I will not respond to any collaboration requests. Please refrain from sending me personal messages or posting reviews about this.

EXCHANGED

Act I

Chapter 2: In which I keep my hand at the level of my eyes

I nervously walked through the curtain. Tonight was my first performance as the lead soprano of Hannibal. While walking, I took a deep breath to support the notes for the next aria, when a curious sensation went through me. When I opened my eyes, I found myself in the theatre utterly alone. Looking behind me, there was no trace of the dancers, singers and even stagehands that had just been around me.

The only people in the near vicinity were a rather curious looking older man and a girl around my age. They were wearing quite indecent clothing and were looking at me in utter shock. As I did I.

"Good heavens!" I exclaimed, "please forgive me for my sudden appearance, but I am quite astonished."

The girl with dirty blonde hair was the first one to speak.

"Who are you?" she asked, quite rudely.

I curtseyed immediately.

"I beg your pardon, my name is Christine Daaé. I am the lead soprano of this evening's opera." I said somewhat comically.

They must have thought I was raving mad. They looked around the auditorium quite puzzled.

"This night's opera?" the girl asked, while eyeing the older gentleman next to her.

"I think you are mistaken, mademoiselle, opera's are no longer performed in the Opéra Garnier. Perhaps you mean the Opéra Bastille?"

"That cannot possibly be true!" I exclaimed. I had entered the stage, hearing the many voices of the audience and the busy noises of all working on the production. How could it be that I was suddenly in an empty auditorium that was no longer in use?

The girl blinked at me, slowly.

"Your name is Christine Daaé?" she said, still quite puzzled. She studied me, recognition dawning on her face. The older gentleman also nodded in understanding and utter bewilderment.

"I do not understand, do you know me?"

This had to be a fever dream of sorts. I had no other explanation for this phenomenon. I had the pleasure of working with a mysterious tutor, my Angel of Music, and I heard of the infamous Ghost. But this? This was beyond anything I had ever heard about.

"I think it's better if you sit down for this, Christine," the girl said.

I opened my eyes, expecting to wake up in the nasty bed of the hostel. And I actually felt disappointed at the fact that I wasn't there. This was a new low for me. I slowly sat up from the ground of the stage. I must have been out for no longer than a minute.

"She's awake!" cried the voice of a blonde girl around my age. Four people turned around fast. One of them was a handsome looking young man in a rather old-fashioned but expensive looking suit. The other two men were older and shorter and appeared rather stressed. There was also a girl with blonde hair that was tied by a bow at the back of her head. All quickly strode towards me, talking so loudly at the same time that they were incomprehensible to me.

"Where is Christine"!? shouted the blonde girl, still dressed in her green and red stage clothes and the handsome young man in unison.

"Where is Miss Daaé!?" cried the two older men in suits.

"Who are you?" asked the handsome young man.

"Why are you wearing her costume?" said the blonde girl.

"Do you know where she is?" said the two older men. One of them had a rather big hairdo, the other a thin moustache.

"Who told you to be here?" the young girl ended rather threateningly.

Others, possibly ballerinas, stage-hands and choir members were whispering amongst each other while listening intently. Waiting for my damning reply. I slowly rose, feeling too vulnerable and exposed on the ground. In the process, I looked down. I was still wearing a beautiful green and red dress. And what felt like a tiara on top of my head. Normally, I would have taken all the time in the world to admire myself in it and take a humongous amount of pictures for Instagram. But now, the mere sight of it made me panic.

"Shit," I whispered, at a loss for what to do now. My hands started to tremble. Where in the hell was I?

"Perhaps we should allow her some time to answer each question," said one of the older men with a thin moustache. Meanwhile, my breathing was becoming rather ragged. I hadn't missed the style of clothing the people around me were wearing. My knowledge of history was telling me that this was very likely clothing from near the end of the 19th century. Moreover, the name Christine Daaé was mentioned.

The pace of my breathing quickened more and more.

"We need to involve the police," said the handsome young man, with golden hair and bright blue eyes.

"She is wearing her costume, that is no coincidence. Something has happened to her."

"This is all becoming too much," I said, losing control of my breathing and stars again entering my vision.

"I need- I need some air." I walked, no actually sprinted further into the dark of the backstage of the opera house. I heard footsteps and shouts behind me, my panic only increasing. The tiara flew of my head the moment I started actually running, but I didn't care. This was utterly terrifying. I didn't register the increasing darkness of the corridors I had sought out in my desperation, but I was thankful for their shelter. I could only hear vague footsteps now. This made me feel safe enough to stand still for a moment.

"This is madness!" I shrieked, clasping my face. Only now did the true horror of my experience properly dawn on me. I tried to breathe in properly. Four seconds: breathe in, two seconds: hold and six seconds: breathe out.

"This is the 19th century. That is… that is more than a hundred years ago! What am I going to do? How the fuck did I get here?" I leaned against a cold wall, slowly lowering myself into a ball on the floor.

