Chapter One
January, 1855
God alone could only know what women went through when they gave birth. I cursed Him with every fiber of my body during the eight months and fortnight I carried this child. I cursed the Lord, Henri, Jerome, Erik, the wine that had been left to our disposal; yet more so than any man, Lord, or cabernet… I cursed myself. This child had no right to be born into my arms, nor did I have the right to keep it there.
It was ridiculous that this child should choose to make its appearance today. I could remember throwing open my eyes that morning as a contraction tore through my body, and turning to the small window within my flat, and Jack Frost was out there in blizzard form, making an appearance at the glass. The snow was unforgiving outside and none within all of Versailles would dare reveal bare flesh to the wicked winds and biting snow that charged about the walls of the Opera House. Nevertheless, I might as well have been chained to my bed, for I found myself unable to move from the sheets and woolen entanglement of blankets wrapped around my swollen mound.
Marguerite and Christine kept to my side. Christine was content to keep simple conversation or tend to the bits of minor sewing left in a small basket that had fallen to the wayside of my attention and bed. Meg could oft find something to moan about, but she would fall silent and take her hand as contractions continued through the hours. Meg is a child enough is she not? I thought towards the heavens, releasing my daughter's hand as my muscles relaxed. Why share another?
My cousin, Gabriel Déféyer, appeared from the spare room that had been left to his disposal and did not hesitate to take a seat to my left. His company was stoic towards myself, but there was excitement as he eyed my belly through the blankets. The feeling was echoed as Jerome Reyer made his appearance to my bedside, but excitement and worry mixed in a more tasteful manner as he took my hand at Meg's mercy. The man who had helped create this bastard child wrapped his free hand to cover my white knuckles and silently took what force my hand could administer unto his own. I could only sigh and collapse against the pillows behind me.
Meg had left the room with Christine to fetch soup under Gabriel's suggestion and had returned, sans Christine, stepping with careless strides and sharing my meal with the floor.
"Ah, mon peitie, here now, I will take it to your mother," Jerome's soft voice offered as he took to her side, leaving mine.
Meg however was unappreciative of the gesture as she hissed, "I can do it!" I was in no mood to bear witness to her bitter snaps at Jerome.
"Meg." the tone was short, sharp and almost identical to the tone my own child had taken with my fiancée. Almost as if retaliating, with little breath in between, Marguerite threw herself to the floor, after the bowl had been removed from her hands, and howled her objections.
"It is not fair!" she screeched, "I only wish to help!" her volume rose in time with my temper as pain swept the crown of my head. Nevertheless, she continued to wail and gasp for air in her dramatic cries, "And! And! Everyone curses my very being here! I never want to dance again! I DO NOT WANT A LITTLE BROTHER OR SISTER!"
I had not the strength to leap to my feet and smack sense into the wailing child, as I would have done in a better state, but a pounding head and wailing child had put me off any fatigue with a short burst of energy as I bellowed, "Marguerite Annabel Clarice Giry!"
The room fell silent as wide amber eyes turned towards me. My gaze unyielding, I spoke to the company not within my vision, "I wish to speak to Meg. Alone."
Gabriel was quick to object, "We cannot leave you here alone with her—"
"I said, I wish to speak to my daughter in private." My hot gaze flickered towards him for a short moment before he bowed his head in submission and left with Jerome.
The door clicked shut and there was the movement of bodies outside the door. Meg rose from the floor, tears running down her face, hate laced in her eyes as though blaming me for everything. With great effort I seized her wrist in my hand, and drew her close, our eyes locking at equal level.
"I will not have you thinking I want this child, Marguerite." Her eyes widened in shock, but pleasant surprise lingered. "You don't?" she asked me as though she were asking the honesty of a story told by the ballet rats. I drew my arm up towards her shoulder, still holding her close.
"I will not tolerate you bemoaning and wailing like a patron brat, do you understand?"
She smirked triumphantly and replied obediently, "Yes, Mama."
Satisfied with a quiet child I lay back against the pillows once more, having unconsciously leaned towards Meg as I spoke. Taking a moment to gawk, Meg unashamedly prodded her forefinger at my swollen stomach. "Mama," she paused looking towards me once again, "If you do not wish to have the baby, why did you not see that special doctor and let him take the baby from you?" I gritted my teeth at the reminder of those thoughts. New science provided a doctor to take an unwanted child from within you. It saved women the misery of an unwanted child—and though many failed to see this, saved the child grief of being unloved.
