"I advise you not to do it, monsieur. It will only lead to tragedy, of this I am sure." Christine gently opened her tired brown eyes at the faint whispering and little light let in through the cracked-open door. Mme Giry was holding a candle and peering at her, and at her left, she could make out Raoul's tall frame and see a hint of gold hair. She realized that it was probably night, and that she had slept the whole day away, for after she had come to the above world, it had been morning.
"Madame, do you not see that the monster needs to be put in his place? Those letters he sent to us were preposterous, only a delusional man would obey those rules! He kidnapped my Christine! He nearly injured the leading soprano! This 'Phantom' must be stopped at all costs!" Raoul's voice had raised. And she heard Madame Giry whisper, "Shh! Do not wake her." Christine saw Raoul duck his fair head, and shift from his stance from behind the ballet mistress to look at her supposedly sleeping form.
She barely closed her eyes in time. "My sweet, innocent Christine. Look how afraid she looks, even now, in her sleep, safe from that beast. Why did he have to target her, kidnap her, the most beautiful, kind thing in this whole damned opera house?" He was murmuring quietly, and she dared to peep her eyes open a little to see Mme Giry shake her head and start to pull the door closed.
"For those very reasons, Monsieur Le Vicomte. A sweet rose in the midst of weeds. Though I believe she chose him as well." She said the last part after a short pause. They were slowly walking away, and Christine barley could hear their voices. "She was very alone when she first came here. The "Angel" was her teacher and only friend besides my daughter. Their relationship grew into something more over the years. I don't believe he kidnapped her, I believe she went willingly." There was a shocked silence, then Raoul's disbelieving words of, "Madame! I really don't think Christine feels anything for this Phantom but terror!" A sad, sarcastic chuckle from Mme Giry followed his innocent words, and the woman wearily stated, "Monsieur Raoul, you have much to learn about Mlle Daae." The footsteps and quiet voices faded, and soon, Christine heard nothing.
"Am I so innocent?" She wondered in the solitude of her dark room. The singer felt too guilty to ever be called innocent. She had eavesdropped, and even forgot all about her life when she was down with her Phantom. A shamed blush heated her ashy face when she thought how pleased she was to realize that he was hers. After an hour of trying to banish the thought from her mind, trying to sleep again, and wondering what Mme Giry and Raoul had been talking about, she rolled out of bed. The effort to sleep would be useless. Bleary eyed and pale as she was, her mind was active, and an idea had struck that was seeming more attractive by every minute. The girl grabbed the light jacket on the peg by her door, and her feet found the little leather flats she wore outside of dance practice. Then she was free, roaming down the dark hallways, the only light coming from the few high windows at the ends of the halls. It gave her a perverse thrill to know that the rest of the opera house was sleeping, except for her, and probably the Erik, who was always awake. She was soon atop the stairs that led into the grand foyer.
The huge room was bathed in the faint silvery glow of the moon that peaked in through the heavy curtains on the large windows. Everything was gold and black and white. Christine's childish bliss at being awake at when everyone else was not was gone. Instead, she felt a draft and shivered and pulled her long jacket even tighter around her shoulders. The air carried a sense of forbidding horror. The elegant, grand room reminded her too much of the Phantom and she felt disturbed to know that just colors reminded her of him. But memories of him couldn't stop invading her thoughts. The music of the night was already controlling her mind. Slowly, she graced the stairs,as if in a trance, and in a scratchy,soprano voice began to sing, " How I've opened up my mind,let my secret fantasies unwind,in a darkness that I know I cannot fight! The darkness of your music of the night..." She blinked and looked around at the empty foyer. The eerie spell that had just overcame her had vanished, and she had the wary sense of someone watching her. If there was a person, she knew who it would be. "Angel." She breathed and glanced around her shoulders. The room seemed empty, but he could be hiding in one of the many shadows.
A voice floated down from the Heavens, too perfect for any mortal. "Angel.." It sang back, and Christine ached and hurt and almost wanted him to come down and sing and hold her. She felt confused and scared with her mixed up emotions, and fled to her only haven. The Chappelle. The doors welcomed her, and she pushed them open and latched them shut with a heave after securing herself inside. The airy magic of the room calmed her down, and she smiled at the single lite candle in the corner. The soprano walked over to it and removed it from the stand, and lite the candles surrounding her father's little shrine in the back. She sighed and took off her jacket, the little room was quite warm, and carefully put it on the ground before the shrine. Christine sat down, grateful for the jacket to provide some cushion against the stone floor. She had a feeling that she'd be there awhile.
"Father, I need your guidance more then ever! Please help me, God...Please...Don't send me anymore Angels, just guide me with your love..." Christine prayed to her father and God, whom she knew her father would be with in Heaven. She sat there for hours, till her lids began to droop, and finally, her head slumped, and she sank all the way to the cold ground.
