"You know what I think has happened?"
"Not really, but I am pretty sure you will tell us all anyway."
"Stop that Louise! Do tell Marie! What is it?" Moving closer to the first speaker the girls burn with curiosity to what kind of rumour they are about to hear, scandalous rumours being the most prominent topics for most of the young female dancers, the theatre world offering more than enough tales of this sort. The dark haired speaker always glad for an interested audience. The attic dormitory is its own kind of scene, one where each participant believes to be the star of the play, where the floorboards are nothing more than the first step into a more promising world and the beams hold not just the ceiling but their dreams, unreachable as they may be. Like most places in the grand opera building the attic holds a microcosmos of its own.
"Our pious song-bird has found use in some other talents than simple dance and song in order to charm her way up." Dark haired Marie says.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I happen to know that the evening after her grand performance, she had been visited by our young, very wealthy patron- alone. And the next morning she couldn't be found."
"No, I don't believe that. Not her!" Gasps of shock and indignation are let out and heads shaken in disbelieve.
"Were you there?" One of the younger ones asks.
"No, but Lucille and Colette." Marie replies with a smug smile mentioning her two best friends.
"We know better than to trust their word." The one called Louise brings in.
Laughter breaks out at that remark, for all girls knew a scheme like that would more likely cross the minds of Lucille and Colette than of quiet Christine. Only Marie did not join their laughter and decided for a while to detest everyone who did not believe her accusation- as implausible as it did sound. Truth was, none of them had laughed out of some higher view of morality, the prospect of a comfortable life was for the most part an unreachable yet desirable dream of many a chorus girl- age caught up with you early here- but a mark that high was laughable. More so, they knew Christine too well to fantom such a thing a possibility. There was though another possibility on all of their minds, but they feared the shadows too much to outer these thoughts aloud. And so, rumours was all there were.
Nothing of this though had slipped Meg's notice. And worst of all, she feared the shadows too.
Ever since Christine came back, Meg had kept a close eye on her best friend. Christine had always been full of imagination, as well as would fall into periods of melancholy ever since they were little. But these were things easy to live with, a lively imagination had offered them much fun during childhood and the quiet moments would pass just as sure as as a new day would rise. Not long did it take that she came to love her friend like a sister. They were inseparable, keeping close to each other, never as eager for mischief as some of the other girls, content with simply the company of the other. There was little that their hearts did not feel comfortable to share. And yet- there was something unsettling about the conversation they had had the evening of the grand performance. Christine was always prone to daydreaming, but the fear on her friends face was real, as was the pallor in it, as were the trembling hands. It was enough to frighten even Meg. Frighted she was when very soon later Christine couldn't be found, disappearing from the dressing-room, not anywhere about. A dark passage was behind the great mirror, but she didn't know where it lead. And then, close to noon the next day Christine was there again, tired and quiet, not offering any explanation. Meg didn't push, she knew better then to cross some line. If her friend needed rest and time, she would gladly offer them.
There had been so much commotion around Christines disappearance and re-appearance, the managers wild, Signora Carlotta in rage, and everyone else simply confused, performances are hard to postpone, especially without any lead singer in sight. And then there were these letters. It was all so strange. Christine did recover soon enough well enough to participate in their practices the second next day, the managers managed to convince Signora Carlotta to star once more, and the theatre was more or less back to its busy self again. Il Mutto would be performed like it had been planed long before without any changes. Yet, the whispers and speculations continued.
He was there again observing the rehearsal. Christine had noticed Raoul moving around the theatre more than once during the last two weeks. Something in her always brightened up when she saw him, his golden hair illuminated by the rays of meagre light that made its way into the theatre, his gentle smile and kind eyes always looking for her with that boyish glee she so well remembered. Often, he tries to talk to her, at first asking her if she is alright and where she had disappeared that evening, but later on only trying to take up any kind of simple conversation, bringing up joyful memories they both shared or showing interest in the theatre world itself. Most of the time though he seems to be looking for something. She fears it might be someone. That is the reason why, even though she lights up when noticing him near, a strange fear settles upon her, worry of him asking too much, aware his eyes are always watching.
She had not spoken to anyone about that night. Not even with Meg. Truth was, she herself did not understand all that had happened, all she had seen. It was like the curtain had been lifted only to reveal a void instead of a solid clean wall. The Angel was not an eternal being, it was a Man, a man of flesh and blood. And that was what had unsettled her the most. For years, ever since she was left without her dear Papa and came to live in the grand Opera Populare there had been a voice, a Voice that had answered to her many prayers just like her father had told her it would, a Voice that had been her confident and friend just like her father had promised it would. An Angel of Music, an angel that had brought songs in her head to life. She had felt protected, and safe, and loved. It did not cross her mind that the Voice had not come from above. And yet, something still made her frightful, the many accidents in the Opera and the strict Voice apparently unrelated and yet still connected. She had finally tried to explain it to Meg, but it was hard to make her best friend understand something even she herself did not. Then Raoul had appeared. Then the Voice took up form. Now at night, in the dark, even with the sound off all the other girls breathing, she shudders, a new kind of cold having made itself prominent deep into her very being. Why had she followed him down there? She had gone because she had been curious, had been enchanted, had been called. There was no way to elude the Angel's call. No, but he is a man she reminds herself after having drawn the covers up over her ears at night. She does not wish to hear him any longer. Only when she closes her eyes it still flashes all in front of her, the glassy lake and candles reflecting in it like will-o´-wisps, the lavish laier, the many musical notes, the miniatures, the organ, and everywhere images of her, even the likeness of her face taken to be placed on a shrine. It had all been too much, yet when she awoke the curiosity was stronger, she wanted to know, needed to know who it was that spoke with so much yearning yet hid in the dark. It wasn't the scared face that had frightened her, it was his rage, it was that violent storm that removing the curtain unleashed. It were his sad blue eyes that made her shudder. It was Mdm. Giry´s question when she entered madams quarters that unsettled her and brought with it a different fear. Since then she hadn't had the opportunity to talk with her guardian for a moment alone, and she doubted even if she had what she might have asked her.
That is why she avoids Raoul when ever possible, why she is silent around Meg, why she feels the eyes of the other girls on her, why she looks at Madam differently, why she fears the dark. That is why for two weeks she had not sung.