Desolation Dreamed Of

Of Repudiation and Ricercar

It was strange indeed to be led back up to the waking world, as she found herself now calling it. It was as if she had barely reached the house and she was already being led away from it for each night of Aida. Every evening was the same: a long winding pathway up to a place where the air was crisp, and the dank smell of dirt was mysteriously absent. His arm would encircle her waist, his fingertips barely grazing her hip, light as a feather's touch on the bodice of her dress. When light became discernable, she knew he would leave her and she would navigate the familiar halls to the Prima Donna's dressing room.

It seemed an ordinary night, the night Raoul came to her. Attendants came promptly to ready her for the night's performance, pinning in the lavish wig that transformed her into Aida. Corset tightened, makeup painted, cold metal ornaments clasped about her neck and wrists, she stared sedately into space. Her thoughts were lost in Erik when she heard the knock on the door, pulling her from her reverie. She heard a dresser bustle away, followed by fervent whispers that were exchanged as the door creaked open. Turning, she felt the attendants exit the room in a sweep of skirts and a man's footsteps moved nearer her.

"You look beautiful Christine."

"Thank you Raoul, "she breathed.

Silence hung between them like a curtain, each wondering what they could say to broach the subject that loomed over their shoulders.

"Why are you here?" she said finally, her voice holding no trace of animosity.

"Can't a friend come to wish another luck?" She heard the smile in his voice. "Your performances have been astounding," he added, at which she let out a small laugh.

"You've actually been watching? So few patrons come to the opera to see where their money has gone."

His response, while jovial, was nothing short of solemn. "Anything to see you."

She looked away demurely as she knew she should, knowing it was merely a formal gesture—when had she ever needed to look away not to see? She gently placed her arm on the edge of her chair, the gold bangles decorating her wrists clinking softly.

"I really must be going, Raoul. It was lovely to hear from you."

With that, she pushed herself from the confines of her seat, clasping her hands in front of her politely. She hadn't taken a step before he made a move to stop her, his voice unexpectedly fervent.

"I've been to speak with Madame Giry."

"Whatever would you need to speak with her about? Surely the ballet couldn't have been that terrible," she smiled, her best attempt at a joke. She could feel the uneasiness that surrounded him as he kept silent.

"Were you telling her what you think I've been doing these past months?" she asked after a moment, untamable exasperation tingeing her voice.

"What have you been doing these past months?" he shot back. The aggression in his voice startled her; she had never heard that tone from him before, not with her.

"I don't see why it's any of your business," she replied, this time not bothering to hide her annoyance. She was shaken by his abrupt response.

"He's not the man you think he is. He is not a man at all."

He sounded prepared to continue, but Christine cut him off. "You're saying this out of jealousy," she responded, astounded at her own calmness. "What sort of man does that make you?"

The beat he took before he spoke revealed just how flustered he was. "You're not listening to me, Christine. He is a fraud; someone who plays at magic. He has been feeding you lies and nothing more."

Her arms flew out as she gestured to the room, her composure slipping ever so slightly as she cried, "Lies?" She reigned in her emotions as her arms fell to her side. "Look at where I am. Look at what I've become." The words were now barely audible as they escaped her lips. "This is my dream, Raoul, and no matter what you say, you could never have gotten me here."

"You know I would have given anything to give you your dreams." The words were spoken in defeat and she felt a pang of guilt.

"Raoul, you are one of my dearest friends. But I cannot stand by while you malign him. He is everything to me."

His next words came slowly, as if he didn't want to say them. "He's not normal." The words were barely out of his mouth when Christine scoffed in response.

"What does normalcy have to do with it?" she demanded.

"He's deformed! There's something wrong with him!" The words tumbled out of his mouth, unable to be contained.

No emotion registered on her face as she took in his words. "There's something wrong with me," she said gently. "Does that make me deformed?" Her voice cracked on the last word, revealing the heartbreak within her.

"It isn't the same," he assured her quickly. "You're beautiful, and talented, and…" He paused for a split second and her heart skipped a beat. "And I love you, Christine."

She was silent as he approached her, and just as his hand brushed hers, she pulled away. Her head snapped to face him, her expression stoic. "You're right," she said simply, tranquility returning easily. "He's not a man. He's a phantom. And his power and influence will reach farther than yours ever will, Monsieur de Viscount."

They exchanged no more words as she slowly strode out of the room, leaving Raoul suddenly alone.

I couldn't keep the proud smile from my lips as I watched her walk away from the boy with stately grace. She had become precisely the woman I intended her to be.

Late that night, far after Erik presumed her fast asleep, Christine lay awake in her bed and replayed her conversation with Raoul continuously in her head. No matter what she did, she felt the same guilty pain mount as the conversation developed. And no matter how she spun his words, she felt the same malice towards him as he condemned those who were not "normal" by his standard. And those final words… I love you…

But who could think of such things the moment she heard faint music breech her room. It was the organ—she rarely heard him play violin or piano of his own volition, for the sounds were much easier to conceal. To mask the sounds emanating from those great pipes, on the other hand, would be quite a feat.

