The Opera Populair, once one of the most prestigious opera houses in the world. The very Opera Populair that had been burnt down many years ago under mysterious circumstances, was having its second grand opening after the necessary renovations had been made. Convinced that the fire had killed their "Phantom", Missures Firman and Andre felt it safe to return to their jobs as the managers. Unfortunately, Carlotta also felt it safe to return as their Prima Dona. Never the ones to pass up such a good money making opportunity, the managers welcomed Carlotta with welcome arms. Free earplugs were distributed to all.
Christine Daae happily married Raul De Chagny, and though she loved him very much, there was always that little voice in her head that longed to be with Eric. Not that she would ever admit that to that son of a- I mean…her husband of course.
Madame and Meg Giry moved back into the opera house and continued to train the ballerinas and chorus girls. Optimistic girls and women would come to the Opera Populair everyday, and if they were to be of any use to the managers, someone would need to teach them. Thankfully, some of the old girls had stayed despite the traumatizing incident, so Madame Giry at least wasn't teaching everyone from scratch.
Yes, above ground in the opera house, things seemed to finally be back to normal. No more notes, no more "accidents", and especially no more phantom. But, deep in the opera house's cellars, Erik still lived…technically. He had long since died inside, he no longer even had strength to clean up his home. Shattered pieces of mirror still littered the ground where he had left them over a year ago. Day after day he would sit by the lake. Sit and think…and think…and think. He would think until he could think no longer and fall asleep, always hoping that he would never wake.
This is where I come in. Hi, I'm Amaya. I'd tell you my last name…if only I could remember it…but on to more important things. I was one of the ballet girls back when the whole phantom incident had occurred. You may not have noticed me before though. You see I'm a little… okay, I'm really shy. Thankfully the managers and Madame Giry were wise enough to put me in the back, where no one notices me and I can dance my heart out with out ever feeling the urge to rid myself of whatever I had eaten that day.
Some of you may ask me, do you believe the phantom is still alive? I have only one simple answer. No. Even if he had survived the fatal fire which burned down the main support beam; there's no way he could have escaped the man hunt that searched the whole building, before and after the fire and destroyed everything.
Painfully, I pulled my onyx black hair into a tight ponytail in the back of my head. (Part of being a ballerina, after years of having your hair put into buns tight enough to suffocate a piece of dust, you kind of become numb to the pain.) After that, I proceeded to twist my hair until the pressure was too much to bear. Finally, I rolled the hair around and around until a tight bun had been formed, then I reinforced it with more hair ties and bobby pins. Quickly, I looked in the mirror. A pale, gaunt woman with dark hair and green eyes looked back at me. She stared at me awkwardly through the mirror in her black leotard and itchy, light-pink tutu. The fact that she was in tights and wearing toe-shoes didn't help much either. Scowling at my reflection, I quickly rushed out of the room so that I wouldn't be late for my lessons with Madam Giry.
Few people know how hard it is to be the Prima Dona of the Opera Populair; even fewer know how hard it is to be a ballerina in any opera house. You work hard to learn a routine, memorize it, and perfect it only to stand out in the back round as the Prima Dona sings (or in Carlotta's case, screeches) their heart our for the audience. It's not really fair, but those that are truly devoted to the art don't dance for fame, they dance for the sake of dance.
Unfortunately, some dancers don't understand this concept and therefore act like complete bitches by taking their rage and frustration out on others. Meet Anna, Nichole, and (oh god) Melody. Anna has dark brown hair, light hazel eyes, and a fair skin complexion. She is also overweight, lazy, and hates to do anything that she doesn't have to do. She often skips practices due to being "sick" and never actually memorizes any dances but pretends to know what she's doing so that Madam Giry doesn't kick her out. Nichole has platinum blonde hair and big, dark, hazel eyes. Unlike her sister Anna, she's extremely skinny. However, she's a gossiper. Nichole has dirt on every single ballerina and chorus girl in the opera house. She often resorts to blackmail to get her way.
Finally we get to the worst of them all, Melody. Sure, she's pretty enough. She has strawberry blonde hair, pencil thin eyebrows, fairly skinny (but not too skinny to the jealousy of all), and deep blue-green eyes. But despite what her name may imply, her attitude is anything but beautiful. Melody's strategy for greeting new people is play nice, gain their trust, then tare them down. Thanks to her, more than half of the girls that come to the Opera Populair leave in tears. Also, she can't sing for shit. But what she lacks in tune, she makes up for in dancing grace. Her father had paid for lessons from the time she was five till he lost all of his money little more than a year ago. Unable to support his family, he sent his only family to work at the Opera Populair. (Guess who)
These bullies' nit pick at every little flaw of every single girl (or drag queen depending on the situation) until she (or he) breaks down and cries/ leaves. Together they are Tres Bitches, Bitch number one, two, and three.
