Chapter 12: Prima Donna
Hello, Lovelies! As of 3-23-2022 I made a heavy edit to the end of the previous chapter, which impacts this one. So before reading this chapter if you haven't already, please reread the last part of the previous chapter. Thank you to the reviewer who gave me more to work with, and helping me improve the story, you know who you are. Thank you!
Meg was upon her the moment she stepped foot into their dorm, gripping her arm and tugging her over to her bed to sit.
"Where have you been? Maman said you were sick! You gave me such a fright!" Meg admonished her lightly.
Christine patted her friend's hand where it still rested on her arm. "My tutor took me in to oversee my condition…."
"Wait! Do you mean the tutor?" Her voice rose in pitch with every word. Meg crept to the edge of the bed, scooting closer to Christine.
Christine couldn't help the smile that inched its way across her lips. She nodded and prepared herself for Meg's squeal by placing her hands to cover her ears.
Meg slid off the bed and walked over to the door, effectively locking it before returning to sit on Christine's bed.
"Tell me everything".
It took Christine a full hour and a half to recount the events of the last day, and she relived the experience in her mind, the words graphically leaving her mouth, and his name and his residence remained undisclosed as she remembered calling out his name is the peaks of pleasure.
There were moments when her cheeks had heated to the extent that they resembled tomatoes, and Meg had attempted to keep a polite composure, but her facade quickly crumbled, so she had slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles.
In the end, Meg's complexion was just as red as hers, and it was Christine's turn to laugh at her. But her friend's face turned stern and confused. "You thought that… touching yourself was a shameful act? Never! I'd love nothing more than to respectfully disrespect whoever made you believe such a thing!"
Christine released a long sigh as she fell backward on her bed. "It is long in the past", she shrugged, and Meg rolled her eyes in contempt.
"Are you going to do it again with him?"
Christine shot up, her hair flying over her shoulders to make a disheveled appearance. "Meg!" she bristled.
"I meant your voice lessons, but I suppose that applies as well", she spoke suggestively, flittering around the room with her eyes shut and puckering her lips in mock seduction.
That was swiftly amended when her pillow met her face, momentarily stunning her, but she was not swayed from the topic. "Does this mysterious tutor have a name?"
"He does, and it's a secret", Christine equivocated.
Meg harrumphed. "Rude".
She blew a kiss back. "I love you too".
But then there was the choice he had to make.
Would he choose her? Or the facade he hid behind?
"There's a but", Meg pointed, her tone softening.
There was no denying her attentive personality. If it were even allowed, she could be a detective.
Christine's head dropped and she fiddled with her necklace. "Even after everything, he has doubts I will see him the same way if he reveals his secret".
Meg raised a concerned brow. "What kind of secret? Does he have a weird habit?" She feigned a gasp. "Is he a murderer?"
If you consider Joseph Buquet's near-death experiences as murder.
"No. It's just a sensitive subject for him, and he told me he needed time-"
"Sensitive subject? He held your hand and guided you to-"
"If you would kindly stop cutting me off-"
"And he has the nerve to tell you he needs time? He didn't consider the time you needed when-"
"Meg!" Christine planted her face into her hands,
"Please tell me you cut off communication with him..." Meg pleaded.
"I gave him an ultimatum", Christine told her firmly, and Meg leaned back against her bed. "He has two weeks to decide if he can trust me enough to share his secret. If he doesn't show up, then I will know his answer".
Meg looked at her with pity. "Why would you put yourself through this?"
Christine shook her head. Why was she putting herself through this?
A knock on the door drew their attention and Madame Giry walked in, cane in hand dressed in her signature black dress. Her hair was tightly wrapped in a braided bun and her makeup was accentuated with a deep crimson shade upon her lips, which were formed into a thin line.
She placed both hands upon the top of her cane, Christine, we must speak". Her gaze was unwavering from her and she looked over to Meg, who simply shrugged her shoulders and sat back on her bed, pulling out her stationery set.
Perhaps she was unknowingly writing to Erik.
Christine slipped off the bed and put on her ballet slippers, trailing behind the ballet mistress as she left the room, moving down the hall to her office with a stiff composure and prosaic stride.
Madame Giry directed Christine in before her, closing the door and locking it behind them.
