Desolation Dreamed Of

Of Deception and Detaché

The performance that night was dreadful; and while the audience would leave mildly pleased, Christine could feel nothing but dissatisfaction with herself. Each operagoer was meant to leave in a state of captivation, but her performance merely left them…content. What could possibly be worse than mediocrity?

Thankfully there was no performance the following day, giving Christine ample time to gather her senses. She could not possibly allow herself another performance like that. And so, as soon as she awoke the next morning she trekked to the empty dressing room to rehearse her pieces. Something told her to find a new place to practice, but something else told her that this was precisely where she should go—phantom or no phantom, this was her space too.

She went through each aria, each duet, each ensemble piece systematically. Nothing would escape her attention today, and her upcoming performances would be all the better for it. Besides, closing was nearing quickly, which meant rehearsals for Faust would begin. And God only knew what would happen then.

Pushing these thoughts aside, she focused her thoughts to the opera at hand.

Numi, pietà del mio soffrir! Speme non v'ha pel mio dolor. Amor fatal tremendo amore, spezzami il cor, fammi morir!

Break my heart or let me die…

Those final words reverberated through the room, and just as she felt emotion begin to well up in her voice, the door opened. Cutting herself off immediately, Christine turned her attention to the entrance of the room, clasping her hands in front of her.

"Christine—I'd hoped you would be here."

She let out a sigh of relief—Raoul. Relentless Raoul, who was forever bent on winning her heart. Compassionate Raoul, who she could never bring herself to push away.

"I apologize for interrupting—you were rehearsing one of your arias?" She could hear the nervous energy emanating from his voice and she smiled.

"Yes." There was silence, save for his short breaths as he prepared to say something, but stopped himself several times. "Is there something you came here for?" she finally prodded, the smile still on her lips.

After another beat, she heard him move briskly towards her and grab her hands securely.

"Christine, I don't know how to say this…And I wish I had some kind of preamble, but I find myself at a loss for eloquent words," he rushed, a strangled laugh finishing off his phrase. "But… I came here to ask you to marry me."

Her smile melted into a frown as she blinked and felt her hands begin to tingle under his tight grip. He was holding his breath, but Christine could find no words to relieve him of his anticipation.

"Raoul, I…" she breathed, wrenching her hands from his grasp. "I can't do that."

She heard his hands drop to his sides and she could almost feel the dire disappointment written in his face.

Raoul will never love you!

The words echoed in her mind and she took a sharp breath, swallowing hard.

"I don't understand…" Raoul murmured, but Christine's mind was still elsewhere.

Raoul can never love you. He is aristocracy and you are not. His family would forbid even friendship.

Erik's words seemed so far away, so long ago, but they were ever fresh in her thoughts.

"Christine?" he asked slowly, but she still didn't hear him.

He will deceive you and he will leave you.

"Christine, are you alright?"

Society thinks little of angels these days.

She felt his fingers brush her cheek and she was tugged out of her reverie. "Erik would never allow it," she parroted automatically. She didn't correct herself, though—she refused to be embarrassed by her devotion.

"Erik? That's his name?" Raoul echoed, exasperation coloring his words. "Erik left you sobbing in this very room not twenty-four hours ago. Do you not remember?"

Christine said nothing once again, pressing her lips together to keep them from trembling. "I still must be loyal to him," she finally mumbled, turning her eyes down to the ground.

"Loyal?" Raoul exclaimed, and Christine shuddered at the reverberation of his voice. "Loyal to a murderer?"

Her heart could have stopped at that moment. That was not an accusation one made lightly; it was not a small fancy created to pull her away. One did not simply lie about things of such enormity.

"Christine…" he murmured once again with regret. "I have discovered some information about his past, and… And he is more a monster than I could've ever imagined."

"I don't understand," she said suddenly, turning away from him quickly to hide her mounting breaths.

"This man—Erik—has killed countless of innocent people to get where he is today—…" he began, but Christine whirled around and interrupted him.

