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Oh madness! Oh fury! Oh desperate Electra! Farewell love, farewell hope! The cruel Furies already burn my heart in my breast. Wretched woman, why do I hesitate?- D'Oreste d'Ajace, Idomeneo, Mozart

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Chapter 10

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Christine nearly overslept her ballet lesson. As it was, she had missed the beginning plies and ran into the studio, still wrapping her blue ribbon about her waist. A firm and expected reprimand by the Ballet Mistress in the form of a hard thump on the backside with her cane and she was back in line practicing her tendus.

A letter came in the middle of the class. A delivery boy bowed and handed the letter to the mistress. She read it briefly and looked up sharply to Christine.

Christine noticed and swallowed thickly. What had she done now?

"Mlle. Daaé. Come with me." The mistress spoke sharply, turning to stalk over to her office on the opposite side of the room.

When the two of them entered, the mistress spoke firmly. "Shut the door behind you, if you would."

She padded into the office in her toe shoes, hands shaking.

Before the mistress said anything, Christine babbled apologies, "Please pardon me, Madame! I will not be late again! I promise!-"

"No, you shan't. At least not here you will not be. You are to immediately begin work with the chorus. You are to report to their rehearsal at once," she announced firmly, eyeing her over with a hard expression.

"It would seem, Mlle. Daaé, that someone very powerful is eager to see you succeed." The ballet mistress wondered at that moment if this girl even understood what she was getting herself into.

Christine snapped her mouth closed with an audible click when she realized it had been hanging open.

"You are to report there immediately- rehearsal has already begun and you are late."

Christine did not have time to run home and change from her dance apparel, so she wrapped a shawl and cloak around her uniform and quickly changed into her street shoes to run over to the theatre. She had to ask multiple times where the chorus could be found and when she finally reached the decadent rehearsal space, she was terribly tardy. When she bounded through the door, everyone stopped to stare at her.

"Pardonnez moi," she whispered and attempted to fade into the gold plated walls.

"Ah yes, our new recruit from the ballet. You are late, but we shall excuse this tardiness and not believe it to reflect on the laxness of Madame Giry. We know that it is not the case. Do stay after, please, for placing," the chorus master said sharply as an assistant handed a score to her.

"Soprano, alto." He motioned, dictating that she take a seat where she deemed herself to be appropriate.

She scooted toward the sopranos, and the women around her gave her a wide berth. The stares did not diminish after the introduction. The men leered, some openly, some not, at her exposed legs and shoulders. The women sniffed and ignored her.

If she had doubted that she was appealing, that moment should have cleared that up. They were in rehearsal for their next production: A staging of Verdi's La Traviata. It was the begining of the rehearsal process, and they were covering the chorus parts of the opening, about to his the act one duet and chorus "Libiamo, ne' lieti calici"; one of the more famous pieces from the work.

The musical pace was intense. This was not a lesson, this was clearly a professional engagement.

She fought to keep from drowning the entire rehearsal. She read music with the best of them- she knew her words almost as well. But the language was foreign and she felt she only understood half of what was being said. Her teacher must have been very wrong- she had no place here.

Erik was watching and observing the rehearsal with a smile. Christine looked overwhelmed. She was not, but the experience was so new and foreign to her that it must have felt so utterly chaotic for her.

"Where is Louise?" the chorus master frowned, peering at the sopranos. They had rehearsed the chorus and were now ready to run it with soloists. However, the soprano who was to cover Violetta during the rehearsal runs was absent.

"Oh, sir! She is ill today," one of the soprano's meekly said.

"Well, then; this will not do. Surely there's one of you here who can sing this for our purposes today?"

Christine's eyes widened as she looked around. Her teacher had been working on this repertoire- as if on purpose! - but she surely was not yet ready for standing in a soloist's place. Yet, no other woman raised her hand or spoke out.

She'd hear a familiar, insisting voice in her head. "Well. This is your chance. Seize it."

She jumped in surprise, bringing attention to her. As the chorus master's beady eyes zeroed in on her, she coughed lightly. "I can sing it, sir," she whispered in a meek, powerless voice.

"Excuse me, madame, did you speak?" He barked condescendingly.

"I can... sing it, sir," she croaked out, louder.

"Well then come, come, let us not delay any further. It's not your grand premier, girl, just something to help us rehearse. Nothing to be afraid of."

