Authors Note: Welcome into my new novel, based on the famous novel 'The Red Shoes.' I was lucky enough to find this magnificent piece and be able to precautious duplicate it in my own words. Of course, I've done quite the changes so you'll find some twists along the way. I hope that you all appreciate this story, seeing as its based on a novel that is a true piece of art.

Title: The Red Shoes

Chapter: One: The illusive company

Brisk winds blew across the quiet streets of Paris, leaving a feeling of utmost vastness upon Joe's impression of his new home. The sky was amidst with fog, leaving the sky looking as if heaven was in reach. Raindrops ran down window panes, trickling down slowly. Trees swayed slowly to the winds rhythm, creating a winter land portrait. Joe hummed as he made his way across the many streets that he would grow to know in a short period of time. He hummed Mozart's allegro, fifth opening, merrily. You see, Joe Shimamura was a composer of orchestras, who had finally left hone to make his name known throughout the world, just like the great Boris Lemontove himself. Joe looked at the address that he had subconsciously scribbled on the palm of his hand. It was now becoming blurs as the rain hit the black ink. Joe covered his hand hurriedly and stepped into the porch of the house which matched his address.

 The azure acrylic paint was beginning to peel on the outside walls, and the wooden door was chipped away at some places. He took the golden key out of his worn pocket and began to unlock the series of locks that hung outside. The rug that lay flatly on the floor was worn and bleached in some spots. Joe figured that the house must have been of age, or the weather was brutally corrupting it little by little, without mercy. Joe chuckled and said quietly to himself; "Well isn't that how the world is, corrupting other merciless?" In front of him appeared an elderly woman, the caretaker. "Hello young man, I am Mrs. Portman, the caretaker." Joe felt exhausted but rapidly smiled and said in a beaming voice; "My name is Joe Shimamura, I phoned earlier to rent this house, surely you know?" Mrs. Portman nodded and gave him the necessary instructions about the house. She walked through the door daintily, giving him a smile on her way out. The door creaked close.

Joe released the cheery expression from his face, dropping the facade. He was not an actor; he would not wear a mask. He was in a higher position, he was the composer. Someone who led the ways of others. Bending them to his will. But Joe was a deeply compassionate man and so he would not use his position for such cruel activities. He found himself only preoccupied in making the music run smoothly, into the hearts of the audience. He himself would never admit to wearing masks at time when he could not. Frustration would consume him at those times. He took a deep breath and reread the note that had initiated his trip to Paris. It was from his teacher, Professor Palmer. It read in thin spidery letters;

Dear Joe,

You have successfully passed you ovations test and now I send you on a scholarship to Paris to do whatever you will with your certificate. It will be given to you at the end of our performance which will be held in the grand theater at the time we discussed over the phone. I commend you on your skills, and please, do not be late.

At the bottom in the same handwriting, perhaps rushed, was his signature. Professor A. Palmer, one of the directors of the best schools in Tokyo had been teaching Joe since his childhood the means of composing.

Joe was about to begin unpacking his suitcase when he heard three knocks at the door. Curiously, he went downstairs and opened it, finding the three cheery faces of his best friends. Chang, Jet, and Great Britain, stood there awaiting his greeting. Withstanding the cold temperature they waved silently and beckoned him to the car that was waiting for them. "So, you've finally arrived, isn't Paris wonderful?" Asked Chang while daydreaming of the warmer days.

"Not in this time of year, it isn't." Jet snorted. Joe shrugged while intercepting a fight between Jet and Chang. "When are you going to go and audition?" Joe looked at Great Britain, who was looking at him earnestly, searching for an answer. "I don't know, first I have to get settled in."  Joe said as he let out a grin. "Which I was doing before you guys interrupted me."  He said in a matter-of-fact tone. Great Britain laughed and shrugged. "It's awfully cold out here, why don't we celebrate you're arrival there?" Great Britain pointed to a cafe across from them. Rich smells wandered into their noses, alluring them to the cafe. "How about this meal is on me?" Offered Great Brilliant in his gallant voice while bowing. "You're not inside the theater so cut it out, as for your offer, I think we'll take it." Replied Jet in an irritating tone.

Great Britain looked at his wallet which seemed to be crying because it was empty. "What was I thinking, had I forgotten that Jet was here with us?" He sighed and looked back to see Jet still pigging out on pastries. "Does this mean that you'll look for Jet before you offer that again?" Asked Joe as he made his way to Great Britain. G.B. nodded and once again looked at his wallet and sigh. "Are you trying out for Lemotiove's Company?" G.B. asked Joe in a contemplating manner. "I am, I still can't believe you aren't." G.B. slouched himself against the door of the restaurant and closed his eyes. "Boris Lemotiove's is a very empowering man, I act for the freedom of roles, and he would take that away from me." Joe nodded and though about the invitation that he had received to audition for the company. It had been his lifelong dream to participate in France's most illusive ballet company, and yet here he was, having doubts.

"I have to go G.B., thanks for the meal; although I'm sure Jet enjoyed it more than any of us. I have to go or I'll be late." G.B. nodded in understanding and watched as Joe sped of on the way to the grand theater. He didn't have the heart to tell him that he had auditioned for the company and was refused. He sighed at the sight of Jet and murmured under his breath; "He has no idea what he's getting into. Boris can be deceiving along with his illusive company.

A/N: I hope you guys like it; so please R/R.

~Sorrowful~