Chapter 1

The ballet mistress judged my appearance with a calculating gaze, circling me as a predator would with its prey. I tried to control my glare, believe me I did, but it proved as far too much of a challenging task. My expression was twinned with death itself.

She studied me from all angles; prodding me here and poking me there. If I am not mistaken, she also inhaled deeply from behind me.

The woman had a stern expression on her aged features and her hair was thrown up at the top of her head at such a height that I wondered if she was always in great discomfort. She certainly looked as though she had smelt something vile or possibly had something stuck up her-

"She will suffice," the mistress decided, "But does she have talent, Monsieur?"

My father, a portly man with a terribly red face and swollen limbs, was the man that had dragged me here in the first place. He certainly already knew the answer to that question, but still he hesitated. It was almost as if he thought lying would do him good.

"She has not… demonstrated any talents as of yet. Though she has a charming face, no?"

I very nearly snorted- knowing my father considered me the scum of the earth- though somehow I refrained. I was in enough trouble anyhow and making 'unladylike' noises would not improve my case.

"It is true that a pretty face will get you far in some professions, but not in this one. Au revoir, thank you for your time."

By now she had begun ushering us out, but my reckless, foolish father persevered.

"Fine, if there is no place in the chorus or ballet, put her on the cleaning staff. Please, Madame, I am desperate." Father spoke in hushed tones.

"Why so desperate, good Monsieur?" The Madame spoke in whispers also, but my ears strained.

"The child is beyond my and my wife's control. She has done some terrible, unforgivable things. Things I fear I cannot speak of."

"And?" The mistress urged.

I couldn't hold back an eye roll. It was highly amusing how they were speaking of me so freely as though I wasn't standing right next to them.

"We believe," he hesitated again, "that she is mentally challenged. It brings great shame upon our well-established family. We have read about your excellent teachings and your ability to right the wrongs of young women. Please, help me and if not, her."

The woman gave father a fake, sympathetic smile. I had seen this smile before, many times, used for me. Whenever I told people of my troubles, I would receive those smiles, and maybe a slight pat on the arm. 'Yes darling, but I'm sure everything will be just fine,' they'd say, or "such a vivid imagination!'.

For a minute I thought she would decline (no, I hoped she would). If she did I could carry on being such a 'terrible burden' to my parents. Evil, isn't it? If only they had listened to me when I told them I needed help. We would have never amounted to this if they had acted as parents should.

They were shunning me for something they could have so easily prevented. I smirked with narrowed eyes at the irony and said a silent prayer to whoever was up there in the sky.

Closing my eyes, I mentally chanted, say no, say no, please say no.

"Monsieur, I am indeed always up for a challenge. I will take on your daughter."

My eyes popped open at once, only to quickly narrow to slits at the mistress.

"Oh, Madame! Oh than-" Father began.

"You may leave now. I expect pay every month. I will write to you every so often to report on her progress. That will be all. Say your goodbyes."

I decided that I disliked the uptight woman, though it was highly amusing that she was able to talk to my father in that offhand manner.

Father nodded at me briefly, making little eye contact, before turning back to the mistress.

"Excuse my bad manners, but I am not quite sure I caught your name. Nor did I introduce my…daughter."

He seemed to have trouble with the word daughter. Charming.

"Madame Elizabeth Deschamps, at your service. Might I inquire your name, Monsieur?" She bowed her head politely.

"Phillipe Baudin, Madame. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. I trust you will notify me on any and all complications?" Father by now hand started backing away.

"But of course. Though I can assure you there will be no need."

"Very well. Goodbye then." He bowed before turning swiftly on his heel and briskly walking out.

Bye then, father dearest.

Now it was just I and Madame Deschamps. I was still puzzled as to why exactly a ballet mistress of all things was taking on troubled girls and making them suitable to be in the company of the highest Parisian society.

I wanted to leave. I didn't like the way she looked at me. It was like she could see into my mind and was probing at my darkest secrets.

No! I wanted to yell. I won't let you! She was just like everyone else- prying to know everything about me. But this time…this time I wouldn't tell. So far I had done an excellent job at remaining mute and I planned to continue.

"What is your name, girl?" Drat.

I stubbornly turned away, pretending not to have heard.

"I know you are not mute; nor are you deaf," she paused, "I wish for you to understand that I will not ask about what you have done in your past. I admit that I, naturally, am slightly curious but it is not my place to pry."

My eyes sparkled with approval and I met her gaze.

"In return I ask only for your name and that you will listen to what I have to say."

Taking a deep breath, I decided to respond. What harm could it do, after all? It's just a name. What harm could my name do?

"Bernadette, Madame. Bernadette Baudin."

I inwardly groaned. My voice sounded terribly shaking though it had nothing to do with Madame Deschamps' request. It was simply because it had been so long since I last spoke.

