I always wanted to be in theater.  Ever since I was a boy in the freak show, I would dream of it.  Each day as the people would come and cringe in disgust at me, muttering about how I was such a poor creature, I would close my eyes and imagine otherwise.  I would imagine they were smiling at me, that their cries of disgust were instead screams of applause.  It was this that kept me going through that time of my life. 

And I would sing.  Every night I would sing to the gypsies, learning old folk songs as well as writing my own.  As I sang I felt that I was preparing for something.  I would always tell myself I was preparing for a career in theater, that I was singing each song on my way to a grand audience.

I had no idea I was preparing for this.

I sang to her tonight.  She was the last person in the dressing rooms, putting away the props from rehearsal, and I sang.  I sang from the darkness, not showing myself to her.  She was not terrified to hear my voice as I expected.  She said she had been waiting for me.  She called me her angel of music.

Surely this is destiny.  Just as I have been waiting for her all my life, she has been waiting for me.  I am her angel of music, and she is mine.

Romeo and Juliet.  That is the play that is rehearsing as I write this.  I can barely steady my pen to write, so much is my trembling with anticipation for Christine to sing.

I love Shakespeare.  He had such a talent for poetic writing that has seldom been seen since his death.  It was for that reason that I commanded this play be put on, and I see now I made the right choice.  The choice of leading lady, however, is far from correct. 

How could Christine not have been cast as the lead? 

Perhaps it is as Shakespeare wrote:

“You don’t love a woman because she is beautiful.  She is beautiful because you love her.”

I love Christine.  Perhaps it is my love for her that allows me to see her beauty onstage, to hear the purity in her voice.  I must show her how to make everyone love her.  I must teach her, so that all will see what I see, hear what I hear.  In time, all will love her.

And she will love me.

When she began to sing it was as if the orchestra went silent.  Her soaring voice overpowered me, taking over my mind, my soul.  In that moment my entire world was contained within that spotlight, the woman on the stage was all that mattered.  As I swayed to the rise and fall of her voice I knew I was in love.  She was perfect.

And then, all too quickly, it was over.  She was rushed offstage as the scene changed, and the lead took the spotlight.  I stood and watched the rest of the play, longing to see her return.  Alas, she did not. 

How could this be?  How is it that the lead role fell to a mere mortal while an angel sings in the chorus?

Her name is Christine.  A perfect name to match a perfect voice.  I must meet her.  I must speak with her.  I must hear her voice again.

Just as this is my opera house, I will make her mine.