Disclaimer: All I own is the lint in my pockets.
*IMPORTANT: If there is any kind, brave soul willingly to beta these chapters they shall be rewarded handsomely with unwavering praise and groveling.
*IMPORTANT: This chapter has been edited. Shame on me for thinking a half-ass re-reading while piss drunk makes me able to point out error.
*Songs used: A reworded version of "Prayer is the Soul's Desire" performed by Sally Deford. Highly recommend!
Your obedient servant,
-PMD
The day had finally arrived.
Swirls of snow rushed along on a biting breeze. The nippy air ripping through the holes of the cloaks unfortunately tasked with leaving the house that day. Our driver took us through the market path were servants could be seen buying for their masters. The destitute hanging close to the alleys were a small pit fire was erected to stave off the harsh winter. Paris in the winter was so downhearted and dull with only the promise of the holiday season to keep its occupants satisfied. As our carriage drew up to the sidewalk outside the grandiose opera house my little sister, Marie, bounced in her seat with excitement. I too felt a swell of awe at the immaculate detailing that went into the buildings reconstruction. Statues of weeping maidens and singing angels. Columns decorated in delicate filigree that shown against the pale marble.
"Quiet now, ma petite. We must retain our composure in front of father's colleagues." I said, gently smoothing my sisters golden brown curls. My own, plum brown hair was pulled into a high pony-fall. Not altogether proper for a woman my age and station, but function gave way to formality most often with me. A dark green, velvet hat was precariously pinned to my head. It was a cold day since winter still held Paris in its snowy grasp. I had opted for a dark green ensemble with a modest bustline. With black gloves that matched the fur stole and muff. Perhaps to some I looked to be in mourning, but in truth it was simple fondness for the dark color. We exited our carriage with the help of an attendant, and began the climb up the front steps. Marie trailed behind in her pink dress and matching coat. Her cheeks flushed with the cold air nearly matched the exact shade she was wearing. As she let out a small giggle and began to tug on my arm I knew at once it would be a long day for us both.
We were greeted at the door by several servants clamoring to get a first look at the new owners children. It was quite off-putting to be inspected and sized up by strangers. I never considered myself shy, but Marie struggled in the more formal setting. She was, for all intents and purposes, a wild child. Cute and proper at first glance, but inside there was an insane drive for adventure that rivalled even my own. So as she began to purposefully hide herself behind my skirts I knew it was best if we saved introductions for later and focused on decompressing from our journey.
As the oldest, I was under unwavering scrutiny to uphold her family's dignity in public. Those endless days of summer in which I would climb trees and return home covered in dirt were a far distant memory to my now 22 year old mind. It was bad enough I was unmarried, at least in the eyes of our society; however my family felt no need to pressure me to enter into such a serious commitment thoughtlessly. Father was relatively young and healthy, and near positive that his oldest would meet her match before he passed on.
"Papa!" Marie cried and pushed herself passed the servants in order to launch herself into her father's waiting arms. The six year old buried her head into his chest and the six months their family had been separated seemed nothing more than a bad dream.
"My dear child! How are you?" He laughed, his hearty baritone voice echoing off the walls. Marcel placed a kiss on top of his youngest head. In a brief moment of recklessness, I rushed forward and embraced Papa. In truth the separation had been difficult on the three of us. Mother had passed over a year ago after spending several months wasting away. At times I can never get the smell of her sick room out of my head. Or erase the images of her wasting away to practically nothing on the end. Having my father around made everything easier to bear, and having him leave us was a blow my heart struggled to deal with as I as left to care for Marie on my own.
"Papa, it is good to see you." A mischievous smirk found its way onto my face, "I trust the ghosts of this old place have been keeping you occupied?"" I gently teased. Neither one of us truly believed in such a fantastical story, but Marie seemed spooked at the mention of phantoms lingering in her new home. As we headed toward the living quarters we'd be using for the time being. Papa snorted and grinned, "As if I am to believe in such things. Although, for a moment, I thought two angels had happened upon me and not the two ragamuffin children I'd left behind in the country."