One whose vision was blinded the most was Erik Destler … The man was crippled and deformed along the left side of his face and was oft thought mute or even a Mongolian idiot. Stories about him were endless to suggestion and facts left room for the imagination to spin stories. He in fact was a composer and spent time by his piano down in the cellars of the opera—where he was most comfortable. It only caused more speculation as to his being and sanity. Stories themselves faded with time, and were soon replaced with one much more thrilling. The man himself was no man, but a Ghost. The Opera Ghost.
Meg's question-- or rather, her finger-- prodded me for an answer. I sighed, "Someone convinced me that it was not the wisest choice for the sake of my own health. It shall be put in an orphanage."
I closed the subject while Meg however, did not. "I think you should just not feed it, Mama. Then it will go to God and we shall never have to mind it." Her voice was innocent and nonchalant as she played with the fringe of a blanket.
I muttered half to myself, "Not even the heavens above would wish to take this child Meg… Not even God himself." Meg heard my musings and could not help but fantasize.
"Perhaps we shall be lucky and it shall be a sickly thing and die. If not, we could give it to the Opera Ghost." Her eyes widened as I looked to her, "He could train it to dance for coins! Joseph Bouquet said that is what the Ghost does with the little children he takes!" I rolled my eyes to the heavens above and let Gabriel take his seat to my left and Jerome to my right as Meg opened the door to them.
"You should refrain from entertaining yourself with silly stories like that…" Jerome said, and I could only concur. "You will not speak of the Opera Ghost around me, Marguerite." She continued to ramble, but what she began to say only melted away into a high-pitched ring in my ears as a wicked tear from within sent me reeling into the bed.
Attentions turned from Meg's story to my cringing form and I suddenly felt as though I was separate from my body. Nothing possessed sound as I watched Gabriel and Marguerite flee from the room no doubt to fetch a doctor. I could only wonder why the doctor was not called sooner as Jerome dabbed at the perspiration that began to collect so suddenly along my brow.
Through my clenched jaw I hissed at Jerome, "Where is Erik—God forbid how much he was against me getting rid of this child—he should witness this vermin being born!" My words seemed to slap Jerome in the face, but he stayed fast to my side as I could only grunt in pain.
I could never recall how many minutes or hours I spent in pain. Having Meg was worlds away from what I was experiencing. The pain would subside for moments at a time only to return with a gripping vengeance. I could only remember the moment Erik appeared at the foot of my bed moving blankets and skirts out of his way, commanding me to push. My mind split in two as I thought as to why a man like Erik would dare take to playing doctor, while the other half of my mind reminded me of the countless books he owned on sciences and the years he spent in hospitals. Contrary to the belief, Erik simply kept to himself and only paused for mere moments to scare the ballet girls-- who dared bother him-- senseless before returning to his business. I could not make sense of anything until I suddenly felt my womb rid itself of the life form I had spent months carrying within and my body gasp for air I did not know was being withheld from my lungs.
God had swiftly ended the pain, and from the silence, I wondered if he had swiftly removed this cur from my life. I could feel light tugging as Erik tied a string to the umbilical cord and disconnected myself from the baby. Erik however would not allow this child to be left to its own devices as he so often had the audacity to remind me. The thing in his arms was a sick blue and its body was mangled in itself. The man at my feet pulled at something around the neck of the silent baby. I prayed it would remain silent. Erik freed the child from the umbilical cord that had strangled it limp, and began to rub its back. He muttered words of encouragement as Gabriel, Jerome and myself watched in wonderment and horror. Tears began to collect in the crippled man's eyes as he fiercely told the child as though it could hear him, "Cry, damn you! Cry!"
I watched as the baby twitched in his hands, beginning to writhe while in a move of desperation, Erik took his pinky finger and placed it down the baby's throat and removed it quickly. The child began to writhe more wildly as it finally rid itself of the fluids that blocked its airway and finally, as though triumphantly, released a wail. There was a chorus of sighs following my own yet Jerome had nothing but emotions of shock, horror, awe and a cowardice that was only seen in a man's face when meeting his child.
Erik held the baby, cradling it in his hands, unsure of what to make of its crying. He may have known sciences, but he failed if he tried to proceed further than what was fact. Jerome let out an audible sigh of relief and I collapsed against the pillows beneath me once again.
"It… It's a girl." Erik finally announced, and a smile like nothing the world had seen before appeared on Jerome's face. Erik however looked rather helpless with the child in his hands.
"Wrap it up…" I directed Erik as he looked to me and back to the squirming child. I knew very well it needed to be washed of the fluids that bathed it, but I could care less.
"Have you any blankets for her?" He asked, and I gestured to a bureau on the wall opposite my bed. Picking up in a knowing stride once more, Erik knew his movements well as he wrapped the babe in a cloth he deemed suitable, and then returned to me, offering to cast the thing into my arms. I felt filthy, but oddly complete as a turned my head from the man and child.