Christine swallowed dryly, and she had an idea of what she was brought in to discuss.
She took a seat at her desk and opened a drawer, fishing out an all too familiar envelope with a red wax seal in the image of a skull.
The letter was already opened, but she nonetheless pulled out the paper, unfolding it and reading it aloud to her.
Madame Giry,
I regret to inform you that Christine Daaé will be unable to join you in today's rehearsals. My protégé has taken the liberty to deliberately attend her voice lessons in a state of ill health. Her return will be immediate when I deem her to be the perfect picture of health.
While I am under the impression you would also oversee to her care, Carmen begins within two days' time, and I am well aware you would not be able to provide the constant care her condition requires with the current time restraints and the demand of the precise accuracy I require of the Corps de Ballet.
Until then, Mademoiselle Daaé's health will be overseen by her Angel of Music.
I remain your obedient servant,
-OG
Madame Giry gingerly placed the paper before her, and Christine could make out the elegant cursive of the concise note.
The older woman crossed her arms neatly across her chest expectantly and Christine raised her eyes from the desk.
"Madame Giry-" She began.
"I trust you are aware of the repercussions, Christine", she chided, her brows furrowing.
"I promise I will not drag anyone back, I shall rehearse tonight," Christine pushed her chair back, prepared to stand, but a harsh tap of a cane against the ground stopped her.
Madame Giry leaned back into her chair, her eyes seemingly inspecting her. "The opera is the least of my concern. I worry for your safety. He is a man of his word, but a dangerous man at that. So I must ask, Christine, do you fear for your safety?"
Christine was touched by her concern, and knowing Erik, they were reasonable. She shook her head. "Contrary to what everyone believes of him, he is a good man and has gone above and beyond to take such diligent and excellent care of me. Your worries are warranted, but you have no need to fear for me".
After all, there was the possibility she would never see him again.
They sat in uncomfortable silence for several seconds before waving her hand. "Very well. Rest tonight and I will expect you to practice tomorrow morning without delay. Are we in agreement?"
Christine nodded quickly, standing from her chair and bowing slightly before taking her leave.
But there was a nagging thought in her mind telling her she had plenty to worry about.
Christine awoke the next morning without Erik's dulcet voice calling to her, but rather Meg, who tugged on her arm to drag her from the warmth of her bed.
After returning from her short discussion with madame Giry, Meg had offered to wake early with her to catch up on the rehearsal she had missed. While it was only two sessions, the pressure to be perfect was all too visible and aware to them.
She hardly felt the sweat running down the entirety of her body as the hours passed, and by the end of the day, she found herself standing before Meg's mirror in a charmeuse flamenco costume made up of an array of black and red beading. Her hair had been tied back tightly into a bun, pinned with a circlet of deep red carnations.
Her makeup had been laid on thick with her verdant green eyes highlighted by a ring of black around them, and her eyebrows had been painted to accentuate them and a crimson rouge tinted her lips.
Élodie's face came into view from behind her and Christine jumped, a hand flying to her chest.
"You'll do just fine! We have these routines nailed down to a T", she smiled encouragingly.
Christine plastered a smile on her face, which satisfied her friend before she left the room while straightening out her tights.
She had been at the Palais Garnier for just over two and half years, and she never had fears of performing. Of course, the nerves were there minutes before they were to take the stage.
Even with her current disappointment, she worried about Erik. As far as she was aware, Madame Giry and Monsieur Khan were his only two confidants, but they didn't hold an ounce of trust for him, and yet they did his bidding.
How long would it be until one of them spilled his secrets? How long until they were caught scouring through the catacombs from a bypasser? What were the consequences of trusting them?
What did he fear?
What didn't he fear?
She wondered if he feared losing her as she would losing him.
Meg stepped out of the bathroom and waved. "The performances are about to begin. Best not be late".
The three of them walked down the corridor and the winding staircase, suddenly plunged into the crowded hallway of staff rushing to their places. They held tight to each other's hands as they pushed through everyone into a clearing behind the stage curtain.
It was dark behind the curtains, the only illumination being a couple of candles and the ones that were lit on stage. Christine could feel her body thrum to life as the tuning of the instruments began, and the floor rumbled beneath her.
