Part I
The Opera Populaire
2006
Madalynn Pelletier stepped off the tour bus and stared at amazement at the magnificent building before her. The golden accents of the Opera Populaire shimmered in the sunlight as the excitement of this long awaited moment overwhelmed her. She had read the stories that surrounded this opera house, about the Phantom that had haunted it so many years ago.
She was captivated by the story, and was a frequent visitor to the Paris Library, where every piece of literature about the Phantom had been carefully studied for hours. She had longed to see it in person, to become a part of its story.
Little did she know she would get her wish.
Her parents did not fully understand her obsession with all things Phantom, but nevertheless, on her 17th birthday they presented her with the present that would forever change her life. Madalynn tore her eyes from the building she had so diligently studied long enough to glance down at the bus ticket and money she clutched in her hand. Her parents had no idea how much this could possibly mean to her.
As the rest of the tour group disembarked, she climbed the stairs leading to the grand front doors, drinking in the sight of everything around her. The tour guide waited at the top of the stairs as the last of the group slowly made their way up to the last stair and huddled in front of door where she stood waiting to begin. "Bon Jour and welcome to the Opera Populaire," she said with a smile, surveying the group. "My name is Claire and I will be your guide today as we tour this historic land mark. I'm sure you are all ready to begin the tour, so if you will kindly follow me, we will begin." She turned gracefully and with a smile motioned for them to follow as she opened the large doors of the opera house, stepping inside.
Madalynn walked through the doorway and gazed at what had to be the most beautiful foyer she had ever seen. The stair case in the middle rose up and divided, each going to different sides of the theatre. It was ornate, made of a fine pink marble that shone in the light and adorned with two snow white angels, who seemed to be reaching towards the heavens at the foot of each banister. The floor, brilliant pink marble as well, gleamed beneath her feet as she stared in amazement at the beautiful architecture. Great white columns, decorated with scenes from Greek mythology lined either sides of the foyer. It was like nothing she had ever seen before.
Her thoughts were interrupted as Claire cleared her throat and began to speak, instantly capturing Madalynn's attention. "Now then, if everyone is inside, we will start. As you all know, this opera house was the scene of many great operas, including works such as Faust, Hannibal and Il Muto to name a few. In its prime, The Opera Populaire was the most esteemed opera house in all of France. The opera house is a work of art in and of itself, designed by several prominent architects of the time period. Unfortunately, most of this magnificent building was lost in the infamous fire of 1874, so experts have restored it based on their knowledge of the time period and what knowledge has been left to us in writing. However, the thing which makes it the most visited opera house in all the world is not its architecture, though it is remarkable, but a story which transcends the depths of time. It is the story of an infamous Phantom who once made this opera house his home and playground. He is known to us as the Phantom of the Opera." Madalynn could feel her heart speed up at the mention of his name, and she began fidgeting with her hands, eager to dive into the mystery the surrounded this place for herself. It seemed like years of anticipation as Claire smiled mysteriously before at last asking the group to follow her as she relayed the story of the Phantom of the Opera.
She led them through the opera house, motioning towards the areas which she addressed in the story as she went along. They passed the dormitories where the "ballet rats" had once lived, and the areas where they had once rehearsed for the big productions. She pointed out several prop rooms as well as some dressing rooms. However, Madalynn was not interested in these. It was the several large, wooden doors that lined the walls behind the stage where they now were that held her attention in it's grasp, and she was pleased when Claire stopped in front of one door in particular. As the group caught up, she continued the story. "This room at one time was the Prima Donna's dressing room. It was in this very room that the most famous soprano in all of the Populair's history, Christine Daaé who later became known as Comptess de Chagny, once sat and prepared for her first lead role in Hannibal after La Carlotta Guidicelli left. It is the biggest of the dressing rooms here at the Opera Populaire, and has remained untouched since 1917. However, we are not permitted to go inside by the current owners of this theatre, who wish to preserve it as long as they can. So, if you will please follow me, we will make our way to the stage area and the famous Box 5."
