Dear Journal,

So much has happened today. There is so much racing through my mind that I scarcely know where to begin. I can't help thinking that if I can put enough order to my thoughts to write them down, then perhaps I can make sense of them all. Only then do I have some hope of coming up with a plan of action.

That morning, Christine had the misfortune of glimpsing her reflection in the mirror. She looked terrible--eyes red, puffy, with dark circles forming under them. She had the appearance of one who had not slept in days--and, perhaps, there was truth to that. It was true about last night, at any rate. She had spent the late evening and early morning hours alternately pacing and sobbing, unable to do much else.

Who can I turn to? she wondered, Who would believe me… who would understand? After weighing her options she toyed with the idea of talking about it with Mamma Valerius. She can't help me, I know that… but, maybe just talking through it with someone else will help.

I spoke with Mamma about the Voice again. I don't know what possessed me to do that. I thought maybe it would help me to talk about it. Anyway, she's the one who brought it up. What should I have said?

"Child, you do not look well, are you sure you are feeling okay?" Mamma asked worriedly as she sipped her tea.

"I'm alright, Mamma," she sighed, "I'm just a little tired today."

"Perhaps you should not go in this morning…"

"NO!" she cried. Then, regaining her composure, she added, "No, Mamma, you know I can't do that. I have to meet with my teacher today."

"Ah yes!" she remembered her favorite topic--effectively dropping the subject of Christine's health.

"The Angel of Music! How is your good genius? Have you been working very hard?"

"Yes Mamma. I've actually wanted to talk to you about that--about him…"

Over the next hour she proceeded to update Mamma Valerius on her situation with the Voice… about his teaching, his insistence on her playing Marguerite… about his strange outburst yesterday. Mamma simply nodded and smiled with a look of complete understanding.

She responded as if everything I had been experiencing was the most natural thing in the world.

"Well, it's all quite simple, my dear. The Angel is jealous!"

Christine nodded. I figured that much at least.

"Why would he be jealous?"

Mamma gave a knowing smile. "Because, child, he is in love with you."

The way she answered everything so simply… as if nothing were wrong at all. I should have expected as much… but it still surprised me. How could I not be surprised? For goodness sake, we were talking about an angel being in love with me! I have to admit though, delusions of angels aside, Mamma does have some helpful insights.

When I went to the opera, I was suddenly swept up in a series of events that kept me so busy that I scarcely had time to breathe, much less contemplate my own problems.

"Mademoiselle! Mlle. Daae!" cried the stage manager. He was surprised to see Christine this early in the morning, since many of the singers did not arrive until at least noon. Still, he was not going to complain--her early arrival was probably the first convenient thing to happen all morning.

"Yes, M. Badeau?" she asked. What could you want? I don't have time for this…

The Voice was right. Carlotta has fallen ill and I am to play Marguerite. I wonder how he could have known that? That is probably a question I do not want the answer to.

"I need you to go to the costume room immediately. Carlotta is sick. There is a rumor that you know all the music. The managers have agreed to let you play her part. When the seamstresses are finished with you, please report back here and someone will walk you through the blocking directions."

"Yes, sir. I'll head there right now." Well, I'll head there after my lesson… but you don't need to know that, do you?

She turned to leave and, as an afterthought, M. Badeau called back to her, "Oh, Christine?"

"Yes?"

"I don't know whose idea it was to have you play this part, but I just wanted you to know how very important this is. You are in a position to potentially embarrass the entire company. I don't mean to frighten you, but I just wanted to make sure you know not to take this responsibility lightly."

"Yes, sir, I understand." she replied obediently. Inwardly she was furious at his implication and nervous because of the truth of the statement, but she knew that now was not the time to argue.

He smiled back at her as he watched her leave. Badeau really did like Christine. She knew her place and seemed to honestly appreciate his direction.

M. Badeau felt it necessary to remind me of my potential to fall flat on my face and destroy my career. I could have slapped him if I didn't have control over my emotions. I know his type. Actually, he was so easy to read that it took me three seconds after joining the opera to figure out how I needed to act around him. He is something of a controller. He has very little power but feels the need to flex his muscles whenever possible. It is generally in my best interest to say "yes, sir" to his advice and act as if I am profoundly grateful. Afterwards I just do what I want anyway, but it is how I stay on good terms with many of the minor directors here.

Anyway, it has still been hard to shake the seeds of doubt he managed to place in my mind.

Christine made her way through the corridors toward the costume room. When she was sure M. Badeau was no longer watching, she turned the corner and darted back to her dressing room. As exciting as this news was, it was not worth her teacher's wrath if she were to be late to her lesson. Besides, she was sure He would like to hear about it.

"Good morning, Angel!" she said breathlessly

"Good morning, child. I noticed you speaking with the stage manager. Is everything quite alright?"