Sometimes I sang to myself, but that was in the safety of night-time- and under my breath! As confident as I may seem the majority of the time I could never bring myself to sing in front of others.

I knew for a fact that I was nowhere near tone death. I had heard tone death and it definitely sounded nothing like me.

That's why father claimed I had no recognisable talents. I had never sung in his or mother's presence so he wouldn't know.

It was true, however, that I was completely lacking of any talent in the dance department. I almost literally had two left feet. Father was aware of this, due to the numerous balls we had attended. He couldn't understand why I declined any male attention at such events and when I reluctantly demonstrated my…abilities he understood at once.

I had been reprimanded that evening since I had 'thoroughly embarrassed my entire family in front of all upper-class Parisian society'. My parents had never let me forget that night, keeping me on a tight leash whenever we attended social proceedings.

"Follow me, child. I need to address the rules and regulations you are acquired to accept and follow."

Madame Deschamps began walking quickly down the long, polished corridor. I took this time to examine the finer details; each wall was covered in a lime green and brown, flower patterned wallpaper, the kind that women usually gushed over. I personally could not see the appeal. Although, I had never really had an eye for housing décor, I did know nice wallpaper from less appeasing wallpaper.

The floors were gold (most probably not actually made of real gold) and polished to such a standard that I could see my face as I walked. My boots clicked and tapped against the flooring, and I, enjoying the sound, decided to make a real point of scraping my heels across the floor as I stepped. The sound was pleasant to me but definitely set Deschamps on edge.

As we walked I could vaguely hear the sound of an orchestra and a loud tenor voice, twinning with a soprano in a duet. I had heard stories of La Carlotta- the leading soprano during Christine Daae's time- and none of them were particularly decent. Some claimed her voice compared to a thousand nails on a blackboard. Others said she was a diva, consistently making obscene demands to the managers.

Residents of the opera house, workers and dancers alike, also roamed the corridors just as we were. They looked me up and down (certainly not in an appraising manner!) and the dancers glared with a hateful passion. I didn't mind, really, as I deemed their disapproval as childish and unworthy of my acknowledgement.

Ensuring Deschamps wasn't facing me; I turned to the juvenile dancers and bit my thumb with a feeling of triumph. I hope they understood the gesture.

Madame Deschamps cleared her throat, "Bernadette, if you'd please enter. We can discuss matter far more intimately inside my office."

She gave me that stern glare so I huffed, stomping my feet as I entered. She had obviously seen my unsophisticated gesture.

Deschamps followed behind me and shut and locked the door behind her. She motioned for me to have a seat, so I slumped down onto the plush settee and groaned. I had been walking around for far too long. I was greeted with yet another disapproving gaze when I raised my eyes.

We sat in silence for a while and I simply couldn't bear it.

"You know, Madame, I much prefer Bernie or Bern. Bernadette makes me feel like an old woman," I laughed lightly.

She remained expressionless.

"I will call you Bernadette, for that is the name which you were christened with."

I huffed again and folded my arms across my chest. After a while I squared my shoulders and glared.

"By now I am sure you have heard of our Opera Ghost."

I snorted. Of course I had heard- everyone had heard of the masked genius with a face so awful he had to hide from the world.

He kidnapped a dancer and burnt down the Opera house when she ran off with that Vicomte de Chagny. I also heard that he was dead. It had been five whole years since the mob raided his underground lair and chased him away. But now…he was back?

The mistress seemed to notice my pondering.

"He lives," she said.

"And why has no one gone looking for him?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at her. She didn't answer and instead busied herself with her notebook.

"You never answered my question," I murmured after a while. She ignored me still.

I said it more forcefully this time, causing her eyes to snap towards mine.

"You have the most disgraceful manners!" She exclaims, setting down the notepad she was writing in.

"And? Tell me something I am not aware of," I challenged in return.

She gave me a calculating gaze, "You will learn your place, young mademoiselle. No one speaks to me in that manner. I am of a much higher authority than you will ever be."

Ah, so she's a fortune teller now?

Deschamps stuck her long nose in the air, obviously taking my silence as complete submission.

The nerve of that old bag! What she needed was to be taught a lesson and I was more than willing to be her tutor. Though for now I would just test the waters, gain some of her trust and acceptance.

"Forgive me, Madame," I cast my eyes downwards, "It had been an overwhelming couple of days and- and-"

I took a few seconds to choke back a fake sob and sniffle.

"This is all so new to me and I really thank you for your teachings. In future I will be sure to watch my tongue. I will certainly never behave in a manner such as that again."

She seemed to buy my acting as she gave me that condescending smile and cheek caress that I had grown used to. It was always the same, lifeless cycle.

In our silence I gazed around the room, faking a thoughtful stare as I took in the dull portraits and brown furniture, marvelling at the large bookcase. Deschamps noticed and smiled kindly.

"Once you are settled in you may take whatever books you desire."

I nodded in thanks.

"So what are these rules of yours?"