"How could he have possibly done that?" It wasn't spoken in anger, but her words were sharp all the same.

"He hasn't lived in a vacuum here all his life! I know that he is very important to you and that you care for him deeply, but he has a past—…"

"What kind of past?"

He didn't speak for a moment and the silence made her hold her breath.

"He lived in Persia before he came here, where he entertained the Shah and his family. He…" Raoul took another breath before continuing. "He built torture chambers and killed people for their pleasure."

He waited for her reaction, but she made no shriek or cry in response. Instead, she merely forced a smile on her face once again and shook her head. "Raoul, I believe your imagination has gotten away from you." The words sounded lighthearted, but Christine's stomach was churning in horror, her heart pounding incessantly.

"I wish I was making it up, but I am not. Please, you must believe—you must let me help you! If you would only agree to marry me, we could live out the rest of our lives without such a dangerous man haunting us. We would be so happy! It would be like Sweden!"

She opened her mouth to assure him such a thing wasn't possible, but his next words stopped her.

"And your vision, Christine! Surely you've heard of the operation—and I have the money to finance it! You could see again if that's what you wanted! Please…"

She felt herself go cold as she heard these fatal words.

Steady now…

"The operation?" she said with painful ignominy.

Yes, somehow that lie that Erik had contrived—that he could not help her, that there was no cure—hit her harder than any speculation of murder. Had he hoped to keep her deformed? Like he was?

"Y-yes, the operation." It was clear that he did not understand the magnitude of those words, but Christine refused to elaborate. Instead, she spoke the word that would set her on a new and shadowed path, ignorant of what could lie at the end.

"Yes." The word was strong, and she squared off her shoulders as she spoke.

"Yes?" he asked, puzzled.

"Yes, I will marry you."

And with those words, more than ever, she felt as if she was walking straight into the lion's den.

I can't say I was disappointed when she came to rehearse in the abandoned dressing room. I also can't deny that I desperately hoped she would call out to me as soon as she stepped past the door. She didn't though, and I was instead treated to an independent rehearsal. I couldn't help but smile at the thought—had she ever rehearsed without me before? No, I imagined she hadn't, for I had always been there to correct her and mind the details; yet somehow I wasn't bothered simply watching.

Her determination to invest in each piece astonished me, and I watched in awe as she even sang the duets without a partner. How my throat longed to join in and mingle in harmony with her…

Despite her diligence in rehearsing each piece, I was pleasantly surprised to see that she had chosen Ritorna Vincitor! to focus on, for she had always held some small resentment towards the piece. Today, however, she held such passion in her singing, such astounding strength and tragedy in each note that when I closed my eyes, I hardly knew it was her.

Break my heart or let me die…

If I believed in signs, I knew that this line was meant to be one. And then, just as I was prepared to make myself known, he barged in.

"Christine—I'd hoped you would be here."

It took all of my restraint not to reveal myself and strangle him on the spot. I knew it had been a mistake to allow their friendship, if it could even be called that, continue on. I should have hedged my bets…

"I apologize for interrupting—you were rehearsing one of your arias?"

"Yes. Is there something you came here for?"

Polite as always, my dear Christine chose not to acknowledge his nervousness. I narrowed my eyes as he moved towards her and grabbed her hands. How many times had I clasped those same hands? And yet it appeared so juvenile when he did it.

"Christine, I don't know how to say this…And I wish I had some kind of preamble, but I find myself at a loss for eloquent words, but… I came here to ask you to marry me."

If I had a heart, it stopped beating at that moment. Hadn't I once told him that I would ensure that she never loved him? Where had that promise escaped to? I didn't breathe as she pulled her hands away from him in what I hoped was disgust.

"Raoul, I…I can't do that."

I watched her eyes carefully, and I knew that my voice was in her head. I was so agonizingly aware of that expression she adopted when she replayed my words in her mind. Naturally, the boy didn't recognize the signs and searched for her attention in vain.

"Christine? Christine, are you alright?"

He touched her face and she was back in the present, staring at him.

"Erik would never allow it."

