotions he had long locked out of his heart. It sweetly swayed up through the window ledge and pierced his soul with each ethereal note.

It was his angel. She stood meekly, just like she used to as a child. Yet now, she was a grown woman. Even from this distance he could see the curve of her feminine hips and rise and fall of her developed bosom. Her once childish face had grown angular and smooth like the exquisite sculptures of Aphrodite or Venus. Now, an angel stood in front of him; one so beautiful he forgot how to breathe.

We never said our love was evergreen or as unchanging as the sea. But if you can still remember, stop and think of me. Think of all the things we've shared and seen. Don't think about the way things might have been.

"Can it be…can it be Christine?" He whispered. He must have been dreaming. His beastly eyes shouldn't be gifted with such a heavenly view. He watched her trembling hands clasp together, reaching out in front of her as she gracefully glided across the stage.

Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade. They have their season so do we. But please promise me that sometimes, you will think of me!

The amphitheatre erupted in applause and the shadow was brought back to reality. He was out of breath, his knuckles white. The only joy and compassion he had ever known had found him. She had come to Persia and found him. His angel of music.

He stood as the cast and crew bowed, hand in hand. He saw her wipe away the tears from her cheeks as she smiled down at the crowd.

He gripped the windowsill, the wooden frame cracking under his fingers. His joy burned into anger. Those fools! Of all the ballerinas why did they have to bring her? Why did God tease him with happiness before drowning him the harsh, cold reality he thought he could escape.

He tore his hands through his hair, gripping the ends of it tightly. The crew was deemed as expendable. Only days ago had he discussed how ammonium could preserve the body parts long enough for them to last while they were packaged and sent to the troublesome viscounts. He knew that they would die and it would be him who would have to kill his old acquaintances. He had increased his training to be ready to rid of the useless crew. How fucking ironic was it that the one beautiful thing in his life would be a part of his most monstrous deed yet!

In his rage he threw another piece of pottery at a nearby wall. Would he ever escape this madness?

He paced the room, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. He could take her away and hide her, but he knew very few places the Shah could not find her. Regardless, these places were dark and full of traitors and crooks. She wouldn't be safe there. Did he know of any sailors he trusted? Could he throw her on a boat to Russia through the Caspian Sea? He had some contacts there that he could trust. But would she leave her friends behind?

She would if I didn't give her a choice. He thought. He shook his head. How the hell would he get her back to France? Was her father here too? Oh God, two people to hide would be considerably worse, possibly closer to impossible. Would this affect his plan? In his anger he kicked another piece of pottery, ignoring the loud shatter left in its wake.

He collapsed against the back wall. No matter what scheme he could come up with, his heart ached with the truth. She would want nothing to do with him, not after what he had done. His fiery anger was doused with this reality. It had been so long since he last saw her. 3 years? 5 years? His time in Persia had been a blur of pain and blood, so much so he barely knew who he was, let alone the day. Regardless, it was long enough that he knew she would not welcome him, nor should she. His monstrous form was too sinful to touch her, to even gaze upon her was immoral. His hands trembled as he gripped his trousers. Even if she hated him, a reality he could not accept, he still couldn't kill her.

Whatever he chose to do, he vowed, Christine Daaé had to survive.

-Christine POV:-

"You were amazing!" Meg squealed, hugging her dear friend as they exited behind the makeshift stage wall.

"Your voice is the most beautiful sound I have ever heard!" Jammes cried.

"Christine! That was phenomenal. You put that witch in her place!"

The smack of a cane against the stone caused them all to squeal.

"You did well." Madame praised, a curt smile crossing her lips. "They would be proud."

Overjoyed, Christine beamed.

"Oh Christine Daaé!" André cheered. He ran over to the bewildered ballerina. "You are the hero of the night. Even though we had to cut the performance short, the crowd seemed to love the drama! Why, I never knew that you possessed such charm and talent! How could I have been so blind? Come, you must begin rehearsing with Reiner immediately for tonight's performance."

Christine barely had time to speak before Reiner appeared, shaking her hands energetically. "That was beautiful, my dear! It was so lovely to hear you sing again. You'll make a fine Elissa for sure."

"You weasel!"

The group jumped at Carlotta's sharp accusations. She stormed towards the group like a bull charging at an ill-prepared matador. Her red lips were open in a snarl and she appeared with flames in her eyes. She stopped a few inches in front of Christine. Her only barrier was La Sorelli's shoulder who had stepped in front of her defensively.

"I am Elissa! I am the prima donna! Not this pathetic little imp who dares to defy me!" Carlotta hollered.

"This little imp just saved our performance while you were behaving like a child!" Meg defended, taking her friend's hand in her own.

"How dare you! In your pathetic ignorance, you've clearly forgotten that I was attacked!"

"Carlotta, my darling!" André squeaked. "You-you have returned?"

"Returned to witness a betrayal!"

"Wh-What? No-no!" Andre stumbled.

Firmin arrived, huffing as he jogged to the group. "She has returned!" He said with a spurious smile.

"Returned to disaster! How dare you!" She pointed a lone finger at the trembling soprano. "This ingenue is trying to take my opera from me. But I will have none of her deception! I will play the role of Elissa or I will never, ever perform at the Opera Populaire again!"

Christine could barely process the situation. Her body was still shaking with the aftermath of her performance. She was thrilled, exhausted, guilty, and liberated. Her soul was engulfed in the joy of singing once again as the music flowed through her veins. Yet now, her ears rang with her father's haunting violin and Carlotta's harsh words. Her body yearned for the praise of her maestro that would never come. How could she be so broken and yet so alive?

