The wickedness of my abhorrent face
The Angel’s commanding voice put Christine into a hypnotic state of being. Her body, her soul was no longer hers to control, and she uncontrollably succumbed to the voice’s demands. Slowly, her feet led her miraculously through the large mirror before her. Her eyes closed to…
It wasn’t long before the fear within Christine melted away. The soothing, yet powerful voice of the Angel calmed her as the two made their way through the catacombs, all the way to the hidden lake beneath the opera house. Even as they pushed through the murky waters on his boat, he continued his song, all the while, Christine listened and fell once again under his spell.
Soon, more lights came into view from across the lake. Candles surrounded them as the boat slowly creeped toward a clearing in the distance. Wonder filled Christine’s eyes as more was revealed. An extravagant lair of sorts, filled with candelabras, was their final destination.
Once they had docked, the man, the voice of the Angel of Music, stepped out of the boat and extended his hands to Christine. For a moment, she did not move. Her mind was still struggling with whether or not to trust him. But, when he spoke to her once again and his soothing, hypnotizing voice filled her ears once more, all second thoughts disappeared. Christine reached up her own hands to those of the mysterious man and allowed him to lead her into his home.
Raoul de Chagny, Christine’s childhood friend, was once again standing before her. Only now, the precious, boyish face she remembered was replaced with that of a strikingly, handsome young man. Floods of sweet memories filled Christine’s mind as the two reminisced about the…
The Angel’s commanding voice put Christine into a hypnotic state of being. Her body, her soul was no longer hers to control, and she uncontrollably succumbed to the voice’s demands. Slowly, her feet led her miraculously through the large mirror before her. Her eyes closed to adjust to her new surroundings, and when the opened once more, Christine was no longer in her dressing room. Instead, the dark, gloomy catacombs of the Paris Opera House served as her surroundings.
Frightened, she tried to find her way back to the familiar, but a gloved hand tightened its grip around her own, preventing her from escaping. Through the darkness, she could barely make out who stood in front of her Soon, a lantern’s glowed erupted in the blackness, and her captor was revealed.The figure that she saw within the mirror was standing before her. A white mask hid half of his face, and a black hat, suit and cloak covered the rest of his body.
Confusion and panic quickly engulfed Christine. This was a man who stood before her. A mortal man. He was no angel; no fantastic seraph like her father had described to her. Had she been deceived? Could she possibly have been so blind as to believe the Angel had actually come to her.
These thoughts raced through her mind, but no words escaped her lips. Her fear made her mute, and she watched in silent terror as the figure led her further into the darkness.
“Brava, brava, bravissima…”
The sound of the Angel’s voice sent chills down Christine’s spine. He was pleased with her performance, and her heart nearly leapt from her chest with excitement. Tonight, she sang only for him; for the mysterious specter who filled her days…
Raoul de Chagny, Christine’s childhood friend, was once again standing before her. Only now, the precious, boyish face she remembered was replaced with that of a strikingly, handsome young man. Floods of sweet memories filled Christine’s mind as the two reminisced about the days of their youth; the games they used to play, her father playing the violin for both of them, and the tale of Little Lotte that had been told to them so many times during their time by the sea.
Filled with joy, Christine almost accepted his urgent dinner invitation. However, something was holding her back. Her Angel. He would call upon her soon, and the Angel did not like to be kept waiting. With a heavy heart, she had to decline her dear friends request, but Raoul was not the sort of man to give up easily. He continued to insist upon her presence at dinner and left to fetch his carriage, while Christine continued to turn him down to no avail.
Locking the door behind the young Vicomte, she stood by the door and tried to calm her beating heart and troubled mind.
"Things have changed, Raoul," she whispered.
Christine’s heart was pounding inside her chest as she took her bow before the large audience. The moment she had waited for her entire life, the dream she thought would never come true, was now a reality. She stood upon the stage, in the spotlight; her arms stretched wide in…
“Brava, brava, bravissima…”
The sound of the Angel’s voice sent chills down Christine’s spine. He was pleased with her performance, and her heart nearly leapt from her chest with excitement. Tonight, she sang only for him; for the mysterious specter who filled her days with music, who had given her voice to her.
The new prima donna walked on airs as she made her way to her dressing room, graciously thanking those who complimented her performance along the way. Once the doors were finally closed behind her, she threw on her dressing gown and rushed to her armoire. The Angel would be with her soon. She could feel it.
Suddenly, someone from the outside knocked on her dressing room door. Before Christine could respond, a young, handsome man entered holding a single, red rose.
"Christine Daae," he began. “Where is your red scarf?”
Deep underneath the renowned Opera Populaire in the catacombs unbeknownst to most, a figure donning a cape, fedora, and a white mask that concealed half of his face waited, enshrouded in a silent darkness. Soon, the moment that he had been waiting for would arrive. She had finally been given the chance to sing in the beam of the white spotlight, where she had always deserved to be more than any other. From his place in the shadows, he heard a seraphic voice reach his ears, echoing throughout the opera house.
“Christine…” Erik whispered aloud to himself, his eyes fluttering closed. He let out his breath slowly, allowing his mind to be entranced by this pure soprano voice from far above.
“Think of me… Think of me fondly, when we’ve said goodbye…”
Listening to her voice sent waves of the utmost bliss coursing throughout his veins, and he was irrevocably enraptured by her spellbinding performance. Erik stood stock-still while he listened to his angel of music weave exquisite melodies with only her voice and her voice alone, until the very last note had ceased to be heard. He let a rare smile brush across his lips momentarily. As he heard the audience rise unanimously in applause, he felt his heart swell with pride for the young soprano, his sole pupil.
Christine’s heart was pounding inside her chest as she took her bow before the large audience. The moment she had waited for her entire life, the dream she thought would never come true, was now a reality. She stood upon the stage, in the spotlight; her arms stretched wide in front of her and taking in the loud applause. Her eyes closed to hold in tears of joy, and her lips released a silent “thank you” to the one who had made it all possible.
The girls of the corps de ballet rushed to Christine side as soon as the curtain closed. Their high-pitched voices sang praises to their friend; their excitement matching that of the new prima donna. However, the celebration was cut short at the sound of Madame Giry’s cane. The girls were stricken stiff at the sound and sight of the ballet mistress’s stern facial expression. Slowly, the lady in black approached the crowd of girls and looked down upon them, but her expression softened and her lips revealed a smile.
"You did well, my dear. He will be pleased.”
Madame Giry moved on to scold her pupils, but Christine paid no mind to what was going on around her. "He will be pleased." The words kept replaying in her mind. She knew exactly who Giry was referring to; her teacher, her angel. Her body tensed in both fear and excitement at the thought of the majestic voice that spoke to her in her dressing room. The Angel of Music had come to her and blessed her with the voice that rang through the Opera House tonight, just like her father had once promised. Their lessons remained confined to her dressing room, but his presence remained with her always.
Even at that very moment, she could feel him with her.
PART THREE- THE END