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

5. The Old Managers

She had asked if I knew what he looked like. I answered with a quiet, "No."

The opening notes for Act III began. My head lifted from my hands and I squinted down at the burning lights. I filled my lungs to their breaking point and pushed myself from my place on the stairs. My hands fiercely shook, the stress and heartache taking its toll on my nerves. I grabbed the railing to steady them, to steady me.

Christine stepped onstage, the heavy costume trailing behind her. I wondered fleetingly how a small frame as hers managed to hold such a heavy costume. I shook my head and forced myself to focus.

Destiny. I thought. Tonight was destiny.

I closed my eyes. Christine closed hers. The music began.

When I had opened my eyes I gazed at the crowd through Christine, a blue haze slightly clouding my vision. I did as I had before. I gave Christine her voice, I gave her part of my soul. A gift I have only given once in my lifetime. Or twice now.

It was easier this time, my powers stronger than they had been over one hundred years ago. She didn't faint, I didn't weaken. Both of us stood tall once it was over; Christine's chin raised with beaming bliss at success, mine raised in attempt to keep the facade of strength and indifference.

I now sat in my room, my hands still trembling like a caffeine addict's. Downstairs I heard the party going on to celebrate Christine's triumph and a successful opening night for the new managers.

From where I had my head buried in my arms on my desk, I heard the faint woosh of air swirling beside me, closely followed by a smooth voice, "How much longer do you think you can do this?"

I turned my head to the side, my left cheek resting on my forearms, "Haven't seen you in a while, Loki. I thought you had abandoned me here."

He leaned against the side of my plain mahogany desk, looking down at me with disinterest, "Maybe I should abandon you here. Perhaps then you'll come to your senses and realize that boy liked you."

Boy. That name seems to be going around. Loki is at least three hundred years older than Erik. And me...well....I suppose it would be hypocritical to make comments about the age difference between Erik and Christine.

Loki picked up the rose Erik had given me and I snapped up and snatched it from him, "Do not touch this!" I stared at him long and hard, my lip quivering and my hand shaking as I set the rose a safe distance away from him.

He scoffed at me and shook his head, "You're pathetic. Look at you, trembling like you're about to shatter into a million pieces. Admit it, Alouette. You're close to breaking."

I wanted to ask what he meant by breaking. Did he mean I was close to giving in to his game or having an emotional breakdown? I myself am not sure which one I am closer to.

"Do you remember how you were after tonight? After you learned of your lover's love for his little pupil?" Loki raised his invisible brow and I turned away, wanting the memory to fade.

Instead of it fading, however, an image of myself appeared at the mirror I had turned my attention to. She faded into Christine, and then back to me, and then back to Christine, then flickering slightly between both Christine and me as a bead of sweat trickled down my brow, mixing with the tear that was already gathered at my chin.

Loki chuckled behind me, "Shapeshifting was never your strongest power."

I shut my eyes tight and held my face in my hands, unable to say anything. I had wanted so badly to be Christine, to be Erik's, that I briefly thought I could fool him into thinking I was her, if only for just one day. I tried so hard to hold Christine's image, but just like me, the image had been flawed.

I heard the illusion vanish. Loki remained leaning against the desk, regarding me with curiosity. An apple appeared in his hand and he rubbed it against the front of his armor to shine it, "Had the mortal ever heard you sing? Truly sing? Or has he only heard the diminished voice you use when you pretend to be a mortal?" He took a loud bite, the crunchy fruit being devoured by his sharp teeth.

I shook my head, my hands still covering my face to protect it from any more unwanted images.

The desk shifted as Loki gently pushed himself into an upright position, "The only reason Kirsten-"

"Christine."

"-was such a success is because it is your voice that comes from her mouth. You gave her a part of you, the Goddess of Music. And now he loves her. The world will love her because of you. And she will love him because of the desire you planted in her."

I tasted blood in my mouth from where my teeth dug into my lip. The rest of my body trembled along with my hands.

It is true. I gave her her voice, I gave her my voice, my true voice. It was before I had known how to enhance voices without giving them my voice. Back then I didn't have a clue what effect it would have on mortals...on Erik...

The floorboards creaked under Loki's heavy steps. He began mocking the song I had written, the song Christine had sung, "Think of it. All the regret you'll feel those years from now." He came around my other side, bending low to wrap his arm around my shoulders. "Come now, Alouette. Think of it. Don't you want our night to be more than it was? Don't you want it to be real? To have his real voice sighing your name and writing love notes across your flesh with his lips? Don't you want his arms around you instead of an impostor's? Instead of mine?" He whispered close to my cold ear, the smell of apple drifting to my nostrils, "Think of it, Alouette."

I thought of it. I thought of it hard. Images from that night came back to me like a hurricane of unwanted memories. The weight of his hips on mine. The smell of our passion. The sound of his groans. The way Erik's green eyes stared back into mine as he pressed his forehead against mine. Only they weren't Erik's eyes, they were Loki's. His green eyes were different from Erik's. They were brighter, sharper, a hint of malice behind them. Erik's were a deeper green, kind and sad, the ghost of his past creating shadows in them. How I wanted those eyes, his true eyes, to stare back at me with the same amount of desire I had when I stared at him.

I lifted my head from my hands, seeing Loki's smirk out of the corner of my blue eye. Those images he brought back to me dangled like the forbidden fruit, drawing me, coaxing me to take it with its delicious and ripe beauty. The fruit was like the fruit of William Blake's Poison Tree that was watered with tears and sunned with false smiles; delicious but deadly. I could taste the sweet redness on my tongue before my fingers had even touched it.

We both sat in silence, Loki's serpent eyes watching me closely, mine fixed on the image Loki had created in my imagination. And then, slowly, the fingers of my mind uncurled, extending to that enticing apple, so sweet, so red, so juicy. I plucked it free from the Forbidden Tree, "What is your plan?"