Staring blindly ahead, Christine was suddenly shocked by static as a folded fan was pressed into her hand, and with a flick of her hand, it opened to reveal a layer of black and red feathers adorning the leaves, and an intricate black lace pattern adorned the ribs.
Madame Giry tapped her cane, and everyone looked to her. She stood straight before the ballerinas with a confident, firm expression on her face.
The corps de ballet lined up behind each other in single file lines on both ends of the stage, and Monsieur Reyer held his baton up high, then brought it down with rapid force, commencing the orchestra.
The ballet mistress nodded and they all padded onto the stage in unison, finding their placement amongst each other with their heads thrown back.
They raised their fans to rest blow their eyes and nimble finger flicked open the fan, batting it back and forth.
Christine could vaguely feel the feathers brush her cheeks, and she was reminded of Erik's touch. How his hand raised to cup her cheek and ran his thumb along her skin with such a gentleness it made her feel as if the world had fallen away around them.
Push it away, Christine. Just push it away.
She betrayed her thoughts and her gaze lifted to Box Five, anticipating to spot even a small glance of him, but her heart sunk low in her chest upon seeing the empty box.
Only then did she push the feeling away as the orchestra brought them to their rollicking pirouettes.
Just like her practice that morning, the hours flew, and the compositions did too, and she poured her heart into the music, their rhythmic unison movements telling the story of Carmen.
At the end of the final act, everyone watched from behind the curtains as Piangi's character came up to Carlotta's, seeming to embrace each other when he pulled the prop dagger from his belt and drove it through Carmen, who held tight to him before collapsing on the stage, concluding the opera.
The curtains drew shut and Carlotta quickly came to stand, grasping Piangi's hand while the rest of the cast flooded the stagehand in hand, moving to stand several paces behind the Prima Donna and her lover.
The curtain fluttered open again and they took their final bows, the audience roaring its approval and tossing flowers upon the stage, landing before Carlotta.
These were the moments Christine could never forget. The moment of gratitude and respect between the cast and audience. The feeling that all that they worked for paid off handsomely.
Christine's torso was suddenly pelted by a flower and she looked down to see a red rose with a black ribbon tied around the stem.
She jerked her head up to catch a glimmer of white before it was claimed by a shadow that melted into the velvet curtains of Box Five.
The stagehands closed the curtains and Christine took that moment to reach down and pluck the rose from the stage, pressing it tightly against her.
She fondly ran her fingers along the black silk and she beamed in delight.
Did this mean...?
A loud pattering of pointe shoes grew closer and Meg called out her name.
Christine turned to Meg and Élodie who paused in their step as they looked down to the rose in her hands.
Meg squealed. "He was here tonight? Oh, Christine does this mean what I think it does?" She pouted with fake jealousy.
Élodie simply shook her head with a wide smile drawn upon her lips.
"Do you know where he sat?" Christine side-eyed Box Five before shaking her head dismissively. "Close enough to toss me a rose".
Meg shook her head. "Let's go grab dinner. Everyone will be too busy overindulging with liquor to drag themselves to the kitchen".
A rumble in Christine's stomach erupted a laugh from her. "Let's do it".
Christine and Meg stepped foot into their room and they were plunged into darkness.
"The candle must have burned out during the opera. I'll grab another". Meg left the room, returning only moments later.
She ran a match along the side of the box, bringing it up to the candlewick. She handed Christine the candle as she lit several more, replacing the burnt-out ones by the door and in the bathroom.
Christine stepped closer to her bed and she was suddenly overwhelmed by the scent of roses. Curious, she called out to Meg. "We need more candles over here!"
"Got it!" Meg walked over to her, and she halted in her steps. "Do I smell roses?" Her nose turned upwards as she moved closer, placing the candles upon the nightstand.
Candlelight flooded the room, revealing the now full vase of red roses.
Christine buried her face in her hands as Meg looked them over. She heard a scrape along the wooden surface.
"There's a note for you." Meg's voice was laced with a wary, yet restrained excitement.
Her hands fell from her face and she cautiously took the note, which had neatly been tucked in an envelope without a seal.
Upon opening the note, however, she instantly recognized Erik's cursive handwriting.
You triumphed over them all tonight, Christine.
