The Angel Of Music - |P.O.T.O.|

The Point Of No Return

The path was relatively long, and the travel was uncomfortably silent. As Christine and Raoul arrived at the Opera House's stable, he called for the help of two actors who were chating in a corner, bringing the girl inside to the now empty dormitories. Watching the scene, Madame Giry rushed to bring her first-aid kit to clean the wound. Fortunately, it wasn't a deep cut, and the sweet soprano had already got used to it.

— Now, you lads may go. — The oldest announced, watching the actors leave, exept for the Vicomte. — Thank you for all the help. Miss Daaé will rest. Leave, s'il voul plaît.

As he saddly walked through the door and closed it, Antoinette sit next to her and raised the girl's leg to rest above hers, casting a look of discontentment at the singer.

— What was in your mind, miss?! How could you leave like this and do not warn me?

— I'm sorry, Madame Giry, I was a fool indeed. — She glanced down, her cheeks burning. — But I needed a moment to myself, to reflect about somethings. I'm truly sorry, I didn't want to worry you.

The old Giry's heart pace slowed, for she could only think of what Miss Daaé was passing through since the death of Gustave Daaé, her most beloved father.

— You ain't a fool. — Her glance was comforting. Christine made a painful noise as the woman began to clean her wound. — But you must not do it again, you understand?

The sweet girl nodded, trying not to move while Antoinette worked on her trembling leg. "Ouch, how it aches!", she mentally shouted.

— Now tell me, how did you get this cut, miss?

— Well... — She sadly blew the stucked air in her chest. — The Angel of... the Phantom... did this.

— What?! — Her tone was bewildered, for she would never believe that he could even think of harming her. She cleared her throat. — Miss Daaé, I supose we should talk. You do not know the truth, and I feel as you should.

The girl frowned in puzzlement, curious about the matter. "Truth? What truth?", the girl wondered, as Antoinette finished to take care of the shallow cut in her leg. The old Giry told her about the traveling fair, the misterious tent, the Devil's Child, and their infamous escape. She told about his past and his difficulties, and finally revealed to Christine what the girl most wanted to hear in ages: the Phantom's name. The concrete personification of her daydreams. The absolute word which symbolized her new reason of living after grief. The man who she has found love once more.

— Erik. — She pronounced. — His name is Erik.

Suddenly, the physical pain didn't matter anymore, for her life had a new purpose again. Not Phantom, nor ghost. Now, he had an identity, and it was Erik, her Angel of Music. And she wouldn't sing for anyone else, exept him.

- - -

A few days past, and they were all devoted to rehearse and learn everyone's role in that irritating play that was Don Juan Triumphant. The actors were tired and disgusted about the plot, and the maestro did not like the scores at all. It was indeed an outrage to his sense and sensibility of fine musique. Unfortunately, any of them had another reasonable option but to play their parts and end this inferno for good.

While the artists put together their piece of the puzzle, the Vicomte of Chagny, along with Monsieur Firmin and Monsieur André, organized the finishing details of their sublime plan, for the spectacle would be the next day. And they couldn't understand why did they take so long to realize it. Everything would have been much easier.