Whoohoo! Finally getting into the RM scenes. I am really nervous to write them together but I'm so very excited also. I just adore them. I'm so glad you're all enjoying it. I know I'm a broken record for saying that AGAIN but seriously, it means so much to me.
I made a tumblr for them, if anyone wants to follow it. just look up vicomte-ballerina on tumblr.
Enjoy!
And to the reviewer that asked if I was a theater person, no I am not, but I do a lot of research on the theater. If I wasn't so shy I would probably be IN theater. Maybe one day!
Meg was certain her heart had stopped. All the color drained from her face as she stared up at Raoul. Her bag nearly slipped from her fingers as she took a step backwards. He reached his hands out, fearing she would faint away. Never had he seen her so pale, or her dark eyes so large. He swallowed hard, watching as she gracefully stood straight up and regained a normal breathing pattern.
"Rao-I'm sorry...Vicomte...hello." She whispered shakily, her gaze lowering to his cream colored cravat.
"Vicomte?" He asked softly. "Come now, Meg. You can call me Raoul, just as you have before." His fingers reached out, and he took one small hand away from her shawl. He gently kissed the back of it, but did not let her go.
Meg felt like her mouth was stuffed with cotton. She didn't know what to do or say. She didn't know what was proper and what wasn't. She bit her lower lip out of habit, trying not to focus on how warm his hand was. It practically covered her entire tiny hand.
"I'm sorry...I'm just...surprised to see you." Meg whispered, finally lifting her dark eyes to his blue pair. Her knees nervously knocked together, and she felt her cheeks turn bright red as she wobbled slightly.
"And I you." He chuckled, tightening his grip on her hand. "Now, I believe I asked you something, Meg. Where is your blue shawl?"
"I've lost it yet again. You'll have to save it." Meg murmured without skipping a beat. Her lips were still stained red from the performance, and they curved up into a sweet smile.
"It took so much trouble the first time. And the second, with that silly dog of yours." Raoul teased. "I do hope you've since learned how to swim?"
"Indeed." She murmured, sending him another smile.
"But I suppose for you, I'd do it over again, if need be." Raoul said sweetly.
Meg blushed even more, and the softest of laughs fell from her lips as she shyly dropped her gaze. Raoul took this short moment to admire her. She had grown into such a beautiful young lady. Raoul didn't know what this silly feeling in his chest was, but it seemed to grow stronger the longer he was with her. Perhaps it wasn't so bad to see her again. And he would get to as much as he wanted, what with his new connections to the Opera. Her dark lashes fluttered as she looked up at him again, and her breath caught in her throat from the sweetness in his gaze.
"How have the years been treating you?" Meg asked softly, finally finding the courage to curl her tiny fingers around Raoul's larger ones.
"Just fine, I suppose." He murmured. "Rather lonely. A girl promised she would write to me, and yet..." His smile faded ever so slightly.
"Raoul..." Meg began, slowly pulling her hand out of his. She clutched her shawl around her, shaking her head. "I...I couldn't...I wa-"
"No, Meg. You promised. Did you think I would forget?"
"Well yes, actually." Meg murmured.
"I didn't. I never did. I waited for something, anything from you." He nearly reached out and grasped her shoulders. But he kept still, knowing he had held her hand longer than propriety allowed, and anything more would be wrong. He sighed, shaking his head a little. "Why didn't you write to me? You promised."
"I know I did." Meg whispered, her thumb smoothing over the strap of her tiny bag. Sighing, she looked up at him with sad brown eyes. "You know why I couldn't, Raoul. Think of how the world would view us as friends. It would be frowned upon."
Raoul remained silent, his eyebrows furrowing together. Friends. She had said friends. Perhaps she didn't feel that yearning in her heart like he did, that awful tugging feeling in his chest. Now that he had seen her, maybe it would be best to just let her go. Perhaps she would be much happier without him. Did she think he would ruin her life? They were in different social classes, yes, but he would've risked it all.
"I understand, Meg." He sighed, his blue eyes tearing from hers. "Then perhaps you shouldn't have said anything at all that night on the beach." He murmured, turning away from her towards the door. "I should be going. I'm sorry I frightened you."
Meg suddenly reached out and grasped his arm. "Raoul, wait. Please." Her fingers curled around his sleeve tightly. "Please don't go." Her lower lip quivered and her dark eyes were wide. She was suddenly very fearful of him leaving. There was a chance if he left, they would never speak again. Her fingers grasped his sleeve even tighter at the thought.
