The Phantom Ascending |✔| [Phantom of the Opera Fanfiction]

Titania Sings

My exile was less shameful
Than your foolishness
I wish to find you hateful
But cannot pretend.

Hear my last demand...

Oberon!
Please cast away my crown
Until you start to see clear
Until your doubts disappear
For good
Until your heart rejects fear!

And then, as the orchestra climbed and descended through the score, I waited for the last part, where she walks away, sad but defiant:

I wished to find you hateful...
I choose rather to be grateful
To the Fates that test our love

And Christine held that last note as only she could. The act ended and the audience burst into applause. How wouldn't they? She played the role so well: vulnerability and hurt, power and passion — every emotion was conveyed through the very notes that called for it.

My heart swelled with pride for my once student and forever love. As long as she sang my music, she was mine, even if she didn't know it.

The Teatro was packed with people. Manelli and the theater's manager knew how to work their magic — they played at human curiosity and elitism, at first announcing only three scheduled performances, just to keep adding more when everyone rushed to see such a limited event.

Between the acts, I performed my own little choreography in the fly loft, avoiding stagehands and the props they manipulated. The most prominent one was a large and complex wooden frame on which the stars were hung, so that when it is lowered, it looks as if Titania and Oberon have risen into the night sky itself, dancing among the swinging stars.

Finally, my opera continued. While it wasn't flawless (they never are, as far as I'm concerned), the production did meet high standards. The tale of trickery and betrayal turned into one of triumph and eternal love, and I could imagine the sighs in the audience as Titania once again took her rightful place on the throne next to Oberon.

At this point, the final act was nearly over and all of the stagehands busy elsewhere, except for the one who climbed up to this platform. His face was in shadows, his body lanky, his movements nervous. They told me he did not belong here.

What is happening?

I withdrew deeper into the shadows and observed him, my muscles taut and ready to act.

The man moved about, then crouched to place an object onto the platform, and walked away. Carefully, I followed, only to stop in surprise before the dropped object.

My old mask.

The one I had left behind in Paris, the type I wore the most, an identical replica of which I was wearing even now, simply because it was the most comfortable way for me to exist.

What does this mean?

I didn't see that man earlier, and I was absolutely confident that he did not see me here. Why leave the mask, then? Why have it in the first place?

I took the second mask and checked the ropes. They seemed fine. I went to one of the pulleys that helped balance and lower the stars.

Well, well.

A small iron rod was stuck in the wheel, enough to disrupt everything, cause a possible crack and crash the wooden frame. I pulled it out, and not a moment too soon, for the final song was to begin, and the stagehands below me were getting ready to set the pulleys in motion.

I returned to the place where I could remain unseen, my mind for once not paying attention to the music.

Who was that man? He intended to cause an incident and implicate me in the process. Why? Was it aimed at me, or was it aimed at someone else and I was a convenient scapegoat, considering Christine's past and the rumors surrounding her?

My dark thoughts were suddenly broken by the loudest and longest applause yet. The premiere was a success.

A thought hit me as the curtain fell — it wasn't just Christine and the others below they were applauding — it was me as well. A smile caught up with my thoughts. It was a good feeling, this. It tasted... New.