"No," I said, "I simply carried it… I have no intentions to do anything more." The words seemed bittersweet in my mouth. I could hear Erik's frustration and shock in his words.
"Do not be stupid… You are her mother!" I watched the child from the corner of my eye as she squirmed to get away, as if sensing my hostility towards her. It was sadistic, but satisfying to watch.
"You need to feed her!" Erik insisted. I turned my head farther; not meeting the eyes of other company around me as my breasts in turn objected to the sore sucking that might be inflicted upon them.
"No, I won't. I made a promise to simply carry it. Nothing further," I paused. "You know of other supplements for breast milk." As I finished, I could feel Erik's eyes upon me. Disbelief and a tingling sensation of malice surrounded him as he held the child closer to him.
"So, you are simply going to abandon her?" He paused in search of a better word, "Reject her!" He finished, malice making its appearance more noted.
"No. I am leaving her in Jerome's care." To my surprise, the feeling of being unclean outweighed the feeling of guilt as I spoke, "He was the one who insisted on keeping the child, he may have the burden of it."
Erik and Jerome's voices chorused, "What?" and Erik continued in his characteristic audacity, "You do not even have a reason to reject her!" My voice raised in malice and volume to match his.
"This is a child even God himself would not take should I abandon it to die in the cold!" My words scorned Jerome visibly and emotionally.
"But… Annie… She needs a mother!" His voice called his pet name for me in such a broken manner it almost made me wish that I had the capacity to love this child. I turned my gaze further away still unable to look him in the eye.
I could almost hear my late husband laughing at the situation. How broken he left me, only to break me further as he left his dowry to a common whore—his mistress.
'My dear,' he would say with a chuckle, 'What a predicament you seem to be in, Antoinette…' His laugh would only echo as I screamed in frustration within. To Erik, Jerome and Gabriel, I remained silent.
"Dear God," Erik whispered, "You are completely devoid of emotion aren't you?" His voice rose with realization that he should have made decades ago during our teenage years as companions.
"You have no heart at all! You… You are but a shell!" His voice dropped in defeat—not for himself, but for the child still in his arms. "An automaton," He finished. I refused to be unearthed by this man whose words grew increasingly agitating, and I looked to Erik's face.
"For a thing conceived from a night of lust, I am bound to be void of emotion. Now get out of my home… I wish to have time alone with my daughter… who is standing outside." I looked away once more. If I were to look at that man any longer, I am quite sure his eyes would have driven me mad with the look inside them. Horror, disgust and fury.
"And you… you were the very woman who had the audacity to call me a monster!"
"I have audacity to say many things, now leave me be." My words were in vein as he spoke over me. Nay, cursed over me.
"Well Madame! I truly pity you… I hope you die alone and unwanted! That you will one day know what it is like to be truly alone in the world!" I was vexed at his words—for they were the first of their kind to shake me. I curled my arms around my form, which began to feel unexpectedly empty, and spoke to the two men who were still by my side.
"I implied that all of you were to leave," I spat, unable to move without feeling increasingly foul. Erik had turned on his heel; Jerome following him for the babe was still in the composer's arms. Gabriel followed out, his eyes forward and void of all emotion to me once again. The door slammed shut and once again I felt queer, empty, and at length, alone.
Hours were spent alone in my flat as Meg had not dared to see me after hearing what had gone on. My limbs were weak as I climbed into the bath that was summoned for me. I could not think of anything but the hollow sensation that was beginning to overwhelm my body. The feelings of impurity and a sense of mocking eyes watching me from the depths of hell below were starting to wreak havoc upon my brain.
With freshly laundered sheets and blankets upon my bed, I settled in, exhausted and unable to pick one of the innumerable thoughts gyrating within my head. It would make another's head spin as to wondering why I would act in such a way, but I could only reel at the memory of my late bleed.
The management of the Versailles Opera hosted a fairly crafty social function for the members of its company. Nothing more than a small banquet and reception. It was often a night would pass upon and spend time with Marguerite when she was younger but in more recent years, Jerome had lured me out into the light. He would often say in his docile voice,
"You are far too much the hermit, Annie!"
That was another thing that tore me to bits in vexation and fascination. His blasted pet names for me. For God's sake, it was Antoinette!
Nevertheless, he and I met as children in Versailles. Both of us children of the opera. He worked as the stiff's apprentice and myself, one of the many daughters sent to be part of the corps de Ballet. Years were spent causing mischief and wreaking havoc upon the stagehands while our shrill laughter filled the air.