"And precisely why should I stay, Meg? You've made it very clear that we cannot be friends. Why should I stay?" He asked, blue eyes flashing over her face.
Meg hesitated, blushing as she considered the words that rested on her tongue. "B-because I've missed you. And I'm sorry...I'm sorry about it all, Raoul. I just...I didn't want to ruin your life." She whispered.
Sweet Meg. Raoul couldn't believe that she had thought she would ruin his life. He had thought it the other way around. Raoul found himself reaching his fingers towards her cheek. But before he could touch her, his hand dropped. She never batted an eyelash or flinched away. She just stared up at him with her big brown eyes. "That would never happen, Meg." He promised softly.
Meg flushed, her tiny fingers still clutching his sleeve. "Then...Friends?" She whispered, a hopeful smile coming over her stained lips.
"Yes...friends...if that is what you wish." Raoul murmured, furrowing his didn't want to shut Meg out. He would take what she gave.
"It is what I wish. It very much is." She said quickly, not wanting to give him any hesitation that would make him think she didn't mean it.
"Friends can go to lunch, can they not? This weekend I shall take you out and we will talk and have a grand time." He saw her eyes widen and she blanched. "I won't take no for an answer, my friend." He smirked at her, and reached out to take her hand.
She slowly nodded, her smile returning. "Alright, if you insist."
"I do." He grinned that boyish smile of his as she rolled her eyes at him.
"Would you like to go say hello to Christine? She will be quite excited to see you." Meg asked softly, trying to focus on anything but his warm hand covering hers.
"I'd be delighted. Lead the way." Before she could pull her hand free, he slipped it through his arm and led her from the room.
Meg couldn't help but blush as they wandered through the halls in a comfortable silence. She had very little contact with men. Of course she knew the boys in the ballet and the cast and had come into close contact with them through different operas. And as she grew into a young woman, a few of them made their attraction to her known to them. But what they were looking for was a fling in the darkness, and it wasn't anything Meg was comfortable with at all. She wanted something real and true, something that would be substantial and last forever. Her dark eyes flickered up at Raoul as they moved through the crowds in the grand hall. Perhaps as time went on, that would be with Raoul. But she refused to get her hopes up for that. She barely had her hopes up for a friendship with Raoul.
Everyone around them was far too drunk to even realize the Vicomte had Little Giry on his arm. Thankfully no one would remember it even if they had noticed. Meg led Raoul down a corner towards the dressing rooms. Seemingly wounded hopeful suitors were walking away with bushels of flowers. Madame Giry must have sent them all away. Meg giggled to herself as she led Raoul to Christine's door. It was quieter in this hall, and Meg let go of Raoul to knock on the door.
"Christine?" Meg called. When she didn't answer, Meg stepped closer and tilted her cheek against the door. "Christine, it's me. Raoul is here. May we come in? I haven't lost anything or become clumsy, so we are not two sopping wet children come to ruin your fancy new dressing room." Meg and Raoul shared a laugh. "Christine?" Meg asked through giggles. Still no answer. "Odd. She usually..." Meg reached out and grasped the handle of the door. She jiggled it, and frowned. "Locked. But...she said she would be here all night...earlier...we spoke of..."
"Perhaps she's just gone home." Raoul suggested.
Meg pressed her ear to the door, listening intently for any signs of movement. She could hear footsteps, and Christine singing to herself. Or so she thought until a masculine voice boomed out a response. The Angel of Music was there with Christine. Meg widened her dark eyes and tried to make out what was being said. Raoul heard it too and knocked on the door.
"Christine? Who is that in there? Are you alright?" He knocked a few times, but Meg remained frozen and silent by the door. The voices were beginning to fade, and Raoul began to jiggle the doorknob. It finally gave way, and Meg hurried inside ahead of Raoul. No sign of Christine, or her Angel.
"Empty. But how? She was just here! You heard the voices, didn't you?" Meg asked quickly, turning to Raoul.
"Yes, of course." Raoul murmured, moving through the darkened room to search anywhere he could have thought Christine would hide. Meg watched him with a pale face. She crossed the room, her dark eyes flickering back and forth. When she reached the large mirror against the wall, she touched the cold glass warily. "Where on earth could she have gone, Meg? Is there any other way out of here she could have gone?"
