Page 45 of Angel's Mask

He had never loved or wanted anyone like this. And he would do anything in his power to keep her.

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Christine felt likeshe had spent the whole week trembling. In rehearsals she had shaken in anxiety avoiding Carlotta’s eyes then in helpless anger to hear the thin, heartless way the woman sang. She’d shivered in anticipation on the nights when she had snuck to her hidden room rather than back to Adèle’s flat. And there she had quivered and writhed when her angel had gifted her with his voice and allowed her pleasure that left her quaking and breathless on her bed.

And now she was shuddering like a leaf as she walked to her dressing room ahead of her first real performance. She still felt like an imposter, like she didn’t even belong in the chorus. Tonight, she was meant to sing for him on the stage she’d dreamed of her whole life and she was convinced someone would find her out before hand and turn her back out on the street.

She paused, taking a deep breath at her dressing room door. She could already feel him close, waiting for her inside.

“Don’t tell me you’re nervous,” a familiar voice said, and Christine jumped. Julianne strode towards her, grinning over the costume in her arms. “The luckiest girl in the Paris Opera can’t possibly benervous.”

“You’d be surprised,” Christine muttered. She was happy to have Julianne there, but disappointed to be denied a moment alone with her guardian.

“I can’t wait to see you in this,” Julianne said as they entered the dressing room. Her friend looked to the mirror just as Christine did, but Julianne shuddered. “Lord, that mirror gives me chills. But of courseyoudon’t mind the haunted room.”

“The whole Opera is haunted,” Christine said with a shrug.

“Remember when you didn’t believe?” Christine stepped behind the dressing screen and began to undress, the first time she’d bothered with such modesty. “How things change.”

“This place has a way of doing that. Changing you.”

“Are you still angry?” Julianne asked and Christine looked over the screen at her in confusion. “When you told me – about why you didn’t want to believe – you were mad that you’d never been visited by your angel of music. But you don’t seem disappointed anymore.”

Christine glanced at the mirror, then hid her face. “Who’s to say I haven’t been?” Christine took the costume from Julianne and ducked into the shift, then stepped into the skirt. Julianne helped her into the red velvet bodice and cinched it tightly from behind. Christine gasped.

In her time with Adèle, Christine had been gifted a few new pieces of clothing, outer and under, by her mentor. Adèle had been appalled that Christine didn’t own a proper corset or bustled dress. She still wasn’t used to it, but this costume had a much lower neckline than any dress she owned, and the bodice pushed her breasts up in a way she’d never seen. She knew he could see it when she stepped out from the screen, and it made her more breathless than the tight laces.

Julianne pulled her to the vanity and began on her face, much to Christine’s surprise. “Most of you divas do this yourself, but I help Jammes and her rats. And I’m guessing you have no experience with stage makeup.” Christine shook her head then tried to stay still as Julianne lined her eyes, rouged her cheeks, and painted her lips. When she finally saw herself in the mirror, she blushed again.

“Like a fair lady, he would find me beautiful,” she whispered to the mirror.

“Don’t forget, Marguerite’s pretty jewels were from the devil,” Julianne said, and Christine gave her a glare. “Sorry, it just always struck me as sad how she sings such a sweet song while being tricked. I guess that’s the tragedy.”

“Well, I’m not Marguerite tonight,” Christine muttered. “Not yet.”

Julianne gave her a suspicious look. “You’ll be wonderful, no matter what. I’ll be watching.” Julianne gave the mirror another suspicious look. “I guess he will be too. They say he sits in box five on the grand tier. Meg Giry’s mother is the concierge.”

“So I’ve heard,” Christine smiled.

“They also say he can control the rats. The real ones, not the dancers, so maybe they’ll watch to. I’m not sure how that works.” Julianne gave a shrug and Christine scowled.

“Thank you, I’ll see you later.”

She didn’t mean to herd Julianne out, but the stage managers were already yelling through the halls that it was almost curtain time. She had thought she’d have more time alone with him before...

“I will be watching,” the Angel said as if reading her thoughts. “The only one I’ll see is you.”

“I don’t know why I’m nervous,” Christine replied. “I’ve wanted to be on that stage for so long and I know you’ve prepared me. But I’m scared.”

“I would be more worried if you weren’t nervous,” her teacher replied, his perfect voice encircling her like loving arms. “You love this music, you love this art, and so it is natural to fear not doing it justice. But know that you can, and you will.”

“And I love you,” she added, closing her eyes, and wishing she could speak those words tohim, not her reflection. To the Angel beyond the mask.

“And you could never disappoint me,” he replied. “Sing your love to me tonight and know that it is returned.”

“Always,” Christine whispered, the thought of him filling her with strength and adoration.

“Two minutes! Places!” a stagehand yelled through the hall, making Christine jump.

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