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

10. His Curse Is On This Opera

Chapter Ten || His Curse Is On This Opera

"...and maybe he would have been the Angel of Music to the fullest extent if God had clothed his soul in beauty rather than loathsome decay." ~ Le Fantôme de l'Opéra by Gaston Leroux

~*~

The scraping of props being dragged across the floor. The shuffle of feet as they hurried to change into their costumes. The lace tightening a corset around a poor girl's torso. I focused on all the sounds. I focused on all the yells, all the shouts, all the frantic commands. I listened to the trills coming from the Prima Donna's dressing room as Carlotta warmed up her voice. I listened to the strains of muscles as the corps de ballet stretched their sore limbs. All this I focused on, trying in vain to ignore the creaking noise of overworked floorboards as Erik lurked in the shadows, watching as the people of his kingdom defied their king. He paced the upper catwalk feeling betrayed and enraged that his citizens would rebel against their ruler who had been so accommodating to them all these years. I listened to everything else to drown out the sound of his grinding teeth and boiling blood.

Instead I listened to Christine preparing for her minute role; to Raoul's footsteps in the chapel where Christine used to call her Angel of Music; to his fingers brushing the now cold candles she would light for her deceased father.

The clock backstage chimed 7:30 PM, cueing the chaos to grow. I passed out the scores of Il Muto that contained the changes and tweaks I had made.

The chairs in the auditorium squeaked under the weight of their occupants. The air swooshed as the ladies' fans stirred against it. Raoul's footsteps walked up the stairway just as Erik's footsteps walked up the hidden passageway inside First-Tier Box Five's column. Raoul made it to Box Five first, the hidden door to Box Five closing before Erik stormed up to the top of the opera house.

With a steady hand I held up my copy of Il Muto and waited for the lights to dim and the actors to take their places onstage. When the lights lowered, a pair of footsteps came up behind me and I turned to face Buquet. He looked out of breath, disheveled as usual. I blinked once, twice, and, after my third blink, it was no longer Buquet who stood next to me, but Loki. His eyes, the color of poisonous venom, anxiously looked up at the tangled mess of walkways and ropes. Raising my eyebrows I asked, "Is something wrong?"

Loki's sharp eyes met mine and he answered with a quick, "No."

Narrowing my eyes I pressed, "You sure?"

Loki snapped, "Nothing's wrong, Alouette!" But his lie was betrayed by the way his eyes continued to glance up at the catwalks and the walkway around the dome of the auditorium.

My own eyes followed where he looked. Stagehands readied themselves at the railings, waiting for their cue to change the opera's scenery. Above the audience, the chandelier sparkled like stars amongst the white clouds the innocent painted cherubs lounged upon. It's tinkles sounded like what I imagined the angel's laughter would sound like if they were real. The chandelier reigned high above the theater; majestic, dominant, and beautiful - much like Erik.

I looked sideways at Loki in the dark wings of the stage, wondering what trouble he's gotten himself into now.

Carlotta walked onstage, her friends in the orchestra seats bursting into a round of applause that was completely out of place. She smiled, the largeness of it making it look unnatural. Her white powdered bosom threatened to spill over the top of her corset with every deep breath she took, the giant wig swaying slightly as she sang, "Serafimo, your disguise is perfect!" In the orchestra pit, Armand hit the wooden block to make the sound of someone knocking on the artificial door. "Why who can-a this be?"