APH/Phantom of the Opera
Current Time: Paris, France 1919, Opera house
It was cold in Paris, France. Dead leaves kicked up everywhere, scattering in all directions, carried by the harsh wind that swept through. People walked the streets busily. Motorcar drivers shouted at people to clear the way so they can make their way through. One of them stopped in front of the opera house. The driver stepped down and opened the door for an elderly man to step out. A nurse stepped out and helped the man down. A wheelchair was brought out and placed in front of the man. He sat down slowly and lifted his feet so the driver could put up the footrest. After settling in, the nurse and the old man made their way up the ramp that lead into the opera house.
The interior of the opera house had been completely demolished. The stadium-seating chairs were filled with dust and connected each with thick cobwebs, to which the dust clung to as well. A well-rounded man stood on the stage of the opera house at a podium with a gavel in his hand. Above him, the roof had huge holes. Pigeons from the top had flown down to floor to observe what was going on. The man at the podium had just finished auctioning the poster of the opera house's last production. The old man in the wheelchair had just rolled in as he finished.
"Thank you for purchasing that, sir," said the man. Another man from backstage came out, holding a box. It had a monkey on the top with cymbals in its hands. The old man looked up, catching the view of it. He saw across from him, an old woman with grayish blond hair. She wore a black dress that wasn't too much, but yet complimented her figure. She also wore a hat that had thin black material falling over her face. It sort of hid the green hue of her eyes. She caught the old man's gaze and nodded her head in respect. She recognized his silver hair, and those piercing red eyes. "This here was found in the opera house's basement. Erm, shall we start the bidding at 15 francs?"
Someone in the crowd had raised their hand. "Thank you, sir. Do I hear 20 francs?"
The old man leaned in towards the nurse. She raised her hand. "Thank you, sir. Do I hear 25 francs?"
This time, the old woman raised her hand. "Thank you, madam. Do I hear 30 francs?"
Once again, the nurse raised her hand. "Thank you, sir. Do I hear 35 from you, madam?"
She looked at the old man for a bit, and smiled softly. She shook her head slightly. "Alright. 30 once…30 twice? Sold! To the Viscount de Beilschmidt." He smacked his gavel on the wooden plate. The Viscount jumped, for the noise was too much for his frail heart. The man who held the little trinket walked over and handed it to him.
Just like she described it…I wonder if you'll still play when we're dead.
"Next is something from the mysterious story of the phantom of the opera," the man announced. Four men went over to the said object that was covered and off to the side. "Perhaps we can scare away the ghost, for it is restored with lights. Boys!" The four men unsheathed the huge mass on the floor. Its rims were made out of gold and had chains that would've held pure crystals. Another man in the mezzanine row pulled on the rope that was connected to the top of the chandelier. He hoisted it high; the lights flickering on. The Viscount and the Madam watched it in awe, amazed it was still in somewhat good shape. A gust of wind blew the doors open, kicking up all the dust and leaves. It brought a surge of memories along with it. Particularly, the story of the phantom of the opera.