Of course, at that, the entire chorus' attention turned to her, expectantly. The opening of the drinking song played, and the tenor began to sing. When the second strophe began, the chorus master looked at her expectantly..

Erik was living vicariously through her in those moments, the thoughts in his head a running narrative.

"Like that. Release, breath; slowly, completely, tongue; jaw, all relaxed. Eyes fiery, engaged. Yes, with him, even him; do it you silly girl."

He realized he was thinking aloud, under his breath, coaching his muse through every stage of this.

She started badly. Shaking and unsure, it took an overly dramatic eye roll from the choral master to push her. But her voice did not really come alive until she heard her teachers words in her ear.

"You've have sung this. You are suited for this. Sing. For. Me." He commanded in the turn around of one of her phrases, pushing her to open her voice up, to be vulnerable for them.

She found her voice swelling and blooming, finally. The chorus was to come in now. But no sound accompanied her. She opened her eyes and the room was staring at her, slack jawed. "Oh..."

The chorus master was one of the people caught in that collective silence. After a few moments, he gathered himself and tapped his baton.

"Measure 95, we continue. And..."

She barely remembered the rest of the rehearsal; it flew by like a dream.

Afterward, she found herself free until the night's call. She wrapped her cloak around her, covering her ballet uniform, and reluctantly walked home. On the way there, the first snowfall of the season began. She looked up to the sky and watched the snowflakes fall around her. It was beautiful. As she continued her way home, her smile was just as brilliant.

When Erik returned to his lair, he found himself busy. Signora Carlotta was engaged to sing Violetta. That simply must not happen, he had decided. So letters demanding Miss Daaé to be considered for the position were issued, not from an opera ghost; but from her mysterious Baron, her patron, promising a considerable donation for such a consideration from their part.

Whispers were already spread amongst the cast as Christine arrived at the theatre that night. She noticed the pointing and the snickers and assumed she had embarrassed herself in some manner earlier. So she ignored them, taking her time applying her pancake make up and taking stock of her props.

"You've made quite a name for yourself Christine, don't you think?" Meg called to her, cheerful, enjoying the chittering and chattering that was fluttering about the place as they prepared.

Christine looked at her friend with a perplexed smile.
"What do you mean, Meg?"

"Singing the solo on your first day in rehearsal. You know that most people don't do that until they've been there for years!" She commented, thrilled. "Then there is the manner of you being considered for Violetta., It's caused quite a stir, and I'd avoid Signora Carolta, if I were you."

"...Considered for..." Christine's stomach plummeted to her feet.

"Yes, No one seems to know why, but there is chatter that you'll be singing to audition for the role," she said, shrugging. "One could only know why."

"Yes... of course…." Christine stared at the wall, thinking of only one person who could or would do this for her. (Strangely enough the Baron did not cross her mind)

"Well, you are excited, are you not! Tell me, have they approached you yet about it?" Meg asked, hopping a bit in her excitement.

"Well, you are excited, are you not! Tell me, have they approached you yet about it?" She said, hopping a bit in her excitement.

"Obviously not, Meg! I had no idea! It's probably just some ugly rumor to upset Carlotta."

"Obviously, it is hardly a rumor; everyone is talking about it!" At that, she paused, realizing that what she said made little sense. "My point is that you have an exciting time ahead of you!" She said encouragingly. "And that you have been invited out, by me, to our cafe after tonight's performance! After all, it is Sunday tomorrow, no performance, no class!"

Christine rolled her eyes. "Maybe, Meg. I'll see how I feel." She scooted her friend away so she could tame her wild hair in some semblance of a proper chignon.

The first act was brilliant. The audience was enraptured and the two men on the stage were completely immersed in their scene- playing and feeding off each other like a passionate dance. Christine giggled at the thought of the two very proud men being called passionate toward each other.

The energy continued as act two began and Christine nearly floated onto the stage. During Mephisto's aria, she bounded and lept and seduced the audience with her charm.

She was exiting with a quick dancer's run, arms extended into arabesque, when something came out of the floor and tripped her. Falling flat on her face, on the edge of the wings, still in full view of the audience. The audience roared in laughter.

She looked up and saw Carlotta's dress flit by as she strode center stage, sparing Christine one malicious smile on the way.

Horrified, Christine scrambled to her feet and ran off stage, nearly in tears.