A man silently came into Christine's viewpoint. But she was sleeping heavily, and was completely oblivious as he put a maroon silk pillow under her head, and a heavy, but soft, purple blanket on her, his hands lingering over her shoulder and tracing the delicate curve of her neck. He turned to the shrine and placed something at the base of it, then turned back to the girl. His eyes were a light blueish silver with flicks of gold, and they were filled with emotions, tall-tell sparkle of tears. "Forgive me for what I've done...and what I will do." He whispered as he stroked her abundant curls, then he seemingly disappeared.
"Christine? Christiiiiinnneeee?....There you are!" A door creaked, and sunlight poured into the Chapel. "Uhhh........." The previously sleeping girl groaned, and pulled the soft blanket to cover her eyes. Th movement woke her up with a start. During her nighttime frolic, she had not brought a pillow or blanket, just a jacket. Then muscular legs came into view, and the low, sweet voice of Meg Giry filled her ears. "Why are you down here?" She sounded curious and a bit worried. Christine thought quickly. "I couldn't sleep, so I came down to be with my father. I brought these," she gestured to the fancy beddings, "which are gifts from the gala night, since I knew I would be here awhile." She smiled after her lame story. Meg nodded, it was the sort of dreamy thing Christine was known for doing, and said, "Well, there is rehearsal for the new opera today. Are you feeling well enough to come?"
Christine quickly said, "Yes," and Meg beamed and turned for the door. The brunette quickly glanced at the portrait of her father lovingly before she went. Then she stopped dead. There was a rose, a blood red rose, at the base of the shrine. She laughed quietly, a disturbed laugh, and felt herself start to fall.
"Are you ready?" Meg asked while turning to face her friend. Christine pulled herself together just in time, and her few senses told her to arch herself over the rose to prevent Meg from ever laying eyes on it. "Yes, lets go." She whispered, and deftly shoved the flower into the blanket's folds. They walked out to her dressing room/ bedroom and the blond left her at the door, promising to have her mother fill the in the details that Christine had missed during her stay beneath the opera house. The singer watched her friend hurry down the hallway to not be late for dance rehearsals. Once Meg was gone, Christine went into her room and spread the luxurious blanket over her little bed, and placed the pillow over the thin one she usually slept on. The rose remained in her pale hands, and she absent-mindfully twirled it about, humming a verse from Think of Me and thinking about not thinking.
"May I come in?" Christine jumped about a foot as the door opened without her permission. The elegant woman who entered would not need Christine's assent anyway. "Madame Giry!" The girl said in a warm voice as a welcome. She threw the rose to the ground, but realized the dance instructor's sharp eyes had probably already caught it. Even so, they both chose to ignore the splash of red on the cream-colored floor. "I have come here to talk to you about the new opera, IL Muto." Christine nodded, she remembered Meg talking about it. "I am sorry to say that you will not have the leading role of countess, for Signora Carlotta has returned. In fact, you will not have any singing role, and will be playing Serafimo, the title role. There has been some problems with the casting while you were gone, in the form of notes, but I trust that you will not fuss about your new part, even though you starred in the gala?" Mme Giry's voice was calm and persuasive, as if she was speaking to a disagreeable child. The singer felt herself flush indignantly,"Of course I will not throw a fit, I'm no diva. When do the rehearsals begin?" The dancer nodded approvingly, and said, "After our conversation, you will go down. The good thing about being the mute is you are not needed down on the stage every waking moment, like the chorus or lead ballerinas." They smiled at each other, then the madame took a deep breathe, and said, "There is another thing I need to talk to you about. As a mother,I feel like I should ask.... I'm asking about your, ah, honor.... Is it still intact after your time with the Opera Ghost?" She finally found her tongue, then looked down patiently on the slight girl, and Christine wondered what she meant. "Honor?" She mused aloud, then understood, and her white skin, which had just recovered from the angry flush, turned pink once again. "Yes, yes, God, he would never-" Christine babbled. "It was never awkward, he never did anything like...like that! I was...I think I was actually happy down below the opera..." She whispered to herself.