"No...no other exits in here." Meg sighed, turning away from the mirror to look up at him. "Perhaps the Angel of Music has taken her under his wing."
"What on earth does that mean, Meg?" He asked, furrowing his eyebrows together.
"Don't you remember? You used to call her Little Lotte. I thought you would've remembered." Meg was staring into space, hoping her assumptions were wrong. Perhaps the Angel had taken Christine away to Heaven, to sing with him forever. She bit her lower lip, shaking her head slowly. "She claimed he was real. That's how she could sing tonight."
"Meg, those were just stories. How could that be possible?" Raoul asked rather flippantly.
"It's true, Raoul. I've heard the Angel's voice." She shivered, reaching up to hug herself. "Christine...oh Christine... I do hope you know what you're doing." She whispered to herself.
He came over to her and gently rested his hands on her arms. "Meg, you must calm yourself. You've become so pale. There's nothing to be frightened of." He whispered gently, lifting one hand to cup her cheek. Meg found herself leaning into his touch, unable to help herself. "Let me take you home. You need rest. Perhaps we just heard echoes from down the hall, and Christine will be waiting for you at home. You mustn't worry so." He whispered. She lowered her eyes, but he tilted her head up so she could look up at him again. She slowly nodded and allowed him to escort her out of Christine's dressing room.
Meg hugged her shawl around herself and clutched her thin bag in loose fingers. As she and Raoul began to head down the hallway, Madame Giry emerged from the shadows. Raoul jumped, but Meg was used to her mother's mysterious appearances and hardly reacted. "Vicomte, lovely to see you again. You sure have grown."
"Madame Giry, you and your daughter are one in the same. Please, call me Raoul." He laughed.
"I should prefer to remain within the bounds of propriety. But I thank you all the same." Madame Giry let the faintest of smiles cross her lips at Raoul's flustered expression. "Marguerite, it's time to go home." Meg blushed at her full name, but nodded.
"Goodnight, Raoul." Meg murmured, looking up at him shyly.
He took her hand and kissed the back of it before she could get away. "Goodnight, Meg. And goodnight to you also, Madame Giry." Raoul smiled. Before they could walk away, he caught her mother's attention once more. "Madame Giry, may I have the honor of taking Miss Giry to lunch this coming weekend?"
Madame Giry glanced at her daughter, who was becoming paler by the second. "If she is well enough."
"Rest up then, Meg." Raoul sent Meg a grin.
"Goodnight, Vicomte." Madame Giry murmured, wrapping an arm around Meg's shoulders and leading her away. Meg glanced over her shoulder at Raoul, a small smile moving over her lips. Her mother gave Meg a squeeze on the shoulder, and Meg turned her attention to her mother.
"Mama, did you know he would be here?" Meg asked softly.
"Perhaps."
Meg rolled her eyes. "So you did. Why didn't you tell me or Christine?"
"You two were so focused on Hannibal. I didn't need you throwing it all away to focus on the Vicomte being here. It's better you found out like everyone else did." She explained softly. "You did wonderfully tonight, Marguerite. You shine."
"Christine did the majority of the shining tonight, Mama. She was beautiful." Meg grinned her dimpled smile. "Oh! Mama!" She gasped, her smile fading. "Have you seen Christine? Is she home already?"
"You needn't worry about Christine tonight, darling. She is taken care of."
Meg didn't know what her mother meant until the next morning. She and her mother had returned to their small flat around the corner from the Opera House. It was in a large boarding house where many of the other performers also lived. They had quarters in the Opera House, but mainly preferred to be in their own home. Meg and Christine shared a room while Madame Giry had her own. So it was odd for Meg to tuck herself into bed without her best friend in the bed across from her.
But when Meg woke, she found Christine sitting on her own bed, practically rocking back and forth. She was dressed in her nightgown and robe, and her dark curls were wild and fell over her shoulders. It took Meg a moment to wake up as she realized that Christine was really there, that she was alright and not gone forever. Meg sat up and smiled sleepily at her best friend. But upon realizing that she was distraught, Meg got up and hurried towards the brunette. Christine was shaking, and her blue eyes were foggy and a million miles away. Meg wrapped her arm around her friend's shoulders. Upon doing so, Christine began to weep, and leaned her head on Meg's shoulder.
