Chapter 08
Marla gently cupped Christine’s cheek with her hand.
“I was always afraid,” she said, “afraid that you’d end up like me. Even though I was the one who pushed you into that world.”
Behind the glamorous stage, there was a darker, hidden side full of temptations. It was a place where elegantly dressed men would charm young dancers and actresses who knew little of the world. Resisting that kind of sweetness wasn’t easy—Maria knew that all too well.
“But you’ve done well,” she said with a proud smile, her eyes glistening.
“You’ve done so well, Christine. And I know you’ll keep doing well. One day, you’ll become the best prima donna. I’m sure of it. So, don’t be too hard on yourself, okay?”
Christine smiled brightly, her practiced expression showing no hint of inner turmoil.
“I’m fine, Mom. Really,” she said, her voice calm and steady.
Maria kissed her daughter’s forehead lovingly. Then, their short visit was over.
Christine stepped out of the hospital room, letting out a heavy sigh in the hallway.
“Do nothing. Just breathe quietly.”
Lady Nora’s warning echoed in her mind as Christine left the room. Becoming the perfect, proud daughter felt impossibly far away.
Adjusting her scarf, Christine made her way toward the exit.
Oh, my dearest father,
I love him so,
He’s truly wonderful—
The sun in my sky, the light of my soul!
“Christine, where did you learn that song?”
She froze in place, a plate in her hand, as her mother’s sharp voice cut through the air. The cheerful tune stopped abruptly, and her heart sank. Had she done something wrong? Her mother’s piercing gaze made her fumble for an answer.
“I… I was just copying you, Mom,” young Christine stammered.
Even now, she could vividly recall her mother’s expression at that moment—a mixture of joy and pride.
“You’re going to be the best prima donna. My pride and joy.”
The next day, Maria had taken her ten-year-old daughter by the hand and introduced her to the Guno Opera Troupe.
Lost in thought, Christine suddenly found herself in the first-floor lobby. The holiday decorations were in full display, with twinkling lights on the Christmas tree. Unlike when she first entered, the lobby was now bustling with activity. Men in unfamiliar uniforms were controlling access, adding to the commotion.
Looking around, she noticed a banner that read:
“Joy of Christmas: Sharing Love and Kindness.”
It seemed a charity event was taking place.
“Visitors, please head to the left hallway and exit through the back door!” a staff member shouted.
Christine turned toward the designated hallway, weaving her way past the crowd heading toward the event. Walking down a sunny corridor, she eventually reached a cloister overlooking a courtyard.
The warmth of the sun drew her to a bench. It was too inviting to pass up, so she sat down, letting herself rest.
I’ve done well so far.
I’ll keep doing well, just like this…
She stared blankly at the sky, the words feeling hollow as they echoed in her mind. The trees, draped in snow, sparkled in the sunlight like a stage under bright spotlights.
“Brava! Bravo! Christine!”
The memory of that day hit her like a tidal wave, sending shivers down her spine. The day the audience roared with applause, making her feel like the world existed just for her. The rush of standing at the top, even if only for one day, had been intoxicating.
She longed to be back on stage. But as the thought consumed her, sadness overwhelmed her, tears welling in her eyes.
“Don’t cry.”
Startled, Christine quickly looked down to see a small child clutching a green gift box.
“If you cry, Saint Nicholas won’t grant your wish,” the child said earnestly.
Christine bit her lip, holding back her tears.
“I always hold back my tears, even when it hurts,” the child added with a faint smile.
Christine noticed the hospital logo on the girl’s pale blue patient gown. The girl’s face was thin, her complexion ghostly white, with dark shadows under her eyes.
“You’re so brave,” Christine said gently.
Her tears dried quickly, her heart softening as she realized how strong the girl was in the face of her pain.
“What’s your wish, brave little lady?” she asked, pulling the girl’s light blue hat down to cover her bright red ears.
“I want to be an opera singer and sing like an angel. Do you want to hear me sing?”
The girl’s clear, hopeful eyes sparkled like sunlight on a winter morning. Christine nodded eagerly, encouraging her.
The girl began singing a familiar carol, her pure, untrained voice carrying across the courtyard. Christine’s heart stirred as she listened, recalling her timid first performance at the opera troupe.
Without realizing it, Christine softly joined in, harmonizing with the girl’s voice. The sound filled the garden, blending with the warm sunlight and snow-covered scenery.
The Christmas charity event had concluded, and it was time for a commemorative photo.
Arthur stood to the right of the Arsenian princess, both surrounded by dignitaries near the grand Christmas tree in the hospital lobby. As the camera flash went off, Arthur maintained a polite smile. His golden hair and sharp features momentarily stole the attention of every woman in the room.
After fulfilling his ceremonial duties, he stepped aside. The spotlight was now on the princess and the children.
Arthur walked through the hospital, making his way to the cloister for some peace.
“Who do you think will become the crown princess?” he asked casually as they strolled.
“Rumor has it that they’re leaning toward Princess Ariana of Deutschen, but nothing is confirmed yet.”
Arthur recalled her—a woman with golden hair and blue eyes, a symbol of her royal lineage.
Of course, it would be her, he thought, smirking as he lit a cigarette.
But just as he raised it to his lips, a voice rang out.
Kneel and listen,
To the angel’s song.
Arthur froze in place, the hauntingly beautiful melody stirring something deep within him. Slowly, he turned toward the source of the sound.
By the frozen fountain in the snowy courtyard, a small child and a woman sat together on a bench. The woman’s modest clothing and posture caught his attention.
It was her.
Christine Faledon.