Her head was down, so the soprano never saw the older woman's troubled, understanding glance. "Ah, ma cherie, things will be right again, just give it time." Mme Giry seemed to pull herself together, and was once again the mother, pulling the singer into a gentle hug. Christine hugged back, but as they broke away, she whispered, "I don't think it ever will be." The woman pretended not to hear, and returned to being the brisk ballet instructor. "Well,it is time to go down to rehearsals, just tell me if you get too tired." She opened Christine's door and fairly pushed the girl out. "Madame.." Christine complained softly. "Let us not be late.." She just answered,but thought 'If I stay here a minute longer, I shall find myself saying things that are not meant to ever be heard, especially by this girl...or maybe this is the very girl that should hear the truth...' But she pushed aside her inner turmoil, and went down to the stage and began to instruct her ballerinas.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~many days later~~~
"Poor fool, he makes me laugh, ha ha ha Haaaaaa...." Christine simpered along to Carlotta's shrill singing, the perfect picture of an lover. She was extremely embarrassed, though, and only her acting skills prevented the other cast members from seeing it. They all saw her blush, however. Her men's form-fitting trousers,top and the opera's scandalous plot just made her uncomfortable, and she silently wished to be the star, to sing the role of countess. The song thankfully finished, and Christine was permitted to take a break while the ballet was rehearsed. Carlotta was also taking a rest, and she shoved past the younger girl with a haughty "Humph!" The prima donna hated the fact that she had to share the stage with Christine, the soprano who had stolen her gala night. But over the last rehearsals, the the two had actually established an unspoken agreement, due to their mutual loathing; it was to just leave the other alone. Carlotta was prone to a few cheats to the deal, and Christine silently accepted them, thinking her job could be a lot worse if the diva wished. She wandered over to an empty corner behind the huge scarlet curtains, grateful for the soft music that went with the ballet to soothe her aching head, and pushed aside the drapes and hid, as if she was a child. The soprano settled down with the hopes of sleeping when a large, thick piece of paper fluttered down from the rafters.
She looked up anxiously, then saw that the paper was actually a note. It was a creamy white shade, and the words were written in a complex, scrawly black font. "I should have heard an angel singing, not the voice of a great toad." She read aloud, and wanted to laugh. The Phantom's sense of humor was witty, if not a bit degrading to Carlotta, the "great toad". She fiddled with the note, and discovered it was an envelope. There was a clever gold seal hidden beneath the corner. Christine eagerly broke it, and opened the paper, and was first bombarded with a delightful smell, one that she recognized but could not name.
"It smells like him, and he smells like.....the night!" She whispered in self-discovery, remembering the heady, sweet scent she used to inhale as a little girl playing outside in the moonlight. Pulling the it closer so that she might smell more, smaller pieces of paper tumbled out and on to the polished floor. They were paintings, drawings, works of art that she only dreamed of creating. There were six, the smallest being the size of her two fists on top of one-another. The first showed a dark chapel and the back a little curly haired girl's head, her small hands raised high, and her joyful face partially shown as she raised it up into the air. Christine recognized it as herself when she had first heard the Angel of Music sing. The next showed a slightly older version of the same girl, the first signs of curves appearing on her body as she danced on stage with a group of ballerinas. There was a golden glow surrounding her that made the girl highly distinguishable from the many other dancers. Is this how I appear to Erik? Christine wondered while noticing that the blond, curvy ballerina on the left and the grim dance mistress had similar, but dimmer plows. "Meg and Mme Giry", Christine thought and giggled,for whatever reason,she found the glows that helped her recognize the figures delightful. Then she looked at the next drawing. The girl in the picture was all grown up, alone on the great stage,only her profile visible, but the theater was filled with a great audience. She was wearing a grand white dress, her curls shining with diamonds, her pale arms long and slim, her open full lips seeming to sing, "Think of Me.."
The singer smiled fondly, then flipped to the next piece. It was done only in pencil, and showed a shadowy hall with a man in a black cape leading a girl in a revealing dressing gown. The man was carrying a torch, and in his other hand, was the the girl's. He was looking back on her, and she seemed to be enchanted with her surroundings. It was a sketchy, mysterious drawing, and Christine couldn't help but run her fingers over the little figures. The next was a painting, and Christine felt her skin heat up. The masked man was holding the girl, his hands tightly across on her body, the girl's head leaned on him, her curls spreading over his shoulder. Her eyes were closed dreamily, and the man's open mouth appeared to be singing, while the girl's parted lips seemed to beg for a kiss. Did I just think that? Christine thought in shock as she stared at the painting. The glow and majesty of the lair surrounding the figures was too much for Christine, and she quickly went on the the next image.
It was the most complex, to say the least. The top half of the piece showed Christine burying her face into a red rose's soft bloom, kneeling on the floor in front of the mirror in her dressing room. The real girl gasped at the accuracy of her drawn self. She recognized the dress the figure was wearing as the dress she had worn the previous day, marigold-colored with lace, and the ring that Erik had given her shone on her ring finger on her left hand. The Christine in the picture had tears running down her face, but a sad smile. On the bottom half of the painting, was Erik, his face also buried in a red rose, but he was standing regally on the shores of the lake before his lair. He was dressed in his usual black, and his cape billowed behind. The Angel's eyes also shone, but his face was expressionless. In his other hand was the picture Christine had drawn when they had been living together underneath the opera, it was of the sunny Swedish beach that Christine had grown up on,but she had added Erik into it, staring across the ocean. The Erik in the painting was looking down on the onto the silvery water of the lake, the masked side of his face lost in the rose's bud. The haunting, almost disturbing part of the beautiful painting that though Christine was right side up, the section with Erik in it was upside down. She shook her head in confusion, not understanding the painting, or it's meaning.