Meg sat with Christine like that for hours. The poor girl didn't stop crying and whimpering about her 'angel'. Meg didn't know what was wrong or what she could do to help. Finally, her friend lifted her head and look at Meg with miserable blue eyes.
"Oh Meg...it was all a lie. My whole life is a lie." She whimpered.
"Hush, Christine. What is this about?" Meg asked gently. Her voice cracked ever so slightly from going so long in silence.
"My Angel, Meg. Oh...oh you shall love this." Christine let out a choked sob mixed in a bitter laugh. It was an awful sound for Meg to hear her make. "He's him. The Phantom of the Opera..." She sang in a weak voice.
"Nonsense, Christine." Meg muttered.
Christine quickly lifted her head, fire flashing in her reddened eyes. "I saw him, Meg. He's real. I only knew because of his voice. His wonderful voice. The one that trained me, saved me. Oh Meg! I hate him. I hate him so much. He lied to me, he lied to me!"
Meg was rather frightened. She had never seen her best friend in such a manner. She bit her lower lip nervously. "Christine...Christine..." Meg tilted Christine's head up slowly. "This cannot be."
"Oh but it is...it is." Christine whispered. "He's the Phantom...he's not my Angel of Music sent by my Papa. He's...he's a ghost. Oh Meg, his face...it's like the stories...but worse...much much worse. He took me below the theater...where there is no sunlight, no warmth. Everything is icy...everything is dark. So dark, Meg. I don't know how I am alive from such darkness!" Christine sniffled, rubbing her nose on her sleeve like a child. "Oh but Meg...his voice...his voice was so sweet...it was him...my tutor...my...Angel...he is real. I should be happy to know he's real after all this time. But oh, the lies! The lies, Meg! To know that he is the Phantom we've told stories about our entire lives...it's too much!"
Meg had no idea what to say. She just stared at her friend all dumbfounded and pale, allowing her to continue. "Yet...his eyes, Meg...I've never seen such pain, such adoration. He's so ugly, so terribly horrible. His lies most of all. But his eyes...his voice...he's still...he's still my Angel." Christine whispered as her head slumped back down on Meg's shoulder. "My Angel..."
A week passed and Christine remained in bed for the majority of that time. She could not be pulled out of her thoughts or tears. Meg was terribly worried for her friend's sanity. She hardly left her, unless her mother shooed her off to rehearsals or whatever. Madame Giry didn't always make Meg go to to rehearsals. Meg had a silent role in the new opera. Madame Giry only ran through certain things with Meg privately if need be. She understood that Meg had to stay with Christine. The Opera House needed Madame Giry more than they needed Meg.
Lunch with Raoul had to be cancelled, and though he was unhappy about that, the Vicomte understood. He didn't quite know what was going on, but he would wait for Meg. He had waited six years, and a few more days wouldn't kill him.
One particular morning, Meg woke to find that Christine was not a sobbing, shaking mess on her bed like she had been every morning that week. She was fast asleep, her breathing even and her sleeping face peaceful. Meg was rather shocked to find her best friend so serene. She looked like an angel. Meg stood up slowly and dressed as silently as possible. Her friend lacked sleep that entire week. She couldn't risk to loose more. Meg slipped out of the room and found her mother in their tiny kitchen.
"Good morning, Mama." Meg murmured. Madame Giry held out a mug of tea for her daughter. Meg sipped the warm liquid slowly. "Christine is sleeping. Very peacefully."
Madame Giry looked towards her daughter, a relieved smile crossing her usually tight lips. "Wonderful. Poor Christine...I never wanted this for her."
Meg frowned, slowly lowering her mug down to the counter. "Did you know all along, Mama?" She asked in a soft voice. "Did you know he was not an angel...but the Phantom?"
Madame Giry sighed, lowering her gaze away from Meg. "I did." She shook her head. "Sit, darling. I shall explain." Meg sat at the table, her mother coming to stand near her. "When I was younger than you, I lived in the ballet dormitories, training to become a ballerina. There was a traveling fair in the city. Gypsies, tumblerers, human oddities...they had it all. I had never seen anything like them in my entire life. The girls and I were intrigued, of course. It was all very exciting." Madame Giry grew somber. "But I shall never forget one...'act' in particular. There was a man locked in a cage. They boasted about his accomplishments, and yet he was filthy and beaten. A muslin sack was over his head. We didn't know why until we saw the sign that read 'Devil's Child'."
