The Opera Populaire, once the most famous opera house in all of Paris, now reduced to shambles and a skeletal frame. At least that was all that was left when I visited it that day. Leaves that had blown in through the holes in the walls of the theater crunched beneath my boots as I made my way around the stage. The once blood red seats were charred and blackened; some closest to the stage were reduced to nothing more than piles of ash. Three years ago a chandelier accident had caused a fire to sweep through the Populaire, practically destroying its main theater and most of the general structure. I had promised myself that if I ever came to Paris I would see it; but now there was hardly anything left to see. All the beautiful carvings and statues that lined the domed ceiling were covered in ash and soot, tarnishing the metal from which they had been formed and making them rather sad and pathetic in appearance.
I sighed as I climbed up into the stage, avoiding the holes that had been burned there. Other than those scars, the stage was very stable, and I was able to walk across it, staring across the remainders of the Populaire. I had always wanted to sing here; no opera house in Italy had been this beautiful or this large. The grandeur of how the building once was was enough to pale others in comparison, now hardly anything was left.
My footsteps echoed dully as I strode across the wood of the stage, which squeaked slightly. I sighed again. Autumn light poured in through the holes, giving the theater an almost haunted look about it. As I stared down into the orchestra pit something sparkled and caught my eye. Curious, I braced myself on the edges of the stage and let myself drop down into the pit with a loud thud as my boots hit the wood. I scanned the ground quickly and discovered a small diamond just a few inches from the tip of my boot. I took the small jewel in my hand after stooping to retrieve it and I examined it, turning it over in my hand in interest. This must have been a piece of the chandelier, I reasoned. The diamond was rhombus shaped, and had a small hole at the peak of it. It was the size of my small finger when I did a side by side comparison, and I pushed it into a pouch at my belt as I noticed something else on the bottom of the pit. It looked like a fragment of burnt paper. Carefully I lifted it by its corners and examined it. It was a piece of a manuscript for an opera, the edges burnt away and leaving only a few bars on the page. I glanced around quickly, trying to recover any more surviving pieces of this mysterious opera, for it was not one I recognized. Sure enough after a few moments of searching I found a few more pages, enough to complete an entire song actually. Bits and pieces were still scattered and made hardly any sense with what I had found though. A black leather folder had contained most of the completed song, the cracked and dry leather protecting the pages within while most others were lost to the fire. Don Juan Triumphant was the name of the opera it seemed. I smiled at my discovery and I spread the pages on the stage before I hopped on it myself and examined the notes scrawled in red ink.
As I read the notes a melody began to form inside my head, and I hummed it quietly.
"No thoughts within her head but thoughts of joy," I sung, "No dreams within her heart but dreams of love,"
"Christine," the voice rang though the empty theater but it was no more than a whisper. A voice filled with pain and sorrow, one that filled me with a terrible sadness and terror all at once. I gasped and I dropped the pages of Don Juan I had been holding and staggered backwards, my heart racing a mile a minute.
"Child!" Said a stern voice, this time directly behind me. I almost screamed as I spun around, my heart rate increasing again rapidly. This voice had been a different one though, female. In fact a woman stood on the stage a few feet from where I had been standing, her hands on her hips and glaring at me. Her gown was all in black, with a silver brooch pinned at the collar, and her grey streaked hair was twisted into a braid similar to mine falling down her back. She had to be maybe 40 years old, but she showed surprising age in her face, for the space around her eyes and mouth were hung with wrinkles.
"Well?" She snapped in a strong French accent. "What are you doing here?"
"I was just," I muttered, stooping and gathering the papers I had dropped before she could examine them too closely, and silently cursing myself for letting myself get startled. "Looking around," I finished once I had collected the manuscript.
"It is dangerous, child," The older woman snapped, "you can break your neck if you are not careful." And she grabbed my wrist and pulled me from the stage as though I were actually a child. I yanked my hand from her grip and glowered at her. I was no child, but I was fairly short, just barely topping five feet, and thin which made me look younger than I actually was, and I noticed people had a habit of calling me "child".
"I was being careful, and I am not a child." I snapped back at her, but I followed her from the Populaire nonetheless.
"I better not find you lurking here again," she said waggling a finger in my face and still speaking to me as though to a daughter who had been caught with her hand in a hornets nest. Her black eyes flashed and at that moment she reminded me of an overgrown crow.
"Why-"
"Just don't." She said quickly, cutting over me. We had made our way outside, and we were standing on the temporary boardwalk that had been constructed outside the entrance to the Populaire.
"But-" but she was gone before I could finish my sentence, melting into the crowd people in the streets of Paris. I looked up at the building in sadness. I suppose I had no further business here, and I should be going to where I need to be.
