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

21: The Plot, like the Inexplicable Mist, Continues to Thicken

Christine

Rehearsals for the Phantom's opera began the next day. We only had a month to prepare, and our schedules were packed all day, every day, to get preparations finished in time. The whole cast and crew knew that if there was ever a time to reach beyond perfection, this was it.

The bones of the sets, painted jarring red and black, set us all on edge. Around me onstage, harsh brass mixed with intricate strings and backdrops rippled like tongues of fire; I felt like I was inside Erik's mind, and it was a terrible place.

Since Erik had his eyes on me, every effort was being seen to my comfort. I moved back into Carlotta's prima donna dressing room.

When I first brought my things over, I discovered another threatening note warning me not to take the room for granted. I sighed when I saw it. "Far too many notes for my taste," I mumbled under my breath. I would have to show it to Erik.

I did, that evening.

"Carlotta wrote me another note after I stole her dressing room," I told Erik over dinner.

He scowled.

"Don't worry," I said. "I'm going to talk to her about it."

"If she does not stop writing these letters, can I threaten her?" he said, a little too eagerly.

I rested a hand on his arm. "Only if you explain to me beforehand everything you plan to do and I approve," I told him. He would have to be satisfied with that.

I kept my promise, seeking out Carlotta the next day.

She somehow glared down her nose at me, even though we were the same height. "What do you want?" she snapped, ready to be rid of me and get back to whatever important matters awaited her at home.

I showed her the most recent note. "Do you know anything about this?" I asked. "I've been getting them for a while now, and I'm sick of the joke."

She thrust it back at me, feigning indignance. She was a terrible actress. "I have no idea why you would presume that I know. Though I agree with whoever wrote them," she added. "You are overstepping your bounds for having so recently started singing!"

I bit back a sigh. Clearly, she didn't feel adequately intimidated by me. It was time to pull my trump card. "The Phantom of the Opera thinks I deserve this role," I said in a low voice. "I wonder what he would think if he knew you had been threatening and insulting me."

Carlotta looked uncomfortable and not a little scared. She glanced fearfully at the walkways above the theater, pulling her shawl more tightly around herself. "The letters will stop," she spat at me, "but know that I do not approve of the current casting." She stormed off, her heels clacking on the floor. Hopefully, that would be the end of it.

I wandered around the theater, deep in thought. I had been dwelling on the idea of my previous life here: the one I didn't remember. I hardly missed my family back home, but more and more I felt a regretful longing for the father I might have known.

Musical-Christine's coping mechanism had been a visit to the graveyard. Perhaps singing her mourning song could give me some closure.

I returned to Erik, finding him on the floor with Ayesha. I stood with my hands clasped behind my back until he noticed me, and for the hundredth time, I doubted my decision.

"What is the matter, Christine?" he asked, standing and approaching me.

"I would like to visit my father's grave," I told him. "Would you take me?"

"Of course," he said. He could tell that this was important and went immediately to get his coat.

I fetched a black cloak of my own and followed him to the surface. I was glad to let him instruct the carriage driver; I had no idea where my own father was buried.