This had to be a dream. Where was Christine? Why was I here?

"Christine," I mumbled, slowly becoming more aware of my surroundings. It was a narrow dark corridor. A few candles attached to the wall provided light, but apart from that, there was only cold stone. It was in this way different from the rest of the opera house, where you had to crane your neck not to miss any details.

As I watched the little flames in an attempt to calm down, I realized that the sounds of footsteps and shouting had completely ceased. Instead there was a silence in the air, somehow deafening in its intensity. It was a silence that I had witnessed before, and it made the hair at the back of my neck stand up.

Then, suddenly the candles blew out one by one.

I gasped, my heart racing, as the last flicker of light disappeared into the inky blackness. I was now completely enveloped by darkness, the kind that pressed against you from all sides, suffocating any sense of direction. My breath came in shallow, panicked gasps, the silence stretching out around me like an insurmountable weight.

I tried to stand, but the floor felt uneven beneath me. The cold stone scraped against my palms as I steadied myself, my mind desperately reaching for some semblance of clarity.

The darkness felt alive, as if it was watching me, waiting. And then, just when I thought I might lose my grip on reality, a sound broke through the silence—a low murmur, almost like a whisper, yet far too clear in the stillness.

"You think you can hide from me, little pretender?"

I froze, my blood running cold. The voice was unmistakable. It was the same haunting, velvet-soft voice that had called to me earlier in the Opera House. But this time, it was not distant. It was close. Too close.

My instincts screamed at me to run, to flee from whatever had made that sound, but my body refused to obey. I stood frozen, staring into the dark void, waiting. I knew in that moment exactly who it was that was about to reveal himself.

And that is when I remembered something.

Keep your hand at the level of your eyes.

A blood curdling scream came out of my throat as I felt the rope tighten around me, seconds after I had lifted my hand. I pulled the Punjab lasso away as quickly as I could. I heard clear footsteps in the cold corridor. I saw a gloved hand coming towards my face and at the same time felt another grab me by the waist.

Without a second thought, I bit the hand, hard. And I tried to elbow the man that had me in such a tight grip.

My actions earned me a sudden, way less spooky sounding yelp. My captor had let go of my face, but now tried to grab me by the shoulder. Screaming bloody murder, I stomped on his foot, which earned me another cry. Still he did not let go, and a terrifying low growl made me wish I had never done that. Panic rushing over me, I shrieked again, while trying to move into all possible directions to my assailant lose his grip.

"Let me go! Let me GO!"

"I will make you wish you were dead for impersonating Christine," growled the beautiful, terrifying voice.

Somehow, in one fell swoop, he managed to lift me over his shoulder. Against my skin, I felt the dark, heavy fabric of a cloak.

"I am NOT IMPERSONATING Christine," I screamed at the top of my lungs, my voice trembling but sharp. The words came out without me really intending to say them, a reflex of pure panic. I didn't know Chrstine, had never met her, and yet her name seemed to be everywhere. It felt like an unfair burden I hadn't asked for. I tried to kick out of pure instinct. Just let me go, I thought, my mind in chaos, a jumble of indignation and the sheer need to escape.

"Says the phony who's been caught red-handed," he sneered with lack of breath from trying to stop my attacks.

"That is not true," I yelled. But this seemed to make him even angrier.

"How dare you deny it! How dare you wear her costume!" he growled.

I yelped as he put me back down and pressed me against the cold hard wall of the corridor. Despite the darkness, I could make out the white mask on my assailant's face, and the glowing yellow eyes behind it. His cold breath hit my face with every word. Trembling, and realising for sure who it was I was dealing with, I responded.

"It was an accident!"

Was it doubt I saw on his face, despite his obvious anger? Or was it wishful thinking on my part? He didn't seem like someone who easily changed his mind.

"Really," he spat at me, "you must have just fallen into it like a damsel in distress?"

Somehow gaining courage, I straightened myself and looked him straight into his eyes again. Despite the discomfort of those piercing, golden eyes.

"What exactly would I achieve by running away if I wanted to replace Miss Daaé's role to gain fame for myself? Wouldn't I then stay and sing shamelessly rather than fleeing the scene? Did you ever think of that before mindlessly trying to kill me?" I said angrily.

This was a mistake, the gold eyes were filled with a cold fury.

Suddenly I felt the gloved hands around my neck as they squeezed. He was only using a small amount of his strength, but the trouble I had breathing made me so anxious that it made me lose my mind. I raised my arms, trying to pull his hands away from my throat.

"I can kill you, mindlessly or not, any time I please," he whispered with a frightening joy.

"It was an accident," I said, my voice raspy because I was barely able to breathe at this point. Tears were falling from my eyes at the realization that I was going to lose my life over this. I had fought hard, but in the end, I was dying at the hands of the infamous phantom of the opera. Only because I had the misfortune of meeting him against my will and even the laws of nature.