I was not much past my tenth year when I met Erik. Once again, I had escaped my household to draw Jerome out from his slumbering state and join me in our many nighttime adventures. I had passed a boy, sobbing in an alleyway. He was slim in appearance, much like Jerome, but this boy was not simply slim—he was starved to this appearance. His face was concealed behind what seemed to be a ruined and soiled cloth, with the exception of two holes to allow him to see through. It was then I was first faced with the brilliantly green-gold eyes that gave the illusion of a glow.
Out of what seemed infinite compassion that would run dry, as I grew older, Jerome and I came to the agreement to help this boy. It was in the weeks following, the three of us-- now four as my cousin Gabriel joined us-- became inseparable friends.
Weeks became months, and in exchange became years, and we grew older. Jerome expressed great interest and hope in a courtship with myself, but lost to a man by the name of Henri Giry. My first love, and father of Marguerite. He was a member of the guard and a loyal one at that and never once did he falter as a father. It was until his dying day he remained loyal to the things he believed in. I, however, was not among those things.
It was announced he had been shot and killed while on duty and the news shattered what was left of my crumbling heart. Meg was no more than seven, and Erik had taken to leaving our band of friends to spend years in places we would never know of. My trust in men had begun to deteriorate after Erik left without a word. My daughter's daily temper tantrums were wearing on my patience and those around her. Erik had returned a few weeks before Henri had been shot and there was time spent between the two men, though with air so bitter between the two, it was almost a relief to Erik when he watched me crumble to my knees before the very officer whom had delivered the news.
With the marriage to me, a dowry kept handsome company and was added to the sufficient finances Henri had. He and I were far from noble or patron status, but it was a comfortable way of living. Of course, the money was in Henri's name, but never once did he hesitate to let me spend as I wished.
However, proof of what little thought he left to me was in his will. The handsome and sweet sum of dowry and family finances turned wretched and acidic within my hands and pockets, and in due course, became nonexistent. He left but a small collection of francs to Meg and myself while the rest was turned to the guard and a vile whore whom he had slept with during my months carrying our child.
I could tear her eyes from her ignoble head and scream in frustration all I wanted, but it would never return Henri to me. Meg and I left, for our home no longer belonged to us—but to his mistress. Estelle. Even the name was rancid to speak.
Downtrodden and broken, with little money left to our names, Meg and I left for the centre of Versailles, to return to a place I once called home, at Jerome's suggestion. The Versailles Opera. They offered plenty of positions but I was considered to old to audition and late for their season. However, they were seeking a ballet mistress. They offered housing within and around the Opera and would take Meg as a part of their younger collection of dancers. Desperate, I agreed with support from Jerome who had been the stiff for several years now, and began to work within the week. Things seemed to gather themselves together in time but the thoughts of Henri were still heavily etched within my mind.
Months had passed once again and now Meg was close upon her ninth birthday when the Opera had hosted one of its quaint social gatherings. Jerome had succeeded once again to draw me from my flat, and even Erik had taken residence within the Versailles Opera – unbeknownst to the management. The three of us made silent company of one another and Cabernet became the spark of conversation.
Copious amounts of wine began to flow, and not once did neither Jerome nor I pause to think of any consequences. We only woke to such consequences while in each other's arms and barbarous headaches and nausea raged within.
The evening after we had woken in one another's arms, I sat with my head buried in my hands praying to the Lord above that if he were to ever grace me with death, that Henri would forgive me. Regardless of Henri's faltering loyalties, it was in my best judgment to remain loyal to him, even when he was in death.
I spent the following days avoiding Jerome as best I could outside of what was completely necessary, making allowances for rehearsals in which required we worked together. I refused to be reminded of that night, and yet, Jerome seemed to insist upon it. This man who had put up with my pestering as a child, witnessed my marriage to Henri , and still remained loyal as a dog though scorned by its master. He was a frustrating character—but some part of me could not help but love him for it. I was torn.
It destroyed me to discover I was expecting, for suddenly the night I had spent with Jerome returned to haunt me, weeks after I thought I could put the event behind me. This thing that had grown inside me would forever be a reminder of my mistakes—the last glowing embers of a fire long thought smothered. This child seemed to be named fittingly, Ember.
And I hated her so.
Brief Author's Note: I've re-written this story about 20 times, and this is the copy I'm happiest with. Updates will come slowly but hopefully a little more regularly. Please review, and pass on to friends and phans? I want to get a little more support behind this so I have a little more motivation to write. The general idea of this is NOT an E/OC fic, I tend to favour E/C but I do enjoy R/C as well. Nevertheless, this jumps perspective, and I hope this was clear as to who was talking... cookies to who can get it right :) Thanks again for reading, and please fulfill both sides of R&R!