A Hope that Leaves me Never

Don Juan Triumphant

Christine:

I can't bear it! They nearly killed one another back there. And it's all my fault. It's all my fault that we are so far into this… madness that I don't know how to climb out of the pit. And now I must do as Raoul tells me, and go onstage to trap the Phantom! But it won't work out like that. It won't- he's too clever. And I don't want him to be caught.

Madame Giry came to me, before the performance began, and spoke with me. She was very kind, and very understanding. But she didn't tell me any more than she ever has- it drives me to distraction that after everything- she still does not trust me! I suppose it doesn't matter- I can scarcely trust myself.
And now there is nothing for me to do but let Madame Giry lace up the corset to this scandalous costume; and let Madame Felix paint me with rouge and powder. I stared at the girl in the mirror; I wasn't certain I even knew her anymore, so strange and unlike me did she look.

"Get out." I suddenly could not stand to be in this room with all these people- dressers, hairdressers, everyone pushing in, wanting to see the girl who would be walking out onstage, into this infernal trap. I don't know what was worse, the looks from those who thought I was not only the Vicomte's mistress, but the Phantom's as well; or the ones who looked at me in pity, having some idea of what was to happen out there… And I could not stand it anymore. "Everyone! Get out! I want to be utterly alone, now! Until curtain." They all stood, shocked and amazed, "Didn't you hear me? Everyone out!" I was shouting by this point, in the grips of a temper I didn't realize I had- I threw a vase full of orchids that some marquis had sent to me- and I didn't care.

And when they had all hurriedly filed out of the dressing room, I just sat there, staring at a candle, and wondered what in the wide world I could do to stop what surely would happen this night.

That sly little voice I so often heard, and tried to ignore, spoke in her amused, condescending little way. "Why don't you just leave? Get out of your paint and costume and disappear into the night? Leave him! Leave them both! Go to London or Vienna, or Milan… voyage across the western ocean and enchant those brash Americans. You can do it, Christine Daae. If only you had a little backbone! End this in your own way… or not at all. Because they will fight to the death to possess you. But wouldn't it be nice, just for once, to possess yourself?"

"I don't know how…" I whispered back to her, in defeated tones.

"Of course you don't. But if you ever hope to do so, you must either be free of them both, or choose one. But it must be you; I cannot do it for you." And she looked so sad that my eyes teared up, and as I wiped them away, I saw that I had only been talking to my reflection, and imagining that she had answered me back.

A quick, furtive knock at my door, and a muffled voice told me that the opera had begun; and they would need me in ten minutes. I sighed, took a drink of water, stood, squaring my shoulders and I told my reflection, "I choose me. But I must sing- I cannot run from my last obligation here. And how else can I say goodbye?" I asked her; but she just looked back and said, "Fare thee well, Christine Daae." I turned and saw her no more. Smoothing the skirt of my costume, I went to the door, and opened it, readying myself for what would be, no matter what I decided, my last opera at the Populaire.

One hour later:

It has been so quiet- there has been no sign of the Phantom. The intermission is over, and Raoul had come to see me in my dressing room, bringing armed guards with him… Does he not realize that if the Phantom had wanted to spirit me away, he'd come to me from within the dressing room, not without? Foolish Raoul. But soon, so soon, the opera will be over, and I will vanish, like the moon on a cloudy night. I will take a cab to the train station and leave Paris- but not fleeing it like a frightened child. And even as the opera spins out, like the fairy gold in the stories, I think that I would like to see him, one last time. If only to say good bye… or perhaps that I am sorry. But the curtain is rising on the final act, and I will go out there, sing that outrageous love song with poor, portly Piangi, trying so hard not to laugh at his dreadful pronunciation and at the utter absurdity of clasping myself ardently to him during that duet which should be sung in voices meant to set pulses and hearts racing. In short, my Angel should be the one singing it! Oh what a strange and wonderful event that would be. But it will never happen. He is much too clever. And now, it begins: The last act.

Erik:
And now it begins: The last act. I don't know what else to do- I watched her from behind the mirror during the intermission. After she had practically shoved the Vicomte out of the room, she'd opened a valise and began to pack. She did it so quickly and quietly, without the feverish energy she would have done if she were running away with the Vicomte. She hadn't said anything to him about this! In fact, the valise had been hidden from him! Was she planning on running away without him? The question was absurd.

But I couldn't think of that now- now I was ready- I had the Don Juan costume on: and it suited me much better than its twin did Piangi. It didn't take much to put the fool out of commission… I don't think I killed him. It doesn't matter now… Christine and my debut await. I step out onto the stage, and raise my voice up in song… this is my swan song, you see- for I don't expect to live through the night.

She turned, startled, and our gazes locked. Hopefully, she is the only one to recognize me. I do want to survive to the end of the song. But she didn't scream and fly from the stage. Oh no, my little nightingale is a true actress- this latest development did not seem to phase her at all.

And then- I lose everything in the music, in the story. I'm not Erik, I'm not the Angel of Music, and I'm not the bloody damn Phantom of the Opera- I am Don Juan, and I've finally felt the curse of love's sting. This is the only way- lost as I am in music, she is still Christine… and I know… I know that if she can't love me, I am really and truly lost. This really is the point of no return…
Oh God! Her voice is the most glorious thing I will ever hear, and when I am in hell, I can comfort myself with the thought that out of my fancy I created an angel with crystal wings. She sings my words with such passion! As if she really meant them. And, just in this moment, I can pretend she does. My last moment of make-believe- Here on this stage I can pretend that I am wickedly handsome, suave Don Juan, and that she loves me, mask or no. I'm done telling myself that it's not real, not anymore. I want it to be real so much… so much!

And now, the song is over, and she's followed the staging religiously- we're standing on the bridge, and she is in my arms. And I can scarcely breathe for wanting her- knowing that any moment I could be shot, dying, alone… Always alone! I can't bear it, not any longer. I have to... I have to…

"Christine! Please… I… don't leave me." I finally whisper, "Please don't leave me. Save me, only you can. I lo…" She didn't let me finish. Her eyes were brimming over with tears, and she put one slim white hand to my face, to my lips. I nearly cried at the feel of her satin fingers just brushing against my skin, stilling my voice. Then those tearful eyes turned hard and the mask and wig were swept away, leaving me exposed before all of Paris!

I can't breathe! All I can hear now is the screaming! The cries of monster and beast and the most hated of all- freak! I can't even think- the only thing that runs through my head is "escape or die!" Then anger begins to blossom, like some great stinking flower of the jungle- and I want revenge- revenge against them all; and then my sword is in my hands and all hell breaks loose.

The chandelier- the beautiful, incomparable symbol of light and beauty- how fitting that it should fall with me! It will look like the very heavens are descending- a veritable constellation of falling stars… and it will distract them from my flight. My flight- and that of my own personal La Belle Dame Sans Merci. I will not leave with her- not now- I want my happy ending, and I am going to have it!

Author's Note: I'm sorry this has taken so long, but real life, as you all must know. I've used so many literary and mythological references that even I am a bit dizzy with them, and I shamelessly stole my favorite line from my other fic, "Fairy Tales"

(Constellation of falling stars.) Please review; I need something to brighten my days.

Warmest Regards,

K.S.