☼☼☼
"What is the meaning of all this!?" Carlotta was on her vicious rampage once again. This time, she was told that her belongings were to be removed and carried to a smaller dressing room.
"Didn't you hear?" asked Antoinette, her bandaged wrist to her chest, "I said that your articles are going to be transported to another dressing room designed for your needs." her Parisian voice cracked like a whip and startled la signora Carlotta to silence. The prima donna's nostrils dilated like those of a raging bull and she eyed the bandaged wrist.
"And what happened to you?"
"That
is none of your damned business."
"Perhaps not," she
began to stroll off, but stopped and turned back to face Antoinette.
"But I know he's still here and you're the one who's hiding
him."
"The Opera Ghost can handle himself, signora, and
he can easily handle any problematic soul in this establishment as
well."
La signora was shocked, as though Madame Giry had slapped her and recovered herself.
"We'll see about
that!" she walked off.
"Perhaps he'll see..."
Antoinette mused herself before going into her own room and locked
the door. She breathed deeply as she felt her sprained wrist twitch
slightly. Antoinette was unsure of his recent whereabouts; it's been
four days since the last time that she encountered him—the same
number of days since Christine and Raoul arrived. She only hoped that
he was alright, but her instincts told her otherwise.
"Mother?" Meg Giry walked towards her mother; she had been worried of what had happened. She recalled Madame Giry coming back into their shared room, her wrist to her chest and trembling.
"What is the
matter?"
"Nothing my little rayon de soleil ,
nothing."
"It's your wrist, isn't it?"
Antoinette nodded her
head and sat herself down on the soft red armchair.
"He did
that, didn't he?" Meg looked sad. "He didn't need to, it's his
fault. He's the one who brought himself down there."
"No,
Meg. I brought him here. And this isn't his fault." She motioned
her wrist. "He cannot contain himself down below any longer. He
needs to roam about to chase away his thoughts."
"His thoughts
of demonic doing." Meg said beastly.
"No‚ his thoughts of
Christine." corrected Antoinette.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
A miracle took place. Once again, Erik found himself in front of the organ. This time, however, he thundered his hands onto the keys—reviving the long forgotten and deceased music he once sought.