- Forever Your Angel of Music
Christine blushed, resisting the most Meg-like reaction of squealing.
Forever Your Angel of Music. Forever.
So he had watched the entire opera. How did she not see him before?
It no longer mattered.
"Oh, Christine… Although it's romantic, please do be careful. I don't want to see you hurt", Meg cautioned as she continued to stare at the dozen fresh roses in the vase.
"Me neither".
Christine awoke sometime during the night with a growl erupting from her stomach. She kept her eyes closed in an attempt to fall back asleep, but the rumbling within her showed no signs of ceasing until she ate something.
It did not help that the pouring rain outside pounded on the roof above them, so loud she would almost compare it to a herd of horses relentlessly circling over them.
She looked over to Meg, who remained in her deep sleep, blissfully unaware of the loud weather.
Sitting up, she pushed the duvet to the side, and Christine slipped on the black dressing robe Erik had given her.
Don't think about him.
The silky velvet fabric hung from her arms and it pooled behind her on the floor, its edges trimmed with a golden color and its lace woven in a pattern of flowers on vines.
She slipped a tie off her wrist and tied her hair back, putting on her ballet flats and leaving the room.
Stepping foot into the hallway, Christine's eye immediately adjusted and she led herself to the spiral staircase, descending the three levels to the hallway leading to the stage.
It was silent as a tomb as she nimbly wound around the corners until she made it to the kitchen.
Multiple bowls of fruit had been laid out the night before, giving Christine the opportunity to pick from many fruits. She sat at a stool in front of the counter, picking out some cranberries.
She cringed at the sweetly sour taste, fiddling with another one between her fingers. Once the taste subsided, she ate the other, receiving the same reaction.
Her hand wavered above the clementines, and she cautiously looked side to side before slipping a few into the pocket of her robe.
And then there was the pomegranate. She loved the taste surrounding the seeds, but she hated the feeling of chewing on the tough seeds. Long ago she had tried to convince herself that if she continued to eat the seeds, she would crack her teeth.
Christine shivered at the thought, tearing her gaze away from the tempting fruit.
She reminisced on the moment Erik had called her Persephone, and she, in turn, called him Hades. Persephone had eaten those seeds unaware of the consequences that would follow.
It was much like how Madame Giry pulled her into the office, telling her that there would be repercussions with tangling with the Phantom of the Opera.
But he wasn't the Phantom around her. He was Erik.
She shook her head, unwilling to entertain any further thoughts. She stood from the stool and pushed it back into place, leaving the kitchen.
Passing the Manager's offices, a vague voice echoed from down the hall, and Christine moved closer cautiously.
"Oh!" She heard a voice cry out sharply. In the dark hallway, a flicker of candlelight illuminated a small area of the floor from under the door, which was open a crack.
A deep grunt sounded out, and Christine crept over silently, her back up against the wall beside the door.
She knew better than to meddle and pry, but curiosity got the better of her, and her head tilted to the opening.
There, on the desk of the empty office was Piangi sprawled on his back, his hands tightly gripping the waist of who she could only assume was Carlotta. She could make out the Prima Donna's blurry shadow against the wall undulating above him, her head thrown back and chin tilted to the ceiling.
She moaned lightly as she picked up a faster pace, and Piangi's hands gripped her, urging her on.
All she could see was Piangi's face and his upper torso, and Carlotta's hands raking against his shoulders as their cries grew louder.
She came to a halt above him, her chest heaving up and down with labored breathing, and Christine scurried away quietly with shame.
She didn't stop until she made it back to the room, closing the door behind her.
Her mind tried to process the image that was now burned in her memory.
Carlotta and Piangi in their early morning secretive rendezvous.
It wasn't her business to snoop, but was there no other place they could have found to share marital relations?
The heart wants what it wants, she supposed.
She longed to run about the theater screaming the revelation at the top of her lungs, but she knew better than to gossip about someone's personal life and their choices.
Very unfortunate choices.
Maybe she would be much less hateful and grateful instead, but that was highly unlikely.
She disrobed and slipped off her flats, keeping her hair pulled back and slipped back under her sheets, pulling the cover over herself.
But with a mind full of thoughts, sleep was hard to come by, and she succumbed after another hour of tossing and turning.