She sobered up quickly, assessing me in her stern manner.

"First the general rules: You will not leave the opera house unaccompanied; You will not bring any men alone with you into rooms; and you will not go below the opera house. Consider it out of bounds."

Like that will stop me, I thought before nodding in an agreeable way. She caught her breath and continued. I didn't think there would be more!

"Box five of the opera house is to be kept empty, as per the Opera Ghost's wishes. If you value your life at all you will comply with his demands.

Your duty, since you have no talent that we are aware of, is to assist our Prima Donna. You will be expected to succumb to her each and every need without question. That means none of your smart mouth. Are we clear?"

"I am to be a maid- a servant!" I gasped, outraged.

Perhaps I had become too dependent on my luxurious life at home. I'd had my share of indulgences, depending on them greedily, and now I had to give something back.

This was my punishment for all of my 'sins'. Who willingly chooses a job like this? Being someone's slave for a day after losing bets is bad enough, but doing this for months…years? I failed to process the thought. If I hadn't been so desperate to escape home, I would have been sobbing like an infant by now.

"Is that a problem, mademoiselle?" She asked, looking down her nose at me.

"N-no, not at all," my voice wavered slightly, "Where am I to sleep, may I ask?"

She pondered this for a moment, tilting her head to the side and resting it on her left hand. I noticed she wore a ring; a golden band with two diamonds on each side. A wedding ring, I presumed. Where was the husband now? Why was she even here?

Ah yes, to 'right the wrongs of disobedient little girls'. That certainly would never be my career choice. Oh, no; I planned to be a writer.

I would write novels about female heroines saving the day. They wouldn't have to be beautiful or ladylike or worthy of high society. They would do what the wished. Surely men would be smitten with them, but that would not faze my heroines. None of this romance nonsense. After all, the storylines are always the same. The characters always meet in dull and cliché ways and they are always overly appealing to the eye.

In the real world not many people fit those over-flattering descriptions. At least not anyone I had met.

I don't expect to meet anyone handsome any time soon, nor do I wish to fall in love. In fact, I can safely so I will never fall in love.

Mother says I'm not 'marriage material' as I do not have the mannerisms or eloquence of a proper lady. I have an exquisite face, she tells me, though a husband would need to truly tolerate my presence, not my just my face. It's not like I wish to hang from a man's arm for the rest of my mortal life. Or bare children. Definitely no children.

"Are you quite finished, Bernadette?" Madame Deschamps questioned, breaking my trance. I gave a slight head inclination, inviting her to continue.

"Remind me again of our previous conversation?"

I blinked rapidly, being caught off guard by her question. Rules, I remembered…Opera Ghost- aha! Sleeping arrangements!

"I believe I inquired the location of my bedroom," I said.

She nodded, "Ah yes, I remember now. Did I answer?"

I shook my head, no.

"Well, you will be staying in either the Prima Donna's chambers, or one of the stage dressing rooms. They're the only free spaces we have."

I narrowed my eyes, "Won't the Prima Donna be staying in her chambers?"

"Most nights she returns home, rather than staying here. She needs to tend to her young."

"And why am I not able to stay in the dressing room permanently?"

"Would you not feel more comfortable in the Prima Donna's room? You will only need to stay in the dressing room if the Prima Donna chooses to stay here, which isn't very often."

"Very well. Are we finished now, Madame?"

She nodded and we both stood.

"For tonight you may stay in one of the dressing rooms and get settled in. Tomorrow you will awaken at six o'clock for your tour of the grounds. Then you will begin your duties."

I just nodded, following her through the corridors which were now lit by many candles. I could vaguely see the moon through one of the windows; it was full.

Too tired to pay attention to where she was leading me, I trailed behind blindly, not bothering to hold back any yawns. The corridors were quiet as presumably everyone had gone to sleep. How long had we been in Deschamps office?

We finally ended our journey at a dressing room at the back of the stage. 'Dressing Room 1' the door read. I opened it, allowing my eyes to scan the surprisingly large space, before drifting towards the bed in the corner.

Deciding to remember my manners, I muttered, "Thank you. I think I will be most comfortable here."

"I am glad." She almost smiled, but covered it quickly, turning to walk out.

By now I had almost fallen asleep on the comfortably cushioned bed, though before I could fully submerge myself in night, a faint cough was heard from the doorway.

Madame Deschamps half-turned towards the door and half-faced my bedroom. She seemed nervous about something, though I could not be sure. The woman was so very hard to read.

I squinted up at her, "Madame?"

Taking a deep breath, she replied, "Do not go looking for the Opera Ghost, Bernadette."

She sounded serious but also so very fearful. Almost as though she were frightened that I would allow curiosity to get the better of me. I smiled, nodded, and watched as she left. However once she was fully out and had shut the door, I smirked to myself. I was never one to abide the rules or commands of others and I wasn't about to start now.