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

Pieces of a Puzzle

Christine

"Oh, Giulia, I am so afraid."

"That this will be a disaster? I agree. Just listen to them," Giulia scoffed.

"Come, now. To be fair, Enrico makes a wonderful Don Juan, and Lavizzi has much improved. Her acting is superb and makes up for the flaws in her singing."

"Very well. So why are you afraid then?" Giulia frowned at me.

She had me there. I couldn't really tell her the truth.

"The Paris premiere of this ended in a disaster. I can't help but feel that this one is doomed as well. To be honest, it makes me a little ill just watching the rehearsals. Thankfully at least the costumes and the scene look completely different here."

Giulia kept quiet for awhile.

"Christine, have you ever wondered... No, forget I spoke," she flushed.

"What, Giulia? Tell me."

"Oh. It's just that, if the people here were ever acting strange toward you, it was because of that legend -- the Paris, the disaster, the story that you are haunted, all those things written in the newspapers. Everyone relaxed, of course, when Titania Enthroned went well and for months nothing bad happened, but I know that those rumors still kept you from making true friends here. I am sorry."

"You, at least, have been a great friend, Giulia. And Manelli, too, in his own way."

She leaned on the wooden rail and looked at me. We have sneaked onto one of the unused parts of the sky loft to listen to the rehearsal and talk.

"If I am your friend, could you tell me the truth, Christine?"

"The truth?"

"What happened in Paris? Was it a ghost or a murderer there? And are you truly staying in that house so much because you are a mistress to that peculiar composer, Mr. Dessler?" she blurted it all out in quick Venetian, so I had trouble understanding her at first.

"Forgive me for asking! It's just..."

"It's alright," I answered carefully, "but mine is a difficult tale to tell. There truly was an Opera Ghost. The opera house burned, and its ghost rests in peace now. I am not haunted, I was just unfortunate enough to be in the wrong place... And as for your second question -- Truly, Giulia? Et tu? I-- I don't know what to say."

"So it is true. I can see it in your face, red as a tomato," she gasped and giggled.

"I'm not his mistress!" I hissed. "Though he has been visiting me, and I do like him."

"Oh, amazing! He made quite an impression when he was here. Arrogant and strict, but I can still see the appeal. Why is he such a recluse?"

"A question I cannot answer, I'm afraid. Some people just are that way, especially geniuses completely immersed in their art," I lied, though there was some truth in it.

Downstairs, a Don Juan duet was reaching its crescendo. I felt the heat rise in me. It was an automatic reaction to the passion of the music -- his music -- and the memory of his maddening touches during that tragic performance two years ago.

And all the while, Piangi lay dead in the backstage. I had forgotten about that, and the sudden realization made me nauseous.

"Christine, are you all right? You look like you'll be sick... Not that I'd mind, given that you'd cast your accounts all over Lavizzi below."