Angel of Music
Prologue
It is cold outside, very cold. You could see your breath, it was like a puff of smoke being expelled from your mouth. You have been travailing for days, you ran out of food four days back. You have just reach the city Paris and now you are starving. You try desperately to earn some money to at least buy something to eat but so far no luck you try once more.
"A penny please, madame?" You desperately tug on the sleeve of a woman passing by. She wrinkles her nose and pulls away.
You are beginning to think that no one will have pity on you. No one cares about the small beggar girl on the street in front of the Opera House.
You try to keep your mind off the emptiness in your stomach and the cold morning air by reading the posters by the Opera House. "Hannibal," one screams. "Il Muto." "Christine Daae."
You then notice a new sign, one that was not there yesterday. "Wanted," it reads. "Talented young singers and ballerinas to perform in operas. Room and board provided. Apply in Opera House."
You remember, long ago, before your parents died you had, had vocal training and dance lessons. Perhaps you would do! With new hope you ran to the Opera House try and fix your appearance somewhat and pulled open the heavy doors. At last. An opportunity.
O.o
It has now been five years since you first came to the Opera House. You are now a woman of sixteen, a chorus girl. You have rich chestnut locks that tumble down your back in waves, and your eyes are an entrancing shade of turquoise.
You live in your dressing room, a small room that had once been your friend's...Christine Daae's. Now that she is the star, she has a much bigger dressing room.
You have heard of the famous Phantom of the Opera incident---who has not? Ten years ago, the Phantom took Christine and nearly killed her husband, Vicomte Raoul de Chagny. It was though that the Phantom of the opera was long in the past---or so it seems.
One November day, you are rehearsing your newest opera. Christine is the lead, while ten or so chorus girl stand in the background. You, of course, are among them.
Suddenly, you hear a loud crash. In horror, you realize that one of the light fixtures has fallen and shattered right next to you. Flames begin to lick at your long costume skirt.
"Water!" a girl screams. "Someone get water!"
Everyone is screaming, and the stage is pure pandemonium.
"Fire!"
"Help!"
"Police!"
"WATER!" you screech.
You try to stomp out the fire, but the flames are getting dangerously close to your skin. You race to the stage wing, snatch a pail of drinking water, and douse the flames. They smolder for a while, but soon die down.
"Miss Armande!" Everyone rushes over to you. "Emilie, are you hurt? Are you all right?"
"Just fine," you gasp, before falling to the floor in a dead faint.