Christine's Tutor (A Phantom of the Opera Prequel)

I (Christine)

August 10th, 1880.

Hannibal. Christine hadn't heard of Hannibal before. But, since it was just announced that that show was to be what the opera-house would be performing in three months time, she figured that she would have to enlighten herself, or, on second thought, she could simply go along with the rehearsals. Still, that wasn't to say that she wouldn't try as hard as she normally would.

The opera-house was bustling with activity. Everyone was chattering about casting, even though there was no debate to be had on who would be casted as the star of the show. Of course, Carlotta would get the lead part, but no-one was unhappy about not getting that part. They accepted that the arrogant woman would always get the most ostentatious part, and they were always okay with whatever parts they were given, anyhow. As long as they were on the stage, they were satisfied. Christine never complained, nor did Meg; they were happy to be ballet dancers.

However, that didn't mean that Christine didn't yearn to sing; she often dreamed of being able to sing, to make music. Sometimes, even being able to dance wasn't enough for her. Ever since she was a young child, her dreams of singing were cultivated by her father, who always told her that there was an Angel of Music. He would tell her that an Angel of Music watched over her, and she would wonder when this 'Angel of Music' would step into her life. So far, he never had.

Stagehands, dancers, and extras carrying various things rushed by as Christine and Meg walked down the thin, cramped walkway behind the stage. There wasn't one day when these people weren't busy preparing for an opera. Even now, toward the end of the day, everyone was busy. This was just another day in the life of a performer.

Carlotta was still on stage, singing. It seemed to be that she loved to hear herself sing. But her voice was harsh, not soft, not soothing to the ear. As if opera music wasn't ear-piercing enough to some listeners, she made it sound more discordant than it ever needed to be. But the song that was she was singing- it stood out to Christine. The discord of Carlotta's voice was filtered from her ears, and all that was left were the beautiful words and melody.

"Think of me,

Think of me fondly

When we've said

Goodbye.

Remember me

Once in a while

Promise me

You'll try..."

As the singer went on, Christine turned to Meg and said longingly, "If only I can sing that part." Her ears were drawn to the music, and she couldn't stop herself from hearing it.

"I bet you could, if you put your mind to it", her friend replied in her usual cheerful demeanor.

"Perhaps."

"You should take up singing lessons."

'"Yes, maybe so."

Just then, the two of them emerged onto the stage. It took a moment for Christine's eyes to adjust to the lighting. Before they did, she glimpsed something strange; for a split second, in the third row back in the audience seats was a man. She thought she saw a white mask covering the right half of his face. But he was gone as soon as the rest of the scene had opened up to her.

She thought nothing of what she had just seen; she gave it no consideration. Only her subconscious had truly acknowledged it.

Madame Giry noticed them come onto the stage, and approached them. "Dear Meg, and Christine, too", she greeted in a reserved, yet somewhat cordial, manner. "What brings you two here?"

"Mother, we were wondering if we're needed, or if we have something that we must attend to before we go, perhaps." Meg replied, wringing her hands gently.

"Not at the moment. If you so desire, you may take off."

"Is that so? Okay, alright. Thank you. I suppose we'll take our leave now, then. Goodnight to you, mother."

"Goodnight."

The girls turned away, and went back in the direction whence they came. They retrieved their belongings from the dressing room, and soon after, they found themselves standing in front of the opera-house, which looked grand and noble in the light of dusk.

"It's a rather cloudy night out", Meg remarked as she tugged at her shawl. "I hope there won't be any rain."

"I certainly hope not. We don't want to get drenched on our way home now, do we?"

"No, we don't. That's why I shall be getting home as soon as I can, before the rain can catch me. I recommend you do the same, too."

"Of course. I'll be seeing you tomorrow, Meg."

"Yes, you will, unless it rains and I catch a cold", she tittered. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

With that, Christine parted from her friend. She set off for her home, leisurely strolling along the cobblestone walkway, not too worried about the weather.

As she passed wooden posts bordering the street, she noticed how one of them caught the light of a streetlamp. It was illuminated more so than the rest were, allowing her to see that there was a paper pinned to it. Strangely enough, as she got closer to it, she felt as if it was calling to her, as if it was meant just for her. She stood in front of it, and leaned in to make out what it read.

It read:

"                                                              Voice Lessons

To whom it may concern,

I will be offering voice lessons to one who desires, at no cost. If you are interested, send a letter addressing age, sex, vocal experience, and reason for desiring my tutelage to Post Office Box --. If I find you worthy of becoming my apprentice in music, I will reply to you promptly."

The idea of becoming an "apprentice in music" appealed to Christine; the wording of the offer was charming. But she was discouraged by the requirements, for she had had no prior professional vocal experience. While it is true that she would sing for the fun of it, she had never taken her passion to a professional level. Still, there was a little voice inside of her that whispered to her and told her to go for it. What had she to lose?

In one swift motion, she tore the advertisement from the post and walked away with it in hand. As she went, she planned out the letter that she was going to write in her mind.

As soon as she had arrived home, she went directly to her desk. She draped her coat over her chair and lit a candle. Once her small but comfortable space was lit up by the orange candlelight, casting its light upon the wooden floors and plain white walls, she sat down at her desk, pulled out a quill from her ink vial, and excitedly spilled onto the paper what she had come up with on her walk home. She didn't even have to think about what she was writing anymore; she had already thoroughly written the letter in her head. When she was finished, she scanned her letter over, and after finding it void of mistakes, folded the letter up and placed it inside an envelope. She wrote the address given by the advertisement on its face and her own in the corner, and sealed it, then put it aside, making a mental note to send it the following morning.

~