Meg grew uneasy the longer her mother spoke of this. She didn't like the direction this conversation was going. Madame Giry noticed this and brought Meg her mug of tea before continuing on. "The gypsy who owned him beat him in front of us. The crowd laughed at him, begging to see the evil of his face. And as a show's climax...the bag was torn off. I shall never forget the blankness in his eyes. He was used to something as terrible as this life. I shall also never forget his face." Madame Giry's voice shook ever so slightly. "When everyone left, I stayed behind and...and I helped him escape. I brought him to the Opera House and took care of him. He became the Phantom on his own."
Meg stared at her mother with wide dark eyes. "How did he become deformed?"
Madame Giry shrugged her shoulders. "Birth, it seemed." Meg gasped, shock crossing her face. "Do not fear him, darling. He would never harm you or I. Or Christine. Never. He is not the 'Devil's Child' they claimed him to be. He is a damaged human being." She hesitated. "But he is a genius, Marguerite. A prodigy. Truly. You must believe me, darling. Don't give me that look. He's a musician, magician, composer, architect. They claimed he had once built for the shah of Persia. The only name I have ever known to be his is...Erik."
"And you help him? Why?" Meg asked softly.
"It is my responsibility. I helped him escape, therefore it should be me who helps him with whatever he needs. The stories are true, in some ways. He built his home in the deepest cellars and he lives on the lake below. He is tall and thin and I'd say your stories about his face are closer to the truth than you realize." Meg looked away sadly as her mother said this. She and the ballet girls had always just tried to think of the most gruesome things in describing the ghost. Even when Meg learned it was true, that there really was a Phantom. She just had no idea they had been right.
"What about Christine, mama? She thinks her life is just a lie. Poor Christine! I wish I could help her. I feel so helpless in all this." Meg sighed.
Madame Giry considered this silently, her gaze lifting towards the window. "Christine will survive this, Marguerite. Erik lied to her, yes...he very much did. But look at all that has been accomplished despite it all. He has become so much different than when I met him...softer in a way. She is strong. I do not deny that what he did was wrong. On the contrary. But Christine never would have gotten a chance like this otherwise." She paused, going to where her cane rested against the wall. "You and I have always known Christine was destined for greatness. But you know I could have never afforded to pay for lessons for her. Now...now she can succeed and have the life I promised her father I would give her."
"Thanks to a lie." Meg mumbled, shaking her head. "But you are right, Mama. Christine never would've had this chance." She whispered, lifting her mug to her lips to take a drink of tea.
"I learned of his first encounter with Christine just a little while after we returned from holiday. He insisted he was only trying to comfort Christine. She had cried so much, wanting her father. He never meant for it to continue on. But he saw something in her...her voice. He wanted to mold it, to make it his. I warned him not to do anything to hurt her. I would send Christine away if I had to. I still would. Perhaps I should." Madame Giry shook her head sadly.
"No, Mama. You cannot! Please, don't send Christine away. I'm sure whatever happened the night of Hannibal can be remedied."
"She saw his face, darling. You don't understand the emotional trauma that most likely has caused him." Madame Giry shook her head. "And for her also. But there's no forgetting the horror that is his face. I don't know what will happen now. I simply don't know."
"What do you mean?" Meg asked softly.
Madame Giry just shook her head again and looked towards the clock. "That's enough for now, darling. We must go to rehearsals." She turned away, sighing. "These are all things you needed to know, Marguerite. Please, do not tell a soul."
"Of course, Mama." Meg stood up and followed her mother to the door. "Oh, wait! Christine...what if she wakes and find us gone?" Meg whispered, realizing they would be leaving the sleeping Christine behind.
"She will be fine." Madame Giry promised. "We must attend to our duties. She needs rest and she will get all that she needs. You must focus on rehearsals. I shall check in on her soon enough."
Madame Giry and Meg immediately went into the practice room. Meg changed and stretched with the other girls. They ran through a few simple exercises. Meg did her best to focus when they began to practice a rather dainty ballet from act three of the new opera. It was very hard to focus. Her mother's tale was still fresh in her mind and being a distraction to her. Still, she seemed to outshine the other girls. Meg had a strange grace about her that set her apart from the other girls.