Meg barely caught the clementine Christine tossed to her as she roused from her slumber. Her eyes were barely open while Christine sat patiently on the bed, already fully dressed.
A crack of thunder rang out, and Meg sat up, rubbing a limp hand across her eyes. "It's still raining," she said with a groggy voice.
The rain started after she fell asleep though.
Christine remained silent as Meg stood and peered out the rain-streaked window. "I heard you leave the room last night. Is that why you have the clementines?"
"I was hungry", Christine's hands clasped in her lap, and her gaze was soon focused on the window as well. "I've always loved the rain".
Meg frowned with distaste. "Not me. I hate the thunder, the lightning, all of it. It just irks me", she shuddered as a shiver coursed through her.
"I grew up in a home next to a cliff, so there were always clouds filling the skies. My father and I used to play outside for recreation and enjoyment", she reminisced fondly.
Meg looked to her solemnly. "You must miss him terribly".
Christine nodded. "Not a day goes by when I don't think of him".
"Papa, Papa! Look!" A ten-year-old Christine bounced next to her father, pointing at the looming cliff, where lighting streaked the sky with a flash of blinding white and purple.
The rain came down heavily from bluish-black clouds, and purple streaked the sky below far off in the distance, signaling the end of the day.
Her father scooped her up into his arms and his chest rumbled as he laughed heartily. He pointed to where she once did.
"Listen, Christine for the thunder. Then we will count how long until the next one!"
Christine cupped her hands around her ears and listened carefully until a loud boom resounded. She jumped slightly but began counting out loud after the rumbling faded.
"One. Two. Three. Four Five, Six…"
BOOM!
Christine screamed with laughter, her lips pulled tight into a smile.
Her father laughed along with her, setting her back down to the floor. " So it is six seconds between each sound of thunder! It's the song of the rain! It is singing to us!" She exclaimed excitedly.
Her father walked over to the coat closet and pulled out one of his waistcoats and walked back over to her, draping it to cover her auburn curls, buttoning the oversized garment over her small form.
He then slipped off his shoes. "Then we must share our music with the rain! Come, Christine, step into my shoes and take a step outside, and I shall fetch my violin".
Christine nodded, spinning around and twisting the doorknob. The wind from the storm pushed the door creaky door open and she fumbled with her steps as she lifted his bigger shoes with her tiny feet.
She instantly dropped her foot into a puddle and water flew up to sprinkle across her, eliciting a giggle.
She outstretched her arms to her sides and spun around, and she could hear the familiar tune of the violin dancing with her, the note changing with every step she took.
Her head tilted up to the sky and the fabric slipped from her head, her hair rapidly becoming drenched as the rain came down relentlessly.
Christine closed her eyes and smiled.
She could picture remaining this way for the rest of her life.
The happiest moments of her childhood.
Two weeks came and went, and with every passing moment, worry continued to grow within her as the time grew closer to seeing Erik again.
Or maybe he would not show. Perhaps his decision had already been made.
Her heart lurched in her chest at the thought.
The Corps de Ballet scurried amongst the rest of the cast and staff, gathering near a soapbox, where Monsieur LeFevre stood, clearing his throat.
"As we are about to begin the final performance of Carmen, I would like to extend my sincerest gratitude to everyone who has continued to make the Palais Garnier strive".
He held up a hand as others began to clap. "We have a full house tonight, and I look forward to the celebration following your final bows. We wish you the best of luck", he tipped his hat and bent forward slightly.
There were mixed reactions from everyone around them. Some seemed pleased and satisfied, even jubilant. But there were others who rolled their eyes and shook their heads.
"In all the time that I've been here, Monsieur LeFevre has never given a speech. What do you suppose?" Christine looked to Élodie questioningly.
Her friend's eye twitched, and she shrugged. "This is a first for me as well. Maybe this is his final season as the manager-"
"I've heard that the Opera Ghost has been sending him one too many letters", Meg chirped from behind them, pushing past a few people to stand next to them.
"You're obsessed, Meg!" Élodie playfully elbowed her.
Meg crossed her arms over her chest. "He is real, I swear it!" She looked over to Christine, who played along and held her hands up.
