Page 87 of Angel's Fall

He did not go far. Rather, he took up a post in the recesses of the wings, nodding towards the other guards doing the same. They were all ready for the moment the ghost would try to take Christine, be it on the stage or off. It was time for the curtain to rise on what would undoubtedly be an unforgettable final performance for the infamous Phantom.

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Christine beganFaustbehind a screen, as nothing but a trick, the vision of a maid at her spinning wheel. It should have been easy to just sit there and be seen, but even that made her ill. She sensed the eyes of the audience upon her, an overwhelming wave of perception as they whispered.

There she is. The girl who ousted Carlotta. Who dazzled us all and now she’s to marry and leave it all behind.

Christine closed her eyes and fingered the rough thread between her fingers as her prop spinning wheel whirred. The only eyes she wanted upon her were those of an angel, the angel she was singing to save and then to leave.

But she could not feel him.

The spotlight darkened, and Christine fled to the side of the stage, catching her breath. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe her nerves and guilt had the best of her. She kept to the wings, holding on during the interval. She could feel the way the chorus and other singers looked at her. She hid from the questions and closed her eyes, preparing herself.

Months ago, she had snuck up from the costume workshop, drawn by the music she loved so much. She had hidden in these same shadows and sensed something watching her through the whole performance. Now, there was nothing, and the music was empty.

Ever since she had spoken that deadly ‘yes’ to Raoul, it had all been empty. Not just the silent life stretching out before her, but all of it. She had been ready to leave the Opera far behind and run away with Erik a few days ago. Forsaking this for Raoul was so different. It was to keep Erik alive, because if he was gone, nothing mattered. But could she truly leave him so alone?

The brightness on stage made her wince when Christine made her first real entrance. She warbled her first few notes as Marguerite, said she was no lady, and refused Faust’s hands. She glanced towards Erik’s box. She saw Philippe there, with Richard beside him, and... Was that a shadow behind them? How could it be when she felt nothing? There was no magic, no prickle of ghostly eyes. Nothing.

The next interval came, and Christine searched the wings for wherever Raoul had secreted himself. He was watching her, assuring that she did not run – either to find Erik or out of the Opera entirely. She had considered it many times, especially when Raoul had propositioned her.

She was a ghost herself, drifting through the wings and avoiding other’s eyes. Or a madwoman, groping through the shadows for a glimmer of hope. Then, around one corner she felt it, she swore – that prickle of danger and desire that only happened when Erik was near.

“There you are! You wandered off and scared me.”

Christine turned, dejected, to see Raoul approaching, his smile so wide and warm it made her ill to look at it. “Do you swear that he’s here?”

“What?” Raoul asked back as he blinked.

“I can’t feel him.” Christine realized how utterly insane it sounded. Maybe Raoul was right and she had gone mad. What sane woman wept at the thought of being forever separated from such a dangerous man? A woman who loved that man was the answer. “Do you swear he’s here?”

“Of course,” Raoul said earnestly. “He’s here.”

“I want to see him, please. I have to,” Christine begged, and Raoul shook his head.

“That will only upset you. Why don’t we get you some tea? That’s what you singers like before you have to go on, isn’t it?”

“That was how we poisoned Carlotta, you know. A drug in her tea to freeze her voice. I was the one that made sure her maid gave it to her,” Christine confessed, hoping to get some sort of reaction out of the man who was looking at her like a wounded dog.

“The things that monster made you do make my blood boil. Come. I’ll take care of you.”

“I don’t need to be taken care of!” Christine barked. “I need to see the man I’m throwing my life and soul away for before you take him from me.”

“After,” Raoul repeated, agitated, and Christine could not help but roll her eyes. Raoul dragged her back to her place in the wings and somehow tracked someone down to give her tea before retreating again to give her space.

Christine squirmed as the understudy for Adèle passed her by and avoided her eyes, gossiping with the baritone who was attempting to bring all he could to Valentin for the night. So strange that she barely knew the man who played her brother. Christine wished she could track down Robert or even Carlos Fontana for some measure of comfort, but all too soon, she was ushered on stage. The light of the chandelier stung her eyes.

“I would like to know who it was...”Christine began to sing, the music coming from the memory of her body and months of practice, but not her heart. Because there was no angel watching her, no phantom in the shadows following each note. She knew it in her soul.

She was passable, at least. Perhaps uneducated ears like Raoul’s would think it was a fine performance, but Christine knew it was her worst. She faltered in support, wavered in pitch, and could barely muster the energy for the finale of the Jewel Song. She was a sleepwalker going into the love scene, her mind occupied with the terrible thought of the next romance she would have to perform. By the time she exited the stage, she was shaking in anger and dejection.

“Dear God, Daaé – I know it’s your grand farewell but you could at least try,” the man playing Valentin groused as the cast meandered backstage.

“Oh shut up, Julian.” It was Robert, and Christine had never been happier to see the devil approaching.

“That’s not even my name,” the baritone grimaced.

Robert shrugged. “I don’t care, fuck off. Are you alright, my dear?”

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