I rolled my eyes and shook my head disapprovingly, "I'm sure you're the first, and only person to mistake me for an angel Papa." It took more energy than I care to admit to joke and pretend to be lighthearted. While happy to be with him I was terrified of starting such a new life far from all I'd known. I was never terrible at making friends, but the past year had changed things. I felt like a former shell of who I'd once been. Without my mother's careful guidance navigating the already stormy social waters was damn near impossible. With a small sigh, I clung to my father's arm and Marie skipped ahead. Both of us eager to retire for the day.
My rooms were simple, and from what father was able to tell me used to be the old primma donna dressing room. Of course the new one was more modern and suiting their current prima's taste. But I found the floral, and pastel room much to my liking. With a few improvements it might feel a bit more welcoming. Marie's own room was next door and was strategically placed close by just in case she needed me in the night. We sorely lacked a proper governess for the young girl, and such responsibilities were my charge.
Supper was a small, simple affair. The staff were close to beginning their first season under father's management and there was little time for fancy, formal dinners. Their production of Carmen would hopefully bring in many patrons. I was confident that my father's endless hours of work would come to fruition. For the sake of our family it simply had to.
We were joined by the ballet Mistress, Madame Giry, and her daughter Meg. Meg was the current prima ballerina (something her mother took great pride in). The Madame was quite a pleasant woman to be around. A bit taciturn and hard to read, but not unlike my own mother. But there was something under the surface. A kind of lingering concern when Papa mentioned my unmarried status. Perhaps it was simple shock at such a woman being unattached, perhaps it was more.
"Will you be taking up residence outside of the opera house, now that your daughters have joined you sir?" Madame giry asked politely. But...was there a twinge of hope in her question?
Marcel grinned, "Oh tush I see no reason for them not to join me here. Besides, it's been far too long since I've seen my children. I should like to keep them close."
The Madame's daughter, Meg, kept giving me curious glances across the table. Although manners dictated that we were not allowed to talk to one another over our parents. She took one look at my left hand, I refused to meet her eye. Wonderful, another person more concerned with my relationship status…..Honestly! The nerve. She can be no older than I, and yet, do I question her lack of ring?
"I see," The ballet mistress nodded and took a sip of her wine. "Shall your eldest be having a season while she's in town?"
Papa and I met each other's gaze and shared a small chuckle, "I'm afraid not, Madam."
"Oh," The older woman smiled tightly. She dabbed the corner of her mouth and leaned forward with a forced smile. "Perhaps she already has a suitor then? I do so hope my Meg will be able to begin a courtship. But she is so dedicated to her work here..."
"Oh, no." I answered her quickly. "I am unattached." I let out a small laugh, "Besides who would care for Papa and Marie if not I?"
"Too true, dear." Father smiled and patted my hand affectionately. "I am hopeless without you."
The conversation began to die off, not without mother and daughter sharing a small worried glance. That had nearly escaped my notice. What were they hiding?
The first several days of my stay at the opera house were not what I had imagine reuniting with father would be. He had hardly a moment's time to spare his two children. Leaving the two of us to feel just the way we had at our old home: quite alone.
I found myself cornered by a small figure one day on my way back to my father's office. I'd taken to helping him organize his paperwork. A young dark haired girl, with deep olive skin nearly ran into me as I rounded the corner. I let out a yell of surprise before laughing off the fright. "Excuse me Madame Castelli."
"Oh dear, begging your pardon Mademoiselle Belrose." She laughed, tossing her gleaning dark hair. Her perfect mouth pulled back her glossy lips to reveal a wide, white toothed smile. Madame Castelli was both a gifted soprano and a great beauty. Had she not been an older widow I'm certain she would dozens of young, handsome admirers at her beck and call.