"I shall believe it when he responds to the letter we sent him those years ago", she stated firmly. Christine bit back a grin as Meg's jaw dropped in disbelief.
Élodie placed a hand upon her hip and she raised a brow, her eyes moving between the two of them. "You both wrote a letter to the Opera Ghost? You've got to be kidding".
"In our defense, we were both drunk out of our minds when we wrote it", Meg added casually, picking at the skirts of her costume.
Christine nodded in agreement. "Ridiculously intoxicated".
Madame Giry's cane tapped harshly from behind them, making them jump in surprise. "To your places, ladies".
They needed no further instruction as they fell into formation behind the curtains, and Monsieur Reyer flicked his baton towards the orchestra.
And then they all flooded onto the stage, posing elegantly with their fans in hand.
Everyone stood behind the curtains and watched as Carlotta sauntered onto the stage as Carmen, waiting for Piangi's José to come out and see her.
And just as scripted, he comes out onto the stage with a desperate emotion painted on his entire being, falling into the role of José as he interacts with Carmen.
Thousands of eyes fall upon Carmen, who refuses the pleas of José, who wishes to be with her out of a sense of desperation and longing.
He wishes to be with her forever, but she is so deeply in love with another, Escamillo. In retaliation, she throws down his ring with scathing anger that has been continually fueled by her hatred of him.
But he cannot bear to live without her. If she will not love him and remain by his side forever, then she shall never love another ever again, nor will she live to ever love another again.
She will not return to Escamillo. Never.
He moves closer to her, pulling her back against his chest and gripping her tightly.
And then José brings his dagger down upon her, plunging the blade deep into her abdomen.
Carmen let out a loud gasp as he twisted the knife and her body slowly dragged down his chest, until collapsing against a bed of rose petals at his feet.
The lights on them dimmed, and the curtain closed, signaling for the entire cast to make their way to the stage for their final bows.
But no one moved when Carlotta didn't stand up and continued to lay upon the stage.
And the curtains opened, revealing the cast standing before the backdrop with shocked expressions mixed with disbelief and terror.
There Carlotta lay, in a pool of her own blood, her breath rasping with a speck of blood sputtering from her lips onto her pale skin.
The audience gasps with terrifying horror, and Christine is the first one to move to her side, putting her despise for her aside.
Christine slides to her knees at Carlotta's side, taking in the sight of blood rapidly pouring from the wound.
Several others begin to make their way over to aid her, but Christine quickly barks out orders. "I need bandages, hot water, towels, a needle and thread, and alcohol. Now!" She screamed, and people around her raced away in different directions.
All Christine could see in Carlotta's eyes was her father laying in her lap with solemn, pleading evergreen orbs.
Carlotta's breathing grew even raspier and her eyes held Christine's gaze with them. Those deep, chocolate eyes begged for the pain to end.
"It's going to be okay. You're going to be okay", she reassured her, pushing the hair from her face. Wet tears streamed from Carlotta's eyes, creating a damp spot on her tights.
In the background, she could hear Monsieur LeFevre's feverish and panicked attempts to calm the audience. The full house of patrons he had mentioned right before the show.
Piangi fell beside Carlotta's other side in a heap of anguish and sorrow.
"It was supposed to retract in the sheath, you must believe me, my love. It was supposed to retract…" He blubbered. His moments by her side were quickly snatched from him as other staff dragged him away from her until he came to a stand and was led backstage.
He continued to shout Carlotta's name as he was pulled away until it became a distant echo.
Surely by now, the gendarmes outside the theater were already notified.
The materials were placed at Christine's side. "Help me turn her onto her side!" She ushered them, and as she rolled over, Carlotta groaned in agony.
Christine worked with fast fingers, unlacing her corset. She laid her back gently and looked up to the other men who sat beside her.
"On the count of three, you are going to remove the dagger, quickly, and you," she pointed to another, "you will press the towels against her wound with as much pressure as possible. Do you hear me?"
The two men nodded, and out of the corner of her eyes, Madame Giry appeared, reaching out to Christine, who hissed. "Let me do this".
She grasped the edges of Carlotta's corset and sent her an apologetic look.
"One, two, three!" The dagger was swiftly yanked from her stomach and Carlotta let out a blood-curdling scream as her wound was covered with the towels, which turned crimson rapidly under the man's hands.
