The Art of Manipulation || Phantom of the Opera & Loki the God of Mischief ||

7. The Mirror Bride

Chapter Seven || The Mirror Bride

"No, he's not a ghost. He's a man of heaven and earth, that's all."
~ Le Fantôme de l'Opéra by Gaston Leroux

~*~

Walking down the twisting maze of walkways and winding staircases, I pushed my way through the bustling crowd of entertainers and admirers, all of them flocking around to see the new star named Christine Daaé. Off to the side, I spotted the glimmer of gold armor and glowing green eyes that were eerily glued to my every move. Slipping into the shadows to join it, I whispered apprehensively, "Yes?"

"Well," Loki dropped his voice after he looked around at the crowd of people, "the patron-"

"Raoul DeChangy."

"-Yes, him. - He just left Kirsten's dressing room." I bit back the urge to correct Christine's name again. Loki continued excitedly, "Your composer boy had been watching the entire time from behind the one way mirror and he was livid!" He let out a joyous laugh and finished, "Our plan is going splendidly, Alouette!"

I didn't join Loki in his triumphant smiles or his laughs. I only stared at the door to Christine's dressing room, looking over the heads of the people who pushed against each other like cattle smelling their meal and begging to be let into their barn to devour it.

This has all happened before. Raoul had gone to Christine's dressing room to ask her out to dinner, carrying flowers like he had now, and Erik had seen the entire meeting from behind the grand mirror in her dressing room. He had been jealous then, but he was angry now.

Madame Giry came out of the Prima Donna's dressing room, her rigid ballet instructor exterior towering over the entire crowd of admirers. With one black eyebrow cocked she banged her walking stick against the ground, her voice booming over the crowd, ordering them all to leave and telling them young Mademoiselle Daaé needed rest.

The crowd left. Madame Giry left. Christine did not leave. And neither did Loki and I.

After a few more moments of staying in the shadows passed, Loki looked down at me, his face contorted with silent questions. I placed my hand on his chest, putting my other index finger to my mouth, signaling him to be silent.

We waited; me patiently, Loki impatiently. I heard the ruffling of fabric as Christine undressed, the sound of hangers clanging as they returned to their place on the rack soon following. After that there was the whooshing sound of her robe as she twirled it behind her and shrugged it on. Her soft footsteps came towards the door, her fingertips lightly touching the gold handle.

I then heard it, roaring with more ferocity than a hungry lion or an angered bear. It rumbled from within the Prima Donna's dressing room like rolling thunder that shook the walls and floor, "Insolent boy, this slave of fashion, basking in your glory! Ignorant fool, this brave young suitor, sharing in my triumph!"

Christine quivered and quaked at the angry voice of her tutor. I heard her breath flee from her lungs and the blood in her veins shiver, her voice carrying itself on a feeble breath, "Angel, I hear you. Speak, I listen. Stay by my side, guide me. Angel, my soul was weak, forgive me. Enter at last, Master." From the sound of curls falling over her face and the ruffle of fabric falling down her arms, I could hear her bow her head and raise her hands in respect, shame and submission.

There was a heavy silence then. From where I stood I could hear the anger vanish from Erik, Christine's words sedating his furious breathing and unrelenting pounding of his heart like a tranquilizer in an excited lion. I imagined the contradiction on Erik's features as he contemplated Christine's wishes to see him.