"It seems my sense of direction is sorely lacking. Is there anything I can do for you Madame?" I asked reluctantly and smiled. The Madame was a kind woman but tended to be quite forceful when it suited her. Like all great singers, who knew they were gifted, she was not opposed to abusing the privilege of diva-hood should something go against her will. I adjusted the small box I was carrying and continued walking forward with the soprano following close behind.
"Yes, indeed there is something..." The soprano wet her lips and leaned closer. "I don't suppose your father has warned you about our resident opera ghost?"
I fought the urge to roll my eyes and simply let out a breathy laugh, "Oh, is that all? Don't tell me you believe in such a fantastical story"
"I'm not partial to tales of fancy, Miss Belrose. However when my horse and several of my personal affects wind up missing I cannot help but grow weary. I heard what happened those years ago, to that young female primma donna, and I will not have-"
I began to fumble with the lock of my father's office door. When the lock finally clicked open. I breathed a small sigh of relief and raised a hand to halt the woman's rant. "Perhaps if thief is the problem, we may start with your personal maids. I'm afraid these papers are rather urgent, Madame, but I shall certainly bring up the issue with my father promptly."
I quickly shut the door in her face, which was terrible rude. Yet desperately needed. I was exhausted to the bone from the work around the office, coupled with my normal family responsibilities. I thought coming to PAris would change things but if anything 'life became even more droll and lackluster than before. At least I had friends in the country, and the beautiful scenery. Even winter couldn't marr the splendor of rolling hills and wide open sky. This city was like an overstuffed suitcase: everything was on top of one another.
It took me three hours to complete my work for the day. Father was out meeting with investors and other contributors. He left a message not to wait up to dine with him. Marie was blessedly being watched by the ballet mistress (who agreed to give Marie a few lessons in her spare moments) leaving me with some much needed alone time. But said solitude was soon drawing to an end and I righted the stacks of paper. A bright color amidst the pile of white caught my eye. A deep red seal on an envelope, shaped in the mold of a human skull. Mccabe, and wholly different than my father's usual stationary. Carefully, I slid the letter opener under the tab and prid its contents out of hiding.
Monsieur Belrose,
In has come into my recent knowledge that Madam astelli has been borrowing several gowns from the customs department. These items, as you well know, are property of this opera house. As such they should be returned promptly to avoid any chance of damage.
You obedient servant,
OG
A staff member, perhaps? I had hardly gone out of my way to meet every single occupant so it was highly possible. But there was something eerie about the casual way he spoke. Almost as if he was addressing someone beneath him. An employee of his own. It was concerning to say the least…
The time for pondering was over as I heard the familiar patter of feet on the tile down the hall. Marie had escaped her lessons for the day and was on her way to greet me. With a heavy sigh, I slid the paper back into the stack and set off to meet her.
"Sissy!" A bright head of golden brown curls nearly pulled my arm out of my socket in her quest to bring me down to her level. Her wide-eyes were filled with happiness as she regaled the day's adventures with the ballet corps. Her white rehearsal outfit was already ripped but I couldn't bring myself to be angry when she was smiling.
The ballet mistress chuckled, "she has much promise as a ballerina, Mademoiselle. I'd be happy to take her into the corps if her father would permit it…"
I smiled and gave the woman a polite nod, "We shall have to see to that. I had hoped to begin a but of musical training into her academics…." Marie frowned at my words, her desires playing openly on her face. I bit my lip and stifled a small laugh, "However, I suppose I could persuade him to our side."
The two of us bid Madam Giry farewell and made the short walk to our rooms. I helped Marie dress for bed before going over the holes in her clothes with a disapprovingly look.
"Can you mend it sissy?"Marie said as I gently folded her into the covers. I gave her a smirk.
"What is the point? You will only wear more into them. What ever shall I do with you," I sighed. "Besides, you know my stitchwork isn't as good as…."
An uneasy silence came over the room at the almost mention of mother. Her stitchwork was impeccable, as was her embroidery. Most of my older gowns bered some sort of design on the hem or sleeves. No matter how out of fashion they become I will never part with them.