By the time she understood why Carlotta was so angry, everyone was yelling at each other. Meg and Jammes pinned her in between them as Sorelli stood boldly in front of her. All three of them yelled at Carlotta. Madame Giry tried to talk sense into the managers who were too preoccupied trying to calm the now red primma donna. It was too much for Christine to bear.

"Stop! STOP!" She pleaded. Everyone grew silent and stared at her.

"Carlotta." Christine sighed. "You don't have to worry. I don't want to sing."

"Christine-" Reiner began but Christine continued.

"I have no desire to play Elissa. I'm not ready for it. This role belongs to you and you alone. I meant no disrespect."

A menacing grin carved its way onto Carlotta's face. "You are right. You are not ready for it. That is something we can both agree on." Her tone was vicious albeit victorious. Christine avoided conquering gaze. She was too weak to stand against the diva and both of them knew this.

"Reiner!" Carlotta snapped. "Let us rehearse, shall we?"

Reiner looked towards Christine, who continued to stare down at the floor. She could feel the questioning disappointment in his eyes and could not bear to see it. He agreed and walked away with Carlotta, the managers following in silence.

"Christine. You deserve to be Elissa. You shouldn't give in to her!" Meg sighed.

"I don't want it!" She cried. The jumble of emotions in her stomach exploded into a tangy taste of shame. She pushed herself away from her friends and ran towards a back alley. She had no idea where it lead but it was the only place she could escape, even if just for a little while.

The wall she had made to hold herself together came crumbling down. The flood gates tore open and waves of sobs racked her body. When her tears finally clouded her vision, she collapsed against the side of a building. Why was she crying? She didn't want to sing, it brought up too many terrible memories. Yet, on that stage, her heart raced. That adrenaline, that desire for more had consumed her. Finally, she felt free. It was like she was running against the current and still moving forward. But she still cried.

"Oh angel." She sobbed. She yearned for his praise, for the sweet honey of his voice. She wanted her father's melodies to give her peace not despair. The desolate tunes of his past deafened her. Why did something she love hurt her so much?

Brava

Christine choked back a sob. Of course, now she was hearing voices. She released a mirthless laugh. Maybe everyone was right, maybe she was insane? She could hear his voice now, haunting her dreams.

Brava

She sniffled and raised her head. Was she insane? A false sense of hope nipped at her heart. That voice sounded just like him. It sounded nearby. She shook her head. No, it was impossible. He had abandoned her. It must have been the wind blowing through the alley.

But there was no breeze.

Bravisima

Christine quickly stood. She desperately searched every dark corner and crevasse of the alley, but saw nothing.

Why would you? She scolded herself. He isn't here. You betrayed him, remember? He isn't coming back.

But a fool's hope clung to her. She took a deep breath and sang.

Angel of music, guide and guardian, stay by my side, guide me.

Her voice trembled as she sang that familiar tune. Impatiently, she waited. When she would sing this as a girl, he would appear. But now, she was met with silence. Just like she had been for the past 5 years.

"Christine?"

Christine spun. Meg stood before her at the end of the alley. Her eyes were somber, though a gentle, encouraging grin grew on her lips.

"Where in the world have you been hiding? Really, you were perfect. I only wish…" Meg stopped. She couldn't finish her sentence.

"I'm sorry." Christine whispered.

"Christine, you never have to apologize to me. You've done nothing wrong." She walked forward and pulled her friend into a hug. "If anything it should be me who apologizes. In my brashness, I put you in a tough situation. Please forgive me for my single-mindedness."

"No, Meg. You don't need to apologize. You know I came here to grow and...I have to confront those feelings eventually."

Meg slid her hands down her friends arms, cupping her hands in her own. She stepped out of their hug and smiled at her friend. "It was lovely to hear you sing."

Christine nodded. "I am sorry I ran away."

"Don't apologize. You needed it, but I am glad I heard you singing and could find you. Christine, I must ask. Who were you talking to?"

Christine hesitated. She wasn't talking to anyone, but she heard him. Didn't she? She looked into the questioning eyes of her friend, terrified to admit the truth to her.

"Father once spoke of an angel. I used to dream he'd appear. Now as I sing I can sense him and I… I think he's here."

Meg recoiled from friend, fear in her eyes. Christine knew this was how she would react, but she had foolishly gone forward with it anyways. Meg's voice from their confrontation rang in her head.

"How could you be so naive?! How could you be so stupid!"

Christine tried to block out that memory. It was the one time they fought. It was the one time they had such a grand misunderstanding. But talking of her angel just brought back so many painful memories. She hugged herself instinctively

"Who do you think is here, Christine?" Meg quaked, her tone a mixture of seriousness and fear. She looked around the alley, her eyes glancing between the shadows and her friend.

"No one is here." Christine whispered, though her mind was somewhere else. Christine peered around the alley again. She didn't hear him anymore. No matter how many times she scanned the alley, she was certain she could find a sliver of light that would be him. Yet, she saw nothing.

"Are you sure? Christine? Christine, your hands are cold."

Was he behind the boxes? Was he in the buildings, looking from the windows? Was she going mad?

"Your face, Christine, it's white."

"It frightens me." She whispered.

"Don't be frightened."

It was just her imagination. He wasn't here. He had abandoned her long ago. She turned back to her worried friend. "I think they're right. I am mad." She whispered.

"Dreaming for something lost doesn't make you mad, Christine. There is no one here. Come with me." Meg urged. "Let's go back. We have to prepare for tonight's show."

Christine nodded and took her friend's hand. The two girls walked hand in hand back to the rest of the performers. Christine glanced one more time back into the alleyway. But this time, she swore she saw a black shadow dash through her periphery.

Please comment/review. I hope you enjoyed it! Things will begin to pick up soon. See you Sunday!