(I'm not giving up on Angel in Disguise, I've just lost my muse :( So Here's another story I've been working on! Enjoy!)


I sat at my master's organ bench, waiting patiently for his return. For five years now, he had been taking care of me since I was found outside his opera house, and I've been helping him like a best friend. I'd been his mentor, maid, and his pupil and confidant. And since the night he found me, I've grown very close to him.

Ah, that night I will never forget. You see, that was the five year anniversary of—

I apologize. I am getting quite ahead of myself. My name is Ryder. I was part of a some-what aristocratic family, with money enough to indulge in a few opera shows every now and then. Mother always wanted her daughter to be well educated in the arts, and father was…well…just being father. Showing up at public events, flaunting his money, et cetera, et cetera. That was his thing.

Anyway, one night, father, mother, my fiancée, Damien San Pierre, who was a native of Rouen, France, and I went to attend a new production at the Opera Popular by a rather unknown artist. The title of the production was Don Juan Triumphant.


And then, my dear friends, I believe you all know what happened next. The lead soprano and her partner were at the pinnacle of their duet, wrapped in each other's embrace above the stage. I was spellbound, leaning almost out of my chair, focused entirely on the stage. Most of my attention was pointed at the man, who was not only physically attractive, but had a voice that hypnotized and enthralled my soul. But then, while I was still zoned out by his voice, I heard he snap of rope being cut, and a thunderous crash: The chandelier has broken.

I don't remember much of the next few minuets. I remember the people, pushing and fighting to get out of the inferno. I scrambled out of my seat, but backtracked, remembering my parents. I saw them, trapped behind a large, fiery beam from the ceiling. I cried out to them, "Mama! Papa!" but a cracking sound from overhead caught my attention. Another beam had come loose, and broke away from the ceiling. It landed across my shoulders, and sent me spiraling to the floor, where I was pinned by the burning wood. The pain was so intense, and all I could hear was the sizzling of my flesh and the helpless cries of my parents. Where is Damien? Was all I could think about, but my thoughts begin to dim. I'm going to die…

But then someone ripped the beam away, and lifted me into their arms. His arms (The figure seemed masculine) cradled me close, and whispered words of comfort to my burnt and broken body. "Damien..?" I try to whisper, but my voice doesn't want to work. I try and try, but I can't speak. Then I don't remember a thing.


Somehow, I had gotten to a doctor's office. My savior at the opera must have brought me there. As I was coming out of my unconsciousness, I overheard the doctor talking to a nurse near my bed.

"Doctor, what is the news on the girl?" the nurse asked.

"Ah, yes. The poor thing, she's lost her voice. Too much smoke inhalation."

I felt my eyes widen, and my hands flew up to my throat. Lost my voice?

"But, I believe that it's only temporary. Her vocal chords may heal eventually, but it will take a long time. She may never talk again, but there's always going to be a chance her voice will recover. For now, she can leave the hospital."

"What about her burns? Will they fade?"

Burns? I look down at my chest, and if I opened my mouth in a soundless scream. My chest was a massacre of burns that spanned from the bottom of my ribcage to the top of my collar bone. My arms were a mess, too. Burns zigzagged up to my the burns on my torso. Tears leaked out of my eyes when this revelation came over me. I could live without my voice, but who would want me around them with a battered body like this?


I left the hospital that afternoon, only to arrive home to even more tragedy. Mother and Father had perished in the Opera, and Damien had vanished. The estate my parents owned would be auctioned off to the public, seeing as I was not yet of age to own property. I was left without a penny, and was forced to beg on the streets like a beggar. . For five years, I lived like that; fend for myself, scrounging for a bit of moldy bread or a sip of wine.

But, in one of my midnight wanderings, I stumbled onto the one place I never wanted to be again: The Opera Populaire. On one window, a sign read The Opera Populaire! Opening again this Spring!!! Rage boiled inside my stomach, and furious tears eked out of my eyes. How DARE the managers re-open this place? This...hell-hole where I lost everything that mattered to me. I bent onto the sidewalk, and reached for any nearby stones. I hurled one at the window with the sign, shattering it. This is for my Mother! I screamed silently. And For My Father! Another rock sailed into a window. And for Damien! And For ME! Two more, into two more windows. I sunk to the floor, sobbing silently in defeat. An angry voice pierced the silent night. "Who dares offend my opera house? You'll pay for that--" But the voice gasped, and I heard it run down stairs. The figure stopped in front of me, looking down at my huddled body on the pavement. I drew my shawl closer around my shoulders, to hide my ugly scars.

"Mademoiselle? Are you alright?" The voice said. It was a man's voice, suave and elegant sounding.

I turn my head up, and met a face I'll never forget. Half illuminated by the moon, his face was handsome, with luscious black hair and golden eyes that seemed to bore into my soul. He wore a suit of black, with a crisp, white button down shirt.

"I said, are you alright, mademoiselle?" He asked again, a little more compassionately.

I blink once, and it hits me. This voice... This voice belongs to the man who saved me! This revelation shocked me so hard, that I fainted in a heap onto the floor.