"It is time for sleep now, ma petite." As I was about to blow out the candle, Marie reached for my gloved hand and pressed it to her face. I narrowed my eyes at her slowly panicking expression, "Is there something wrong, dearest?"
"I'm scared to be alone in the dark. The ballet girls told me there is a ghost in the walls, and Papa will not listen to me!" Marie whimpered. She was much too old to be playing games at bedtime. And I feared I didn't have the strength the sleep in the chair to watch over her. I fought the urge to roll my eyes at her childish accusations. I too had heard all of the nasty rumors circulating the opera house. As well as the misfortune that had befallen the building five years ago.
"Now, now, there are no ghosts in this opera house. Even if there were, they'd be a fool to harm you while I'm around." I wiped her tears with a handkerchief. The mind of a child was fantastic at making up tall tales. I begrudgingly had to admit that at her age I was no different. But it was late, and both of us were exhausted. I pressed a kiss to her forehead and handed her a soft rabbit plush, affectionately dubbed doudou.
"Will you sing me to sleep?" She batted her large eyes, slightly dewy, and I let out a sigh. "The one…" She bit her lip. "Mama taught us."
I removed my hand from her cheek and sat on the bed next to her. As a child, Mama would sing to us at nighttime. Her soft, breathy voice lulled us to sleep try as we might to resist. With a deep inhale I smiled and tried to hum clearly.
"Love is the soul's sincere desire, uttered or unexpressed. The motion of a hidden fire that trembles in the heart. Love is the burden of a sigh. The falling of a tear. The upward glancing of an eye..When none but you are here."
I felt and watched as Marie relaxed and settled herself more comfortably. I continued until I was certain she had fallen asleep before returning to my own bedroom. When my door shut behind me I fought the urge to collapse onto the bed from pure exhaustion. Raising Marie was enough to put me off having children of my own.
Not that I really have to worry about that… I thought sarcastically. I inspected the figure in the mirror and carefully took my gloves. My reflection was a long list of flaws: my too short stature, my too round figure, my blue eyes which were watery and tired from early mornings and late nights. I let my dark hair down from my signature high ponytail. I changed into a more comfortable nightgown made of soft cotton and I tied a robe around me and made my way over to the large standing mirror. It's golden filigree gleaming in the candle. As I rolled up the sleeve of my dressing gown I sucked in a sharp breath at the sight.
Vitiligo, they called it, the doctors, a lack of pigment in the skin in certain patches. Patches of white mottling my skin in irregular shapes. It wasn't contagious, but most people were put off by it. It was too different, too strange. In the eyes of the society I'd grown up in, it made me lesser than them.
I was not ashamed of how I looked, it made me unique, even if others thought I should be. All my life I'd been told I'd never be wanted to wife by cruel relatives jealous that my mother had married a a short time I believed them. And then I realized if someone could not love me for who I am then they simply didn't deserve me.
But rumours and gossip could ruin a person. And while I long ago stopped caring how others thought of me. I would never ruin my sister's proper place in society. My own resignation to the life of 'spinster' was the price I paid for my sister to have a fighting chance at making it in life. I would never wish to bring her shame.
I felt a familiar pressure of sadness in my heart as I let my sleeves slide back down. I grabbed my brush and began on my hair. Combing my locks I began to hum to myself, "Love is the burden of a sigh, the falling of a tear. The upward glancing when none but you are here…"
I set my brush back down on the vanity and stared at myself in the mirror, willing the tears in my eyes to retreat. I heard the note resonant around me as I gently touched the cool, smooth reflection of my face as the familiar wetness graced my cheek. I swiped my tears away and turned from the mirror. I blew out the candles and settled into bed; pulling the soft sheets around my body I was ready for the sweet release of sleep.