You know it is. You know exactly what he said. Why do you insist on making me play this game?

"Yes, Angel, everything is wonderful. I am to play Marguerite!"

She could nearly hear the smile in his voice. "Are you pleased, child?"

It depends on what you did to get me this role. "Yes, very pleased, Angel."

"I'm not convinced… you sound troubled. Is this not what you wanted?"

He's toying with me. Why is he toying with me? Fine… if he wants to play games, I can indulge him. What else can I do?

"Of course it is what I wanted. I'm just nervous. Are you really sure I can do this?" Is that what you wanted to hear? Oh help me, wise Angel! I can't do this without you! I need your divine reassurance! Does that make you happy?

The Voice chuckled affectionately. Oh, how adorable you are, my sweet Christine! "Not to worry, child, you will be perfect. Now, I believe you are due at the costume room?"

I spent most of the morning with the costume designers. I truly feel sorry for the poor women. After all the work they did on Carlotta's costumes, they will have to start all over.

Mathilde and Josette frowned as the finished Christine's measurements. They had hoped to be able to take in some of Carlotta's garments to fit Christine, but the size difference was immense. They would have to start from scratch. The prospect of preparing a whole new set of costumes in less than a week was daunting. It meant even more sleepless nights and tired fingers for all the seamstresses. However, to their credit, they tried their best to hide their displeasure in front of Christine.

As she made to leave, her path was halted by a breathless Meg Giry and a handful of other ballet rats.

"Has anyone seen Joseph Buquet?" they asked.

"No, why should we?" a woman answered.

"He didn't report to work this morning! There is a rumor that the Opera Ghost got him!" As much as the ballerinas tried to look frightened, their eyes made them look like excited children on Christmas. The dancers surely did have a fascination with ghost stories.

"And did you perpetuate those rumors?" asked an older woman. Some of the girls blushed and looked at their shoes. Little Giry was incensed and tried to speak up.

"Now, see here--" she started

"No, you see here," the woman interrupted, "We don't have time for your silly little games. We have work to do. Go away and bother someone else with your stories."

Joseph has gone missing. I am hoping it is just a false alarm, but the news was enough to bring me back to my thoughts when I had become distracted with the events of the day. I was reminded of the urgency in which I needed to find a plan.

Usually Christine would have been annoyed witnessing such an exchange. This time however, she was concerned.

"Christine, dear, you are looking pale! Are you alright?"

Why is everyone asking me that today? Because you look terrible… since when did you become so bad at hiding your problems? Since my problems refuse to stay hidden…

"Yes, Madame, I am alright. Do you think it is true what those girls said?"

"BAH! Of course not. They are a bunch of silly, empty-headed, little girls. Pay no attention to them. There is no need to worry about Buquet. He probably just had too much fun last night and is paying for it this morning."

"Yes, you are probably right. I am just being silly."

If anyone else had gone missing, she would have thought nothing of it; but, considering her conversation with the Voice yesterday, she wasn't sure whether or not she should be worried for the man's safety. The Opera Ghost may not have gotten him, but I don't know what my Teacher is capable of. I hope I am blowing this out of proportion… I hope, I hope, I hope…

Thankfully, help would arrive in the form of my dear friend, Raoul. Oh Raoul! I wondered if I would ever see him again. I have never been more happy to see an old friend in my life.

That evening, as rehearsal was wrapping up and Christine was gathering her things, she saw a familiar face speaking with the managers.

It was Raoul de Chagny, just come back from the navy. She smiled fondly. After three years of service, she wondered if he would look much different… would she even recognize him? Much to her surprise and delight, he seemed not to have changed a bit. Still that fair skin, that same blond hair, those beautiful hands and graceful features. The one difference was the thin mustache he grew (or was attempting to grow) on his upper lip. Christine almost giggled, she was so happy to see him.

"Raoul!" she called, but he appeared not to hear her. She would have called out again but he and his brother appeared to be having a very serious conversation with the managers and she did not think it in good taste to disturb them. I'll catch up with him later…

I did not get a chance to speak with him, but I suddenly feel an overwhelming sense of peace that he is here. My dear friend! My Raoul! I know that he will help me. I will see him again in a few days after the performance. I will speak with him then. He will help me come up with a plan.

It is funny, really. A few months ago, if I saw him, I would be wondering if he remembered me, if he would still be the same gentle boy, if we would still get along, if I would still have a crush on him… if, if, if… All of that seems so inconsequential now. My mind does not have the luxury of such petty worries. All I can think about is how grateful I am that he will help rescue me--I know that he will, for a true gentleman would not pass up such an opportunity.

What she did not notice was the pair of glowing eyes watching her from the rafters. Who is that boy? he wondered acerbically, And what is he to my Christine?

I think that I will sleep well tonight. I feel as though my champion has arrived!

Forever,

Christine