Page 73 of Angel's Mask

Faust called out to Marguerite, and she sang, rejoicing in the sound of her beloved’s voice, and oh, the passion in those notes. There was love and hope and something heavenly in every note. It was almost inhuman. Maybe Christine had been blessed by the angel her father had promised. Faust and the devil called to her, but Marguerite resisted. She called to heaven and the choirs of angels proclaimed her salvation. Raoul knew he was not alone in feeling that he too was being lifted to heaven. Christine sang with utter faith, and it was the most beautiful thing Raoul had ever heard. He watched as she truly ascended in those final moments, her voice calling to God and affirming to Raoul that she was the most transcendent, resplendent woman he had ever seen or known.

He had to see her. He had to be with her immediately. He could not let the woman that brought the theater to its feet before the curtain even closed escape him. Not again. She had to remember him, and he had to make her.

He was up and out of the box before the final chords sounded. Philippe had shown him the way backstage weeks ago, and he knew they didn’t turn away men like him. Anyway, the attendant was arguing with that blasted foreigner again and didn’t give Raoul a second look. He wouldn’t wait until the party where she might not be. He wouldn’t wait at all.

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Christine could notbreathe. What she was feeling was like the moments after ecstasy, like she’d reached a new kind of climax that left her as weak and winded as if she had run a mile. She had never given so much to the music. She knew without doubt it was the best she had ever sung. She was in the arms of an angel, or at least a burly bass dressed as an angel, and she almost felt like she was truly in heaven. She wanted to be. God, she wished it was her angel holding her...

In a blink, she was back on the stage and the curtain was rising again. The roar of her own blood in her ears was replaced by deafening applause as someone pushed her to the center of the stage. The lights were bright and blinding as they never had been before, and the noise was incredible.

Christine curtsied coyly, aghast to see the entire audience already on their feet. Her simple movement brought a fresh round of cheers, and she was immediately lost. Thankfully, Fontana and Rameau appeared beside her and took her hands, letting her lead them in another bow. She tried to hold onto them, but they both stepped away, and then bowed again, not to the audience, but to her. It only made the audience go wilder. She still couldn’t breathe. She was off-center and cold, her heart pounding and her stomach so unsettled she worried she might be sick.

Christine bowed again, fighting to catch a breath, and turned to leave the stage, but the applause didn’t stop. Someone pushed her out again. The clapping and cries of praise simply refused to cease. Christine blushed as tears ran down her face. She was shaking so badly she could barely stand, and the din was absolutely thunderous.

A second time she tried to leave the stage, desperate to escape, and was pushed back on. People were throwing flowers and grooms were pressing huge bouquets into her arms. The scent made her head ache, the grade of the stage made it hard to stand. She couldn’t breathe and it was so loud.

She swooned, grabbing the arm of whoever was closest to her. She was falling before she knew what was happening, flowers tumbling from her hands. She was aware of being carried off stage and the sound of clapping slowly beginning to fade. It wasn’t until she opened her eyes that she had realized she had closed them. She was almost off the stage, but there were so many people waiting for her on the other side of the curtain. It was hot and loud, and she could not see or breathe, and the arms holding her were gone and people were talking to her, and she could not hear or think.She could not breathe.

“Dear God, is she alright?” a voice cried from somewhere far away.

“I just need to...lie down...my dressing room...” Christine whispered, grabbing onto whoever was holding her up. Was she flying? No, she was being carried. In the blink of an eye the familiar curves of her dressing room couch were under her body. Finally, she was home, she thought happily as she opened her eyes.

Christine gasped when she saw the face staring down at her. She had to be dreaming, she told herself as she drew back in confusion, trying to rise and failing. No, it wasn’t a dream; Raoul de Chagny was really there, his beautiful face full of worry as he knelt beside her.

“Raoul...” The world was solid again. The noise was gone, and she was safe, with Raoul’s warm hands clasped around hers.

“So, you do remember, little Lotte,” he whispered, and her heart leapt.

“You’re taller now,” she breathed back. He grinned as bright as dawn.

“I knew you remembered, I knew it,” Raoul beamed just as the door burst open.

“Christine! Are you alright? I have the doctor and—” It was Julianne, and the look she gave Christine and Raoul was scandalized. “Oh. And who is this?”

Just as suddenly as the world had steadied, Christine was in a storm again. This was wrong. Her angel had forbidden this, above all things! And she could sense him watching now. She could feel his rage and it took the breath from her lungs again.

“I-I don’t know,” Christine stammered, snatching her hands away. “This man helped me in here, but I don’t know him.”

“Christine? What are you saying?” Raoul asked. “The doctor is here; I think you should let him see you.”

“Let me take care of her, Monsieur,” Julianne said carefully. “There’s quite a queue in the corridor of people that would like to speak to her.” The Opera’s doctor was standing in the open door, and Christine could hear the crowd now. She was going to be sick or swoon again.

“I’m sure Mademoiselle Daaé would prefer the company of a friend right now, she’s obviously very distressed.” Raoul countered. “While your help is appreciated, you are dismissed.”

“Iamher friend, you prat,” Julianne hissed, and Raoul stood, clearly shocked to be spoken to in such a way. Christine tried to stand as well but found her legs wouldn’t hold her. Julianne rushed to her side as she wobbled. “You look awful,” Julianne muttered. Christine caught her own reflection and could not disagree. She was pallid as the grave.

“Christine, does your maid always use such a tone?” Raoul demanded and Christine finally found her voice.

“Please leave now,” she ordered, digging deep for the last of her strength to stand tall and unsupported at last.

“Mademoiselle, I need to examine you, for your own good,” the doctor demanded. Outside the noise increased. Someone was shouting. Christine wanted nothing more than to curl up in the darkest room with a hundred blankets and no sound but her angel’s voice. But she had to hear him first. Assure him that her indiscretion had been a mistake.

“I need to be alone,” she whispered to Julianne. “Please. Send everyone outside away too. Don’t let anyone in. I just...”

“I understand,” Julianne said with a grim nod. She turned to Raoul and the doctor. “Both of you! Out!”

“But Christine!” Raoul protested.

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