The last and smallest piece made Christine smile joyously,and her weary eyes lightened. It showed a small, dark cottage lite with an handful of candle stubs, a small fire in the little stone fireplace, and a long square window. The window sill was covered with glass bottles filled with sea glass, and the view showed the dim reflection of the moon on the ocean. Near the fireplace sat a brown-haired man with shining blue eyes, a violin resting on the floor by his feet, being held vertical by only one large hand. There was a little auburn haired girl perched on his lap, and he looked down on her kindly, his mouth open, as if telling a story. The little girl's eyes were wide with delight and wonder.
"Oh, father!" Christine whispered, looking down on the picture that perfectly summed up her time with the only family she had ever known. It was the greatest, most beloved gift anyone had ever given her. After Christine wiped a few wistful tears from her eyes, she began to wonder. How had Erik gotten the scene so well, when he only had Christine's few stories of her childhood, and the picture of her father at the shrine? She decided that she would never fully understand his genius, and simply looked up, saying "Thank you,thank you so much, my wondrous Angel." She knew that he would somehow hear her words of gratitude. The girl continued to stare at each of the pictures until her lids began to droop, and then she slept.
~~~ "Mlle Daae?" The frail composer asked the air. Meg looked around anxiously. Had her friend kidnapped by the Phantom again? She shifted in her tight shepherdess costume and wondered if she should go and look for the infamous lair. Meg Giry had always found adventure and darkness and mystery to the be the best things in life, besides dancing, and though she would never say it aloud, she wished that had been the target of the Phantom's obsession, so she could first-handedly experience the greatest mystery in the city of Paris. "Meg, where is your friend?" Meg's mother, the ballet instructor Marguerite, asked in a worried voice. Meg, though she seemed to be the sweetest ballerina in France, also was very clever, and as a little girl, had hid to see her mother pass off notes to a cloaked figure late at night. That was when she first began to be enthralled with the idea of the Phantom of The Opera. "Meg?" The woman said again, and Meg brought her thoughts from a dark, regal man to the image of her friend. "I am not sure, maman." Mme Giry nodded and walked over to another group of dancers. Then Carlotta entered the stage. "We should conclude rehearsal without the girl. I am here, and tat is wat is important!" She yelled, obviously hating the fact that the young beauty had once again taken the spotlight. But her efforts were wasted when Christine herself emerged onto the stage. "Ha,now you show up. Dis is why you are the mute, and I sing Countess! You must be on time!" The diva shrilled, but Christine didn't miss her relieved breath after she had appeared. Probably so people would quit fussing over me, She thought spitefully, then felt horrible, and threw herself into the part of lover fervently.
(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(**(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*
The long dress rehearsal finally ended. Christine gathered her paintings from their hiding spot and slipped on her dress, and hurried up to her room when she crashed into a well-dressed chest smelling of heavy cologne. She quickly backed up and felt her paintings and sighed with relief, then looked up to two bright blue eyes. "Raoul!" She cried happily, going back into his arms for a friendly embrace. "Little Lotte!" He answered, and hugged her tightly. "I was so worried." He whispered into her curls. "But now everything shall be well once again! You must be hungry after those grueling rehearsals. Shall we go to supper?" The young Vicomte carefully asked, making sure his request sounded like a question. Christine wasn't really hungry, but she remembered noticed that he asked sweetly, and realized that he had probably been waiting at her door for some time. And she recalled the last time he had asked her to eat with him, and how the events that followed had changed her life. "I would love to go to dinner with you, Raoul. Should I change?" She gestured to her simple white blouse and gray skirt. He shook his head kindly, and they beamed at each other. Even dressed humbly, Christine glowed to Raoul, and the two drank in the other's beauty. "Oh, I need to go drop this off. I'll only be a minute." Christine finally sang, and Raoul nodded and sang too, "I'll be waiting at the door." The soprano quickly hurried into her room, and was shocked as a ice cold feeling settled over her body. "I am not promised to anyone!There is nothing wrong with dinner with my friend or is he my sweetheart?" Christine told herself, then gently put her beloved gifts on her vanity table. She glanced in the mirror and quickly added a silver bow to her curls, and pinched her cheeks, then hurried out the door and down the stairs, into her love's arms.