Despite her state of undress—she only wore a white shift—Christine slipped out of her bed and left t he room without a second thought. Her fingers grazed the walls as she followed the sound of the swelling music, retracing her steps several times when she found herself in dead ends. It wasn't long before she knew that it would be difficult to find her way back on her own, for the house was no less a labyrinth than the passageway down from the Opera House. Thankfully, the hallways were perfectly vacant—no paintings on the walls and no decorative furniture—leaving the way quite clear as she wandered in an almost trance-like state.

Turning a corner, she knew she was drawing near. The music was vibrating through her veins, prompting her to take each even step towards the door. Her entrancement eliminated any hesitation, and she turned the knob delicately and entered the room without a declaration. She expected him to stop brusquely, but he too seemed irretrievably wrapped up in the composition.

Rather than moving closer to him, Christine merely stood still, closing her eyes as the sound pulsed through her. Each melancholy suspension brought about waves of emotion, until without knowing how long she had been standing there, she felt tears begin to fill her eyes. How magnificent it was to feel such pure emotion, and what could be better than to have it be brought about by music. His music.

The final chord rang through the room at an astounding volume. And then the tremendous silence. Yes, that absence of noise following the conclusion of the piece only conjured more tears in Christine's blank eyes—tears she did not bother to wipe away.

"Christine?"

With that word, it was over and her trance was shattered. Even as she wracked her mind, she couldn't recall ever having left her bed, but somehow she was here! Her hands flew to her face to wipe away the overflowing tears and she turned away quickly.

"I'm so sorry—I didn't even realize…" she began, but she hadn't the faintest clue how to finish the sentence. How could she not have known what she was doing?

"Are those tears?" There was concern in his voice and she heard him stand from the organ bench and move briskly towards her. "What's happened?"

"No, no," Christine assured, waving her hands and shaking her head. "It was just so brilliant. I…"

"Please forgive me for waking you—it was dreadfully thoughtless of me." He saved her from losing her words once again, and she felt a bare hand wipe away a stray tear. The skeletal hand that swept across her cheek stopped her cold as she recalled Raoul's words. Her jerk didn't escape his attention, though, and she listened as he slowly lowered his hand.

"I'm very busy," came his suddenly detached voice as he began to move away, alarming Christine even more.

"Did you…Did you compose that?" she faltered, relieved when she heard him stop.

"Yes."

"It is…Difficult for me to put into words just how astounding I found it," she continued, hopelessly grasping for a response. When she received none, she remained still, barely able to breathe. Her mind was brimming with Raoul's words, and she couldn't help her desire to reveal them to Erik. Floundering over her words was only exacerbating the issue, and after those brief moments, she spoke once more.

"Erik, I must tell you something," she finally declared, the words almost painful to say. There was still no response, but she could feel his eyes on her expectantly. "Raoul," she began slowly, as if the words were being extracted agonizingly from her mouth. "Raoul came to speak with me."

"Did he?" She could not read the emotion behind the words, a skill she was usually so proud of. "And what did he say?" he pressed, and she could not tell whether it was in condescension or genuine interest. Or perhaps neither.

"He… He told me something about you. He told me that you were deformed." She tried to keep the words strong as they escaped her mouth, but she couldn't hide the ache behind them. When she still received no response, Christine took another shaky breath and continued. "And I wanted to tell you that… That if he tells the truth… I don't care."

For once she heard the breath escape his lips as he moved a few steps closer to her. "That warms my heart, my dear. And that's an accomplishment."

Of course he would try to make her smile—even she knew he couldn't bear to see her cry. She obliged and let out a tentative laugh. "You're so accomplished; you astound me day after day. It seems silly that such achievements should be shadowed by something so trivial."

There was no response, but the air had lost a bit of its thickness. "So it's true, then," Christine said after a moment, the words escaping her mouth with more ease.

"It is," he responded deliberately.

"Can it be fixed?" she asked, cocking her head to the side slightly as she frowned.

"I'm sorry?" came his perplexed voice.

"There was just something Raoul said…" Christine began, feeling her cheeks heat up as she blushed. "He said that you played at magic. I thought maybe you could repair it if you were a magician…" It sounded so childish when she said it aloud, but she held her ground.

"No." The words weren't angry, always a great relief to her. In that moment as she let her guard down, she felt a long-wondered question develop in her mind.

"Can you fix me?" The words fell out of her mouth before she could stop them.

"…No." It was the same answer, but somehow it seemed different to her ears—more guarded perhaps.

She didn't have long to contemplate his response, though, because he quickly began to speak once more. "You must be tired. I'll show you back to your room." He took the final steps towards her and a now gloved hand brushed her back, directing her to the door. "My apologies, once again, for disturbing you."

And so began the silent journey back to her room where she would sleep alone in silence whilst echoes of his music surged through her mind.

Well, a major plot turn is coming up next chapter, so get ready for that. Thanks again for all the reviews; I hope all who asked questions received my answers in review responses. Thank you for reading!

Until next time,

Christine