Between Mirrors and Roses (A Phantom of the Opera Fanfiction) ✓

7: The Audition

Christine

The day of the opera auditions was impending, and stress and anticipation hung heavy in the air. Carlotta started hanging around the theater, getting in everyone's way, as if she had already secured her role. The managers were paranoid about the opera ghost and his threatening letters and had frequent meetings holed up in their office, which Raoul, as the opera's patron, often attended.

Raoul caught me leaving my dressing room the afternoon before the auditions. He called my name and stepped in front of me so I could not pretend to have missed him.

"Christine!" he said. "I wanted to speak with you."

I supposed I could tolerate a short conversation. "Hello, Raoul," I said in return. "What do you need?"

He pulled me to the side of the hall so we wouldn't be in the way of anyone coming or going.

"I've missed you," he told me in a sing-songy voice that made me narrow my eyes at him. "You always disappear so quickly after performances. And you never answer when I knock. Where are you all the time?"

"I'm sorry, Raoul," I replied, "I've been working very hard, and I'm often tired. I have little time for anyone, not just you."

"Yes, I know," he said, straightening his coat.

What did that mean?

He continued, suddenly businesslike. "I don't think you will have to worry about being overworked for much longer. The managers and I have been talking..."

"Yes, I know," I said, mimicking him.

He cleared his throat. "...talking about the notes from the opera ghost. You've heard of him? Yes, well, we have all been getting letters, warning us and giving us ludicrous demands. We have decided that we will not be bullied by a man who will not even show his face, and we are not going to do anything he tells us."

Now I understood. I would not be Prima Donna of the opera house any longer, simply because Erik had instructed that I would be.

"I wanted to warn you," he said, his words speeding up as if he didn't like saying them, "that if you are not cast as the lead, it is not because your voice isn't beautiful..."

I stopped him right there. "I appreciate the warning, and thank you, but I am disgusted that you would let the managers refrain from casting me simply because a letter from a person wholly unconnected with me willed that it should be so." So there.

Raoul looked like I had slapped him in the face.

"Christine, I..." he said, but I interrupted him again.

"I will give my best to the audition and leave the decision to those who run this opera house, but know that attendance will most likely suffer if you put that screeching peacock in my place."

Raoul looked at me with something akin to respect. "You are different than you used to be," he told me.

"Thank you," I said, and turned on my heels and marched down the hall, leaving Raoul looking stupefied and confused.

That night, I found a note resting on my vanity. I was excited but puzzled; usually, Erik's notes were accompanied by roses. I soon saw my mistake, however: the letter was not from Erik. It was unsigned, and read,

'Do not audition if you know what is good for you.'

I didn't recognize the handwriting—not that I had seen the handwriting of many people here. I worried the rest of the night and fell asleep still wondering who it was from.

The day of the auditions finally arrived, and those girls who sought singing leads waited together in a small room. A few of them were members of the active chorus, and a few came from parts of Paris to take their chances at being Prima Donna at an opera.