Erik had watched the scene, narrowing his gaze. This was unfortunate for her, and he realized now that it would be important for her to recover from this humiliation less she retreat into her head. He would appear in her mind as she scrambled into the wings.

"It's alright. Focus. Let that moment go; it is gone forever, in the dust of memory and time. Live in the present, my child."

She did let one tear fall as she nodded. "Thank you, teacher," she whispered. The crowd around her heard her mumble something but assumed it was to herself.

It took a little bit for her to get back into the spirit of things, but she soon was riding high once more. It wasn't until the last act, as Marguerite ascended to heaven that Christine was once again accosted. She was on the second level of risers in full angel regalia, about five feet off of the ground. Carlotta spread her arms wide as the opera ended, reaching passed one small super to hit Christine's wooden, feathered wing. The curtain was not half way down as she hit the ground hard. She had tried to catch herself, but the wings were too heavy and her head hit the ground with an audible thump.

When Erik witnessed this act of sabotage, he growled in a low voice. The Prima Donna would suffer for that, dearly. He snarled as he narrowed his gaze on her. Later.

Christine blacked out for all of thirty seconds and when she came to, she was being carried to an empty dressing room- one spacious and well dressed, meant for a primary singer. Her vision was doubled and she had difficulty answering everyone's questions. The vision of one eye was obscured. She touched her face and it came away red. She was laid down on a fainting couch and the local doctor was summoned. Within minutes, the doctor (usually on call for performances) rushed in with his iconic black doctor's bag and knelt beside poor Christine.

Erik would be in the room, yet not, watching intently from his hiding place. His heart was torn up with fire as he watched. In a rage, at that moment, he disappeared.

Any focus that was on Christine would soon be torn away as a diva came screaming into the grand hall of the Palau's Garnier, disrupting he little bit of chatter that was going on.

"How dare you! THE GALL! The NERVE! I have never been so bullied in my life!?"

Everyone stopped to stare at the rabid diva, not knowing what was going on.

"Who wrote this!?" I must know at once!" she screamed, throwing the letter at a nearby stage manager, who read it aloud.

"Um...Signora Carlotta, your time at the Palais Garnier is coming to an end. Other houses in Europe may have need of an overbearing, vocally flat, and artistically void diva, yet we have no need for such one here.

Inquire, perhaps, in New York.

If your bags are not packed and your room not vacated by Monday, morning, a tragedy most dire shall befall this house.

-O.G."

"New York! I have never been so insulted!"

"O.G. -Madame, you are lucky to leave here with your life if you have displeased the opera ghost!" said someone behind her.

"Gah! I will hear nothing of this! This ghost is a trick! Someone trying to dethrone me! Well, let it be known. It. Will. Not. Work!"

Back in the dressing room, Christine was being fed water as the gash on her forehead was cleaned and sutured.

Meg was crying, holding fast to her friend and Christine found herself trying to calm the poor distraught girl.

The figure on the other side of the wall wanted - more than anything - to reveal himself to her. Not as her teacher or as her patron; as her companion, as someone who would cherish her and care for her. Instead, he paced, brooding, plotting. He could be patient, he really could, but this would not do. Rage, anger, consumed him. So, he paced, waited, watching his Christine suffer; unable to do a thing to assuage it.

Christine was soon left alone with only Meg by her side. They had been told that they may stay in the dressing room for as long as she needed to recover.

"I'm surprised your mysterious patron has not come running, Christine! I haven't seen hide nor hair of him since the masquerade! If I hadn't seen him with my own eyes, I would doubt his existence!"

Christine worried her hands, watching her fingers grasp each other."It... concerns me too, Meg."

"What do you mean?"

"Well... he has gifted me with such wonderful items. Useful, thoughtful things and beautiful adornments, both! And yet... he has yet to call in any... favors from me."

Meg's eyes widened. "He has been your patron for months! I know some take the romantic, seductive route, but Christine, why would he do such things without asking for your company?"

Christine shook her head. "I wish I knew. I would think he moved on from me if his gifts weren't so regular."

Erik lingered through the conversation, but soon stalked off after the girls turned to other topics. It pained him to hear such things from her, yet he knew that he had no place by her side. It was impossible, because of who he was. Because of what he was. He turned away, his heart burning with self-loathing and rage.