Erik had heard that the new fool playing manager at his opera house was to be joined by his children. With this information, he made it his mission to let his presence be known to Monsieur Belrose. So far, he was trying the ghosts patience by neglecting to take his note seriously. He did not the salary but the money was more than a means to support himself. It was a way of gaining control over those whom society deemed better than him.
Marcel Belrose was not a superstitious man, however if Erik was not so far beneath making himself into a very real threat should the older man continue to ignore his demands. The day of the Belrose children's arrival caused quite a stir amidst the occupants of the Opera Populaire. Erik found such populous displays of formality revolting. They acted as if the Belrose children would be something more than the snivelling, spoiled brats! their station in life dictated them to be.
Lingering in side of the walls of the main foyer he nearly snorted when the little girl practically shot herself up into Monsieur Belrose arms, her angelic face and expensive clothes only confirmed Erik's assumption. Spoiled, horrid welp…. And just when he thought he couldn't grow more annoyed.
He saw her.
The eldest daughter of Monsieur Belrose: a shapely young woman cloaked in black and green velvet. He didn't think his rage could increase, but the sight of her soft features only incensed him more. It was as if God was laughing at him once again by putting temptation just within his reach, yet so far away.
Erik didn't want to know her. He didn't even want to look at her, but felt compelled to follow the eldest Belrose child about her day. He figured it was only his curiosity being piqued by the new people in his domain. As Erik watched as she fawned over her younger sister; patiently following the youngest as she frolicked through the halls, keeping her clean and fed and entertained, and rocking her to sleep at night when she cried from nightmares. Nightmares about him... The ghost haunting their new residence.
Erik noted the careful, underhanding manner in which she coaxed her father to put out his cigar, or take an extra helping of vegetables at dinner. She left quite an impression on others with her perfect control of her emotions. He wanted to hate her for it. Erik wanted to see her yell, sob her heart out, anything. He found himself wishing to force it from her himself.
He heard her sigh and sing softly in front the mirror in the old prima dressing room. A song of longing that didn't suit the reserved woman he'd found her to be. Erik would have been lying if he did not admit it gave him a small bit of pleasure to see tears falling down her pretty when she lifted the sleeve of her dressing gown to revealed soft, mottled flesh he'd recoiled. Not out of disgust, but out of painful blossom of emotion in his chest as her cool gaze unknowingly looked right through him.
Erik knew then that he could not walk away until those eyes, which paralyzed him, removed himself from his own gaze. The sight of her skin shot instant understanding. He understood everything, in his own arrogant opinion. He knew what he must do. Mademoiselle Belrose slept soundly that night, unaware that her fate had been sealed.
Repeat after me: "I should not be writing this!"
Honestly I should be putting my energy in CITT since that thing is basically finished in my head. My inspiration has a will of its own.
1.)I really wanna finish this story you guys. So I'm making it known right now that this will probably be a short fanfic in terms of chapters. I'm thinking 20 tops.
2.)POTO is a musical….based inside an opera house...needless to say there will be some singing. I'll let you know the songs before hand so you can listen to them as you go. If you have any musical songs you think would work for this story, please, for the love of all that's holy let me know, I'm grasping at straws right now for good music.
3.)I'm so sick of the normal trope of lovesick!Erik falling for the first woman after Christine who shows him interest. Let me be honest, Sam and Erik are gonna have to work hella hard in order to gain each other's trust, respect, and love.
4.) Yes I gave my main lead a skin condition. I'm trying something new here so please be gentle. But I'm so sick of physically perfect leads cluttering up this sight. Give me some flaws. Not everyone is a heavenly goddess with skin like porcelain and hair of honey gold! There's a reason for her looking the way she does. True beauty does, after all, lay beneath.
So make sure to stick around for the ride. Hopefully if I force myself to focus this story will be finished by august. The next chapter is nearly done, so make sure you leave a review! I don't want to abandon this but I will if no one comments I'll be forced to move on. I'm still fleshing out the characters so cut me some slack if it seems like a hot mess right now.