I would've been pleased, but I was too caught up in what he would possibly say to such a response.

"Erik? That's his name? Erik left you sobbing in this very room not twenty-four hours ago. Do you not remember?"

So Raoul had found her… The moment I had brought her up to the opera, I ventured straight back down on my own. I could not have risked seeing her in such a state. I could not risk what I might have done to her. But it was becoming clearer that the cards had not been dealt in my favor. If only someone else had found her there…

"I still must be loyal to him."

That was my girl…

"Loyal?" Loyal to a murderer?"

I couldn't say what I felt in that moment. I'd have to say that in some sick way I was amused. I knew who had told him, and mused with eerie calmness what could have possibly motivated her to give up such information.

That was the problem with confidences: one persuasive viscount can ruin it all.

I didn't listen as he began to make a detailed sketch of my past, or what he knew of it, and my mind somehow wandered to deceptive cadences. I didn't need to hear it all again—I had lived it. I did find myself watching Christine's expression though, as it flirted between disbelief and despondency. What I would do to wipe that look away…

I continued to block out his words, my body and heart numb. There was always the chance that Christine would choose not to believe him, for it was evident that she still held some degree of respect for me. It was when this thought crossed my mind that my hearing perked up once again.

"And your vision, Christine!"

And that was the end… I knew that the lie I had fed her, once illuminated, would push her over the edge. She couldn't bear to be lied to, and I had always known that.

" Surely you've heard of the operation—and I have the money to finance it! You could see again if that's what you wanted! Please…"

"The operation?"

The words, spoken with heart-breaking clarity and hoplessness, took my breath away.

"Y-yes, the operation."

"Yes."

He didn't understand what she meant, but I did—and how I hated him for not understanding!

"Yes?"

One word…One word to erase all of our work.

"Yes, I will marry you."

And even as she accepted the ring, I could see the irrevocable fear written on her face.

Aida closed without incident, and was marked as the operatic triumph of the 19th century. This was perhaps something of an overstatement, but people liked to talk. With the closing of Aida, though, came rehearsals for Faust, which had been the buzz of the Opera Garnier for some time. Ballerina and stagehand alike, every person had some opinion of how casting would fall. Even Christine herself wasn't sure how things would fan out, having not spoken to Erik for what seemed like an eternity.

While some were surprised, others found it perfectly natural that Christine was cast as Marguerite. Much to her relief, there was little gossip of foul play in her attainment of the role; most believed it was simply hard work and her obvious success in Aida that accounted for it.

Much to everyone's astonishment, though, Christine was pulled out of the opera as soon as rehearsals began. Rumor had it that Raoul de Chagny, whose family had insurmountable influence at the Opera, had deemed her health too uncertain for such a rigorous role. Rumor also had it that she had been moved to the de Chagny residence, where she could recover without the noise and fuss of the Opera House to bother her. The clear assumption was that they had to be engaged for such an arrangement to occur.

And for once, rumor and assumption were both correct.

Rehearsals continued on as usual with no word from Christine, and ironically no word from the elusive Phantom of the Opera. The woman who was scheduled to play the soubrette had been promoted to Prima Donna, and to her pleasant surprise, Meg Giry was promoted to the soubrette role. Meg insisted that she had never spoken a word on stage and wasn't fit to perform in such a role, but the directors dutifully replied, "Neither had Christine Daaé !"

And just as things began to seem back to normal at the Palais Garnier, tragedy struck in the form of the mysterious and unexpected death of the Prima Donna.

Now now, don't worry—the story is nowhere near finished, and our fantôme has quite a few tricks up his sleeve. Do not lose hope! Thank you all for the reviews, and I look forward to all the imminent Raoul-bashing I'm about to receive. :) Also, don't be alarmed if the chapters are coming out a little slower—these upcoming chapters are going to take a little more finesse and fine-tuning than previous ones, but don't fret! Anywho, I hoped you all enjoyed it, and prepare yourself for an explosive chapter 15!

Until next time,

Christine