She led the group away, talking about the sets and the amount of hands it took to run these major productions, as the group snapped photos. Madaylnn barely heard her as she found herself glued to the spot in front of the forbidden door. It was as though all sound and time itself had stopped around her, enclosing her in this one silent moment. The group made their way deeper into the theatre, not realizing the tour lacked a member and Claire's voice faded into the distance. Madalynn knew that she should try to catch back up with the group, that she should not be here gazing longingly at this door, but her curiosity overtook her. All rational thought abandoned her for a more willing vessel, and when she could finally take no more, she glanced side to side, and finding no one, cautiously put her hand on the tarnished door knob and turned it slowly.
Surprisingly the door was unlocked, and it gave way to her with a creak which betrayed its age. Careful not to make so much noise, she pushed open the door just enough to admit her and stepped inside, closing it behind her. The room was large, with the musty smell of age prominent in the stale air. Tapestries hung on every wall, depicting operas of the past, and the floor was carpeted in an odd light red, which she assumed had once been more of a maroon. Dust clung to the coverings on the furniture, indicating that this room was not entered often. She stepped further into the room. Cobwebs were prevalent as she scanned everything in amazement. On the far wall was a vanity which attracted her attention. She walked towards it and examined it. There were small items, such as a hand mirror and candelabra upon the table, both of which were covered in a thick layer of grime and dust and cobwebs. She reached down to touch it, but drew her hand back quickly, as though touching it would be disrespectful. The mirror, set in old cherry wood was old, slightly discolored with lines running through it.
She turned to survey the rest of the room and found an old fireplace, the marble dusty and discolored. Finally satisfied that she had seen the room and hesitant to remain much longer, she turned to leave when a large mirror caught her eye. She paused and turned back to it, surveying it with curiosity. It extended the length of the wall, and cracks of age spread across the surface like the spindly hands of age. She approached it and gazed at her reflection. Her curly chestnut hair hung just below her shoulders, pulled back in a half ponytail. Forgetting everything else, she imagined what it must have been like, gazing into this mirror when the opera house was at its prime, getting ready to perform. She imagined stage makeup covering the lids of her green eyes and the pale skin of her face. What the costumes must have felt like, heavy with rich fabric. She closed her eyes and sighed. She would give anything to be able to experience that.
Without even thinking, she watched her hand reach out slowly to touch this piece of history, almost as though watching someone else. As her fingertips at last came into contact with the cold surface, she became aware of an odd sensation that began slowly and crept up her spine. Her stomach seemed to tighten and pressure slowly compressed her ribcage like a giant pair of hands squeezing the air from her. Fighting for breath and beginning to panic, she stared around her, horrified as the room around her began to spin, years of dust and cobwebs flying away as the newness of everything was restored. She attempted to pull her hand from the mirror but it held fast, and she was helpless against the sensation that unraveled before her very eyes. The fireplace burst into life, great orange and yellow flames leaping from the wood she had not noticed was there. The candelabra's tiny white candles lit in succession, and she watched as maroon, starting in the corner of the room, spread across the carpet like a large stain. The sheets which had once covered the furniture were thrown off and the mirror of the vanity began to shine like new as the lines of age began to retract towards the frame, which was now newly polished and glistening in the firelight. The tapestries were also restored to their original glory, decades of grime and dust wiped clean. She shut her eyes tightly against the sensation as the folds of time closed in around her, enveloping her in it's eternal grasp. She felt as though she were falling, falling through the years with no power to stop it. It seemed like ages until the spinning ceased and her tightly closed eyes opened slightly.
The vanity looked as though it had just been used, makeup strewn about and hair pins in disarray. Jerking her hand away from the mirror as though it had burned her she examined her hand. It appeared normal, and letting her hand drop to her side, Madalynn gazed around the room in shock. The realization of what must have happened hit her like a hammer. Somehow, someway, she had gone back in time to when the opera house was still bustling with productions and patrons, actors and stage crew. Something caught her eye and she glanced at the vanity once more and gasped in shock, her hand flying to her mouth as her wide eyes took in a sight that she had both longed and feared to see. A single red rose, fresh and vibrant, lay on the vanity's rich surface, a silk black ribbon tied around it.