The ballet girls were stopped when a messenger came into the practice room with a note. The poor boy was shaking as he held it out to Madame Giry, and Meg hurried towards her mother curiously. She patted the boy's shoulder gently, speaking softly to him to calm him down before escorting him out of the room. When Meg returned, Madame Giry had a dark expression on her face.
"Ladies, excuse me. I must speak with the managers of something. Stay here and run through your exercises once more. You too, Meg." Madame Giry touched Meg's cheek gently.
"Mama, what is it?" She asked softly. "Where must you go that I cannot?"
"I only have to speak to the managers." She sighed.
"Please let me come. It's about Christine, isn't it? Please, Mama. Let me come." She furrowed her eyebrows together and took her mother's hand off of her cheek. Meg squeezed Madame Giry's cold fingers in her smaller ones, her dark eyes wide and begging.
"Alright, Marguerite. Come along, then."
They reached the managers' office shortly. Even from outside the door the bickering was clearly heard. There was quite the commotion occurring. Madame Giry and Meg let themselves in. La Carlotta and Pianji were there, shrieking and fuming over something. Meg caught Christine's name a few times, and she curiously looked over her mother's shoulder as they walked inside. The managers were attempting to calm the diva and her lover. It was a shame they had gotten so much trouble and they only had been there a week. Raoul was there also, though Meg couldn't see his face. Meg frowned a little, noticing there were notes in each person's hand. They matched the little envelope in her mother's hand also.
Madame Giry stomped her cane on the ground to stop all the madness. Everyone jumped at her sudden arrival. Raoul's blue eyes flew up from the note in his hand in alarm. When he noticed Meg, he fought running to her and asking what all this nonsense was about, why she hadn't been around and where Christine was. He sent Meg a questioning look, but she found she could not meet his gaze.
"Madame Giry! Finally, you've come to explain everything to us." Monsieur Firmin grumbled. "You've been avoiding us all week, my lady and it is time you begin to answer some questions."
"Do not think you can tell me what to do, Monsieur." Madame Giry said sharply. "Miss Daae has returned, and has been unable to return to the Opera House as of late. I can assure you that she will return here when she is feeling better."
"And just where is she now?" Monsieur Andre asked flippantly. "Il Muto is to open tomorrow night!"
"I thought it best that she remained home." Madame Giry answered.
Meg stepped past her mother, a frown on her face. "She needed rest!" Raoul took a step closer to Meg, his gaze probing and inquiring. She looked up at him for a brief moment before moving to stand beside her mother again.
"Is she well?" Raoul asked gently.
"We must meet with her." Monsieur Andre interjected.
"No. She will see no one. She is not to be disturbed." Madame Giry held her hand up, leaving the discussion closed.
"Will she sing? Will she sing?" La Carlotta shrieked.
"I have a note." Madame Giry held it out to them, placing it safely into Monsieur Firmin's hands. Meg just watched silently, listening as Monsieur Firmin read the note aloud. Christine would be playing the Countess, and La Carlotta would be playing the silent role of the pageboy. As ordered by the Opera Ghost. A disaster beyond imagination would occur if they did not abide by his wishes. Meg looked up at her mother, curious as to know what would happen. Christine couldn't be in a well enough emotional state to perform so soon. And at the Phantom's bidding!
As La Carlotta fumed about the office, Raoul came to Meg. He said nothing, but held his note out to Meg. She took it and read it silently.
Vicomte de Chagny,
Do not fear for Christine Daae. The Angel of Music has her under his wing. Make no attempt to see her again.
O.G.
Meg frowned. How had the Phantom, this Erik, even know Raoul had tried to see Christine? The note made it sound like Raoul was attempting to gain a different type of audience with Christine. As if she was romantically involved with the Vicomte. Meg lifted her dark eyes to Raoul, holding the note out to him.
"I only wanted to see a dear old friend again, Meg. Please don't think like this specter and think I am interested in that manner." His fingers flexed, almost as if he would touch her hand. But he didn't. Meg found herself lifting her fingers though, in a slight manner. "Of course I wanted to see Christine again. But you were the one I thought of most through the years. It was you I missed most." He whispered, finally allowing himself to touch his fingertips to hers. She gasped, and he turned bright red before turning away quickly.
By the end of the hour, the managers had practically kissed La Carlotta's bottom enough for her to agree to be the prima donna again. She would play the Countess. They would be blatantly going against what the Opera Ghost had commanded for his kingdom.
But that also meant that Christine's moment in the sun was gone.
Or was it?