It was an average night over at Scarlett's, an entertainment lounge that rented it's performers on the side. The club reeked of cheap perfume and it was impossible to forget its true purpose with the flashy, over-done make up popping out of every corner. The audience was the same as every other night- old, rich men who can never be satisfied. All except for one cloaked man who was there to simply forget it all. A man who sat in the corner, averted his eyes from the provocatively dressed women, and just kept drinking. A man who was there for the music. The Phantom of the Opera.
Backstage, the girls were preparing themselves for yet another night onstage. Make up was being applied, bras were stuffed and corsets pulled. And yet, Belle Monreau did nothing to improve her appearance. She did not even attempt t make herself seem healthy. She wore her red, unwashed hair down and even went as far as elevating her neckline to cover her breasts. She wore a simple yet pure white dress which differed from the bold, attention-seeking outfits her coworkers wore. She, unlike others, did not want a "bonus". She didn't want to be bought. All she wanted was a shelter, some food, and music.
It was almost her turn- the Walton twin's striptease was almost over. She took a few deep breathes as the crew members set up the stage for her performance. After a few minutes, she sat in front of the piano, her eyes focused and her lips pursed. She quickly chose the note sheet for the song she'd be performing tonight. And suddenly, the curtain raised, a single spotlight was on her, and the crowd tried to comprehend why she was fully clothed. They didn't understand that her performance was based solely on her talent. They'd never know her type of beauty- beauty of modesty, one that glows from within. No, none of them understood her- except for the Phantom.
She glanced at the crowd and her finger pressed the first key. The sound of that first note echoed throughout the shady lounge. And soon, another note followed. And another. Before anyone could understand the relatively innocent nature of her song, the lyrics came.
"And they're all very nice here,
They tell you there words
You now need for someone to say them
How you're such a star, you can never do wrong,
And the new song is simply amazing.
And it's great everything's going so easily
But you'll blink and it'll all disappear
And then someone will say 'it's time to put your dreams away
Let somebody else sing in here'
And it's not real at all
So don't try believing
It's not you, but somebody else.
Smile back, blow them a kiss
You look great when your face is painted.
And it's not important, but don't ever think
That it's dark here, and you're the only one glowing…
You'll end up with a broken mirror
And a long piece of rope
To wrap around your neck as a necklace
Always the same compliments,
And same old restrains
What to sing and what to delete.
In the end it's just you and besides to yourself
You have no one to whom you can scream.
You'll promise that promise
Which you won't really keep
To be the Only One, or to be no one
To shine or to just disappear.
And it's not real at all
So don't try believing
It's not you, but somebody else.
Smile back, blow them a kiss
You look wonderful when your face is painted.
And it's not important, but don't ever think
That it's dark here, and you're the only one glowing…
You'll end up with a broken mirror
And a long piece of rope
To wrap around your neck as a necklace
And they don't even know you, not even close
And they'll never come near understanding
How at the end of a show, the curtain goes down
And, like everyone, it's alone that you're standing.
But there's one person who knows
He'll glance at you, tired.
And tell you and his old cracking voice
How it may be so good
But it's all over soon
And all you be left with
Is a song…"
The crowd was silent. They didn't know how to respond. They wanted a night full of mindless pleasure, of sexual displays and light kisses. Instead they got a deep, heavy song about fame and glory. Without applause to reward her heavenly voice, she went offstage. She didn't hear the man in the far back corner, honoring her with a single clap. She didn't know what power her words held over him.
After the show, the mysterious man praised Scarlett, the manager of the lounge. He inquired about the girl, the one with the soft yet malicious melody.
"Belle?" The women asked in her course voice. The Phantom held back a cringe. "You want her?" She said, incredulous. "I can't believe it…" she mumbled to herself. "All these years.. good for nothing… and now… him! He wants her!... look at how well dressed… he must have big bucks…" Finally, she came to her senses.
"Right this way, monsieur." She said, flashing her crooked, yellow teeth. She took him to a dressing room.
"That'll be 20 Francs for a night." She said, holding out her hand. The Phantom was surprised, but handed her the money. He knew or the cruelty of this world- no heartless human could surprise him anymore. Scarlett let him into the room, and Belle's response was astonishing. As soon as she realized what was being done, she started yelling.
"No!" She screamed at the top of her lungs. "I will not have it! I can't just be bought like I'm some kind of animal! You can't make me. No amount in the world will make go home with him tonight!" She yelled at Scarlett. As if remembering the Phantoms presence, she abruptly turned to him.
"And you! How dare you come prancing around with your money and your suits and your fine horses and take advantage of the less fortunate? Not all of us were born with a roof over our heads and enough food to feed seventeen pigs, but at least we have morals! You come here, masking your face in shame of your actions, yet you still buy me. You try to convince yourself that it's alright if you pay me, but it's not! It's still rape!" She yelled, pointing her finger as his chest as her face turned red to match her silky hair.
The Phantom stayed annoyingly calm throughout her whole outburst. Finally, he gave Scarlett another five Francs and easily dragged Belle out.
Out of the lounge, carrying her while she struggled, the Phantom had a change to truly take her in. She was malnourished and poorly fed- her skin was pale, but it didn't radiate that healthy vibe that higher class women had. Her features were a blend of aristocratic French and English, which was quite a surprise seeing her line of work. She was neither short nor tall, but unnaturally slim. Her hair was a striking shade of red, contrasting her bright green eyes. Even as she struggled, she was weak- far too weak for a women.
"I demand you put me down, you filthy bastard!" She yelled. Even as her voice twisted with rage, it was majestic.
He put her down, but grabbed her wrist to restraint her. "I will not harm you." The Phantom said gently.
"Oh, but you will. Sure, you'll think you're pleasing me. I'll even pretend to enjoy it, just for the money. But we both know how this will end. And I want to stop that right here. I am not going anywhere near a bed tonight." She said her voice strong. For a girl so weak, she sure had spirit.
The Phantom gave up on trying explaining his intensions. Instead, he dragged her to one of the entrances to his lair.
"Belle, my heart has been shattered. I bought you for the company and for your voice, but not your body. I will not force myself upon you, but I guess only time will prove me right."