Where had the voice come from? It was said the Populaire was haunted, which of course was plain stupid-foolish, but someone else was in there... And who was that peculiar woman? And wasn't it strange how she had appeared right when a mysterious voice had spoken? I looked over my shoulder at the Populaire wistfully, wishing to investigate further, but if I did not get a move on I would be late!
"Ladies and gentlemen of the cast," Monsieur Velluae said as he stepped out onto the busied stage of the Palais Garnier. Velluae was a stout man, with white hair and a matching mustache. He was dressed in a fine suit, his shoes so shiny you could probably see your reflection in them. I hung back behind him, glancing sheepishly around at the cast of the Garnier. They all blinked at Velluae curiously, waiting for him to continue.
"I have few announcements, our leading soprano is taking the next two seasons off, claiming she has been working too hard," he waved a hand in the air as though that notion was ridiculous. "In her place however will be Madam Alanna Belle," Velluae said proudly, and gestured for me to step forward. I smiled at the cast, but they all peered at me suspiciously for a moment before they called greetings of welcome, and my shoulders relaxed. I let out a breath I had not realized I had been holding. A woman stepped forward with frizzy red hair and a freckle splattered nose. She held out a hand to me.
"Alice Cara," she said as I accepted her hand.
"Alice," Velluae explained as I released Alice's hand, "is second to you on the cast,"
"Pleased to meet you," I said with a smile. Alice grinned at me, her green eyes flashing.
"Don't worry, I don't bite,"
"Most of the time," A man laughed stepping up beside Alice. He was handsome, with dark curly hair that fell just past his ears and dark brown eyes. "Rufus Darl, Madam Belle, I am the leading male soprano on the cast,"
Alice folded her arms and bumped Rufus with her hip, causing him to stagger sideways.
"So Alanna," she said, putting an arm around my shoulders and walking upstage with me as the cast began to disperse. "How did you come to be at the Garnier opera house?"
"I needed a job, and when I heard of a singing position available at the Garnier, I knew I had to audition." I shrugged.
"Where are you from?" Alice inquired, "I don't recognize your accent."
"Tuscany, Italy," I replied. "But I have always dreamed of singing in Paris,"
"Well the Garnier is the best, now that the old Populaire is out of business," Alice explained. She patted the top of my head. "Goodness you are short,"
"Really? I didn't notice," I said with a grin. Alice nudged me on the shoulder.
"Good, you can take a joke," she said with a laugh, "You'll need a good sense of humor if you want to survive with us! Our last leading lady was a stick in the mud, hardly left her dressing room."
"Mm," I murmured. I glanced around the halls of the opera house as Alice and I made our way down the corridors, which buzzed with slight activity. The walls were a bronze color, with silver candle brackets set at frequent intervals. The candles flickered slightly as we passed them, causing our shadows to dance eerily on the walls.
"When does the season begin?" I asked.
"In a few weeks, after we do rehearsals."
"Good..." I muttered.
"Anxious to get on stage?" Alice asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Very," I nodded excitedly. "I used to sing with my father at concerts, but I have never performed in an opera, I was so surprised when I was hired! I didn't think I had enough experience."
"Your father was a musician?"
"Yes, a celloist," I responded. "But he died a year ago."
"Oh I'm sorry," Alice murmured, "My parents live in Britain, I came to Paris when I was 16 to learn at a performing arts school, and I have haven't seen them in years,"
"Well that is too bad."
Alice shrugged. "Not really, my mother is very nag-gy, my mother always has something to complain about; and my father, well I don't see much of him since he cares more about his profession than his family. It is nice to be out here on my own."
I nodded and we lapsed into silence for a time.
"Well I am guessing you are tired," Alice said, shattering the silence.
I nodded.
"Well I can show you to your room, since you have the same as our last Prima,"
"That would be wonderful," I said stifling a yawn.
It turns out that my room was also to be used as a dressing room, a bed on one wall and a mirror and table on the other, and a screen dividing them. I pushed back the screen and I saw that my bags had been brought here earlier and had been dumped on the two person bed. A blue coverlet was draped across the mattress and matched the walls of the room. I shoved everything on the floor, pulling a few articles of clothing from a brown suitcase that opened with a click. I hung a few wool gowns from the hooks in the wardrobe and a few silk ones. I did not like silk, it always made my skin red and itchy. I supposed it was some allergic reaction, but either way I preferred a stout wool gown, since they generally lasted longer than silk and was not as expensive. Of course though I would be expected to wear silk now, no matter how much it irritated my skin. Perhaps I could buy a longer shift to wear under the gowns...
I flopped onto the bed, after changing into a nightgown, and curled up under the coverlet. As I closed my eyes and tried to focus on sleep I could not help but notice that empty feeling in my chest. That hole was always there, eating away at my soul. I sighed and tried to get into a more comfortable position, and thought to myself before I drifted off into the unknown world of sleep, Perhaps my life will be better here, perhaps...