Chapter 4: Her Life as a Ghost

The Sick Rose

O Rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm
that flies in the night,
in the howling storm.

Has found out thy bed
of crimson joy
and his dark secret love
does thy life destroy.

William Blake

"Meg is performing right now, so I can disappear for a short time without anyone noticing or caring where I go. I can have my moment of solitude. Blessed Jesus, thank you!"

The girl quickly made her way through the backstage passages and then turned down one of the darker corridors. The dusty floor and the cobwebs hanging from the ceiling told the tale better than words that the room at the end of this hall was one not regularly frequented by the inhabitants of the opera house. However, this room was the one place Christine felt somewhat at peace. For, if her father chose not to send the Angel of Music to her, here at least there were angels painted on the walls and a reliquary that provided her a place to light a candle and offer to God her prayers for her poor, dearly departed Papa.

It was here; in the unused chapel, that Christine first discovered the secret passageways running through the opera house.

The day began much as any other, she awoke, dressed and went to the kitchen where she ate her breakfast. She reported to Madame and she had no errands, so she reported to Monsieur Reyer, but he had nothing for her to do either. It was still too early to report to the kitchen, but not late enough to report to the stables, so she found herself drifting in the direction of the chapel, as she was oft times want to do. She lit a candle, knelt on the rough stone floor and bowed her head in silent prayer. All too soon, the tears began to trickle down her cheeks dripping from her chin and onto the floor. From time to time, she kept an eye on the candle she lit so she would know how long she had been there. Her eyes roamed about the room at last settling on the solemn figure of the angel. She had begun her prayers in earnest then and was beginning to become lost in her memories of her Papa when the sound of hushed voices intruded upon her consciousness. She heard a male and a female voice speaking to one another and they seemed to be drawing near to her sanctuary. A feeling of panic spread through the girl's body and she wildly looked about the room. Other than the arched entryway of the chapel, the reliquary, the candles, the painted angels, the stained glass angel and a black, metal grate were the only visible choices of possible escape. As the voices seemed almost upon her, she had no time to ponder her options. She hurried to the grate and pulled. She could not make it budge, so she turned to the stained glass window. For reasons still unknown to her to this day, Christine ran her fingertips along the edge of the frame and felt a small switch. She flipped the switch and the window began to swing in, away from her. She caught it, opened it enough for her to step through and then pushed it closed behind her.

And that, as they say, was that.

Over the years, she became extremely adept at discovering the hidden mechanisms, which controlled the various portals leading into and out of her secret world. The passages helped her complete her errands quicker and at the same time hid her from the ballet rats and their unceasing teasing. She knew that the passages led downwards as well, but never did she have time to explore nor did she particularly care to go downwards for she knew that the cellars were vast. She saw no benefit in extending her knowledge there, until she became bored with the passages above.

On this night, as Christine lit her customary candle and knelt to the rough floor to pray, a flash of light caught her attention. Her eyes drawn to the stained glass angel and the sight, which met her gaze, caused her to gasp. Whether it was a trick of the light or an actual vision, her familiar angel's face appeared strange and alien to her eyes. The left side of the angel's face was just as it had always been, stern and beautiful. However, the right side of the face now appeared deformed. Its eye socket sunken, its nose slightly flattened, the angel had no eyebrow and the skin of its cheek and forehead was lumpy. She blinked in surprise and then rubbed her eyes, but when she returned her eyes to the angel, she saw her old, familiar friend once more. However, the angelic visage brought her no comfort and she stood, quickly backing her way out of the room. As soon as she was certain her feet had left the room, she began to run away from the chapel. Her feet had not carried her more than a few yards when her mind ordered them to halt.

"What in the world is wrong with me? For years, I have prayed that father's angel would appear to me. Now, tonight, I receive a sign and I run away? No, I think not! Papa, please do not take back the angel! Papa! Angel! I am coming!"

She turned and ran back to the chapel. Hesitating only the slightest of moments to gather her courage, she brought her eyes to gaze upon the angel. Her breath caught in her throat, for now the sight, which met her brought tears of joy to her eyes.

"Papa!" She breathed.

The visage of the stained glass angel before her transformed once again into that of a being both beautiful and terrible. Half of darkness, half of light, but all beautifully and angelically divine. An angel that was hers and hers alone. Before her was the face of her Angel of Music. Or, was it? Something about the face seemed too human to be that of an angel, too sensual. She studied the fullness of the lips, the slight cleft of the chin, the burning orbs of deep, emerald green.

"No. Here is the face of a man. A man that the Angel of Music chose to guide me back onto the path of sweet music."

She knew not why or where the thought originated, but it brought her greater comfort than the idea of an angel visiting her. An angel that would leave her once its duty to her was done.