She was left wearing nothing but her tights and Christine placed a towel over her chest.
A woman knelt beside them and began threading the needle dunking it into the steaming water and holding it there for several minutes.
Christine took another towel and dunked it into the hot water, ringing it out above the bucket. She gestured for the man to lift the towel, and the blood flow returned, but at a much slower rate.
"Hand me the alcohol", Christine demanded sharply, and the bottle was pressed into her hand, and she pulled back the towel completely. "This is going to sting greatly", she held out her free hand to the woman who remained conscious, but limp on the stage.
Carlotta grasped her hand with all the tightness she could muster, and Christine poured the alcohol onto the wound, and she let out a strangled gurgle.
"Wipe away the blood and begin stitching it shut", she commanded, and the people around her quickly went to work.
She watched as the woman skillfully stitched her wound, and Christine highly believed she was from the costume department with such a skill.
Once it was sewn shut, Christine poured the alcohol over her wound again, hoping to clear away any disinfection, and she laid back on her knees, watching Carlotta's chest rise and fall with shallow breaths.
She was alive.
Christine's mind was still focused on her father. How she begged him to stay with her. And she couldn't save him as she grasped tightly to him.
But she saved Carlotta. She saved her nemesis, her enemy.
Even still in the shock of the situation, Christine could her whistles and clapping from the backdrop and she raised her head to look at everyone, who stared at her with what seemed like wonder in their eyes.
She felt hands upon her shoulders and she looked up to see Madame Giry staring down just past her vision and Christine looked down to her hands, which were coated in Carlotta's blood.
Oh, God.
Suddenly it felt as if a bucket of cold water had washed over her, shocking her into the reality of the situation.
"Father! Father! What's wrong?"
Carlotta may be alive now, but her blood was on her hands.
"No, Father! Please don't leave me, please not yet! It is too soon! Not you too!"
Her hands began quivering and it coursed through her entire body, and she felt frozen in her spot as Carlotta was carried away to safety.
"Please, father. Don't leave me all alone. I cannot lose you too!"
And Christine just remained there with her eyes wide and focused on the blood. Kneeling beside the pool of blood that coated the rose petals on the stage.
"I love you".
Christine could only continue staring down at the blood, at her father who had laid his head upon her lap in his final moments of life.
She did not notice how Madame Giry left her side and ushered everyone away from the stage, and the orchestra scurrying out of the pit, leaving the two of them alone.
The crimson blood pooled in her hand like the puddles of rain she had once collected in her hands in that vague memory with her father.
It slipped through her fingers and dripped onto the black fabric of her costume, instantly becoming unseeable.
Muffled voices surrounded her, and she felt sobs beginning to wrack her body as the emotions filled her, as if she had never grieved at all.
Sadness and loneliness were the first ones to claim her, and she fell forward, palms pressing the stage and her forehead pressing the stage as she wept, her auburn locks soaking up the blood that remained on the stage.
"What am I to do without you?"
Christine held her hands against her head and screamed as the memories of him overwhelmed her. She remembered his voice, how he played the violin. How he read to her every night the story of Little Lotte.
How she had buried him in a cold grave beside her mother on the cliff in Calais and left him.
It was unbeknownst to her when those muffled voices came closer and a pair of hands held her shoulders, gently lifting her upwards.
Her vision was blurred over with unshed tears that built up in the wells of her eyes. Her body shook with a force she didn't believe herself capable of. Her head was swimming with the overwhelming amount of grief.
Did she ever truly grieve?
"Mademoiselle Daaé...Can you hear me? Mademoiselle!"
She remained frozen where she sat and the tapping of a cane grew closer until her vision was filled with black.
Then she was swept from the floor and the world around her tilted.
Hello, Lovelies! This chapter was quite an interesting one to write, and I hope you enjoyed reading it. Although her father dies two and a half years ago, Christine never really grieved, and so this moment was a pinnacle for her, that moment that triggers her to remember his death, and the extent of how it truly affected her. Also, there is a reason Christine had this medical knowledge that will be explained later. Feel free to leave reviews, because they make my day so much brighter reading them. Until next time.
Your Obedient Servant
-Emma51020