Christine looked down with tortured eyes at the pile of
letters on the table before her. With shaking fingers, she picked one up and
carefully unfolded it. Scanning the swirling red letters that lay so innocently
on the paper, the words branded themselves into her mind.
“My dearest Angel,
tonight was impeccable.
Au Revoir, And I Am Always Yours.”
…And she had believed him, her naive romantic dreams
blinding her. Letting the note fall to the floor, Christine buried her face in
her hands. God, what had she done to deserve this?
In the brief moment of silence that her frenzied thoughts
granted her, she could hear the corps de ballet practicing their routine for
that night’s performance. “Oh, Meg! Why did I not listen to you? You warned me,
but I did not listen! Why did I not listen?” Desperation and sadness bleeding
into her voice, Christine cursed herself.
He and his music
had intoxicated her, leaving her bare and undefended. She had been captivated,
truly believing all that he said. Maybe he really did mean it then, but obsessions always fade away and are replaced
His voice had created feelings and fantasies inside her that
she had never even dreamed of before. Now she realized that it had just been a
childish sort of love, innocent and captivated. She had been tricked, almost,
into believing what he created.
So now she sat here at this bare table, staring blankly at
all of the notes that he had ever written to her. Painstakingly examining each
choice of word, each finely crafted sentence, Christine found herself looking
for any kind of sign of when he had stopped loving her as he claimed.
Oh, but when he loved her! The world had glowed with a rosy
hue, the fires of passion burning just out of reach. The sparks of desire had
scorched their skin, but now there was only a sour taste of ash in her mouth.
What a fool she had been! Crumpling one of the notes in her
fist, Christine threw it to the floor. Shooting to her feet, she almost ran to
the mirror that now only held the memories of him. “You were obsessed with how they saw you, the only thing you
thought about was yourself! Even as you claimed to love me -” Punching the
mirror, a shriek was torn from her throat as it shattered. Eyes filling with
tears, she sank to the floor amidst the broken glass, hugging her knees to her
chest and relishing the throbbing pain in her lacerated hand.
Frantically grasping at one of the jagged shards, she held
it up to the ray of sunshine that danced in through the lone window. She found
herself fixated on the light that sparkled and glinted on the glass, not
noticing the thin line of blood that had begun to flow down onto her wrist.
He had wanted her
to sing, he had had worshipped her voice.
Perhaps that’s all he really loved…
Now her voice felt tainted, like a bad dream that lingered
in the air even after one awoke. Throwing down the piece of mirror, Christine
shakily got to her feet. She would never sing again, she swore it on the blood
that now dripped onto her dress, staining the pristine white fabric a dark red.
No-one would ever know what had happened in this room today,
no-one would ever hear her sing again, no-one would ever see her again.
“…Erik, what have you
done to me?”
Now the flames, that had once filled her with love and life,
consumed her world.
Raising her head Christine saw, instead of her bare dressing
room, the streets of Paris around her. None of the people that were rushing by
on the streets seemed to see her. None of the carriages that rattled past
stopped to ask if she needed help. She was like a ghost. Empty and invisible,
with the noises of the city rising like a crushing wave all around her. And the
letters were in her hands.