"Eww, look who decided to drag her skinny little butt out of bed this morning!" Nichole spat as I entered the room. Practice wouldn't start for a good half an hour, but Madam Giry always wants us to stretch before we begin. So this usually means that Nichole and Melody (and Anna on the rare occasion that she actually comes) sit around and criticize us while the rest of us stretch. "What's the matter? Too stupid to talk?" She then did the most disgusting and annoying thing I could think of. She pursed her lips and sucked on her teeth with a loud, disgusting "Smack!" I visibly cringed at the sound. It was so disgusting I couldn't help it.
"Oh Nichole don't be so mean, its not little Amaya's fault she's so stupid. It probrobly just comes with being ugly!" Melody countered and then they both laughed together in unison. Third most annoying thing about Tres Bitches (the first is their rudeness and the second is the, oh god, sucking of the teeth) is their laughter. Until they came along, I never thought it was possible for a group to laugh in unison, but they do just that. The sit there and (well its more of a sequence of squeals really) laugh, breath, move together in perfect unison.
It would be amazing if it weren't so annoying.
I just ignored them as I walked up to the metal bar that came up to my chest. It didn't really affect me anymore. I didn't understand how they found that joke funny anymore. They'd been using the same greeting ever since they deemed me "too ugly and weird" to be one of them. (Which was a long time ago.) Sighing, I began my daily exercise.
I had just finished when Madame Giry walked into the room. She looked especially flustered this morning and as she stomped past me I thought I might have heard her angrily mumbling something like "…should at least get up…" and "…moping around like a pansy…" A few minutes later she was in front of the class. Her hair was slightly wild and her eyes still held an angered look. "Practice is cancelled for this morning! Get out! All of you!"
Surprised, but unwilling to see what Madame Giry would do if they disobeyed, the ballerinas walked out one by one. Each one wondering what she was going to do for the rest of the day now that their schedule had been so suddenly cleared.
I for one knew what I was going to do. Carlotta's dog had caught some sort of disease, so she was away at the vet. Also, Missures Firman and Andre were out on "business" (which usually means their trying to get another patron), the maids had gone on vacation, and now neither the ballerinas nor the chorus girls needed the stage. Meaning, I had it all to myself.
Now, I know I said I was shy, but when I get the chance I love being out alone on stage. There, no audience can make me queasy, no bitch can bring me down, and I can dance or sing as much as I like without ever having to stop when I make a mistake, though I usually do anyways.
After making sure no one was around, I tiptoed around the curtain. The windows were closed and none of the lights were on, I was completely blind. I smiled, "Just the way I like it…" I whispered. Then, I danced. I let my emotions free as I spun, leapt, bent, and pointed along with an imaginary melody conducted by a make-believe mistro. I always loved to dance, there was something about it that always made the bad times…not so bad. But if there's anything I love more than dancing, it's singing. And after I ended my dance, I began to sing a song that came once from a dream I had had.
As I sang, I pictured a woman, slowly rocking in a chair by the fireside in a room with bare walls. She was fairly young, but stress had made her look much older than she actually was. Next to her was a young child, who listened to the woman intently.
There is a castle on a
cloud,
I like to go there in my sleep,
Aren't any floors for me
to sweep,
Not in my castle on a cloud.
There is a room that's
full of toys,
There are a hundred boys and girls.
Nobody shouts
or talks too loud,
Not in my castle on a cloud.
There is a lady
all in white,
Holds me and sings a lullaby,
She's nice to see
and she's soft to touch,
She says, "Cosette, I love you very
much!"
There is a place where no one's lost,
there a place
where no one cries,
Crying, at all, is not allowed,
Not in my
castle on a cloud.
(Disclaimer: This is the song Castle On A Cloud from La Miserables. I do not own the song or any of the right to the song, I'm just having the character sing it as it relates to the story in some ways.)
I sighed, the dream had seemed so pleasant…so familiar. Yet, I did not know why. The way the woman's voice carried through out the empty room and the way that the child had looked up at her mother so admiringly had haunted me ever since I had dreamed it up not that long ago.
With Erik
…I have been forced out of my own home…
I had once again been dreaming of Christine by the lake when suddenly Madame Giry came stomping in. Though you would never think by looking at her, Madame Giry is STRONG. Using the strength that seemingly comes from nowhere she yells at me.
"Get off your moping ass for just an hour and walk around! It make me sick to see you just lie here! Have you even seen yourself?" She asked crossly. Unfortunately I knew the state of my appearance. For days on end I had not had the will to eat, groom, or even make myself look slightly presentable. I knew by looking into the murky water, as I had been doing everyday, that my eyes had become bloodshot, I was dangerously thin, my skin had become a pastely white, I was unshaven, my hair had become matted to no end, and I COULD NOT find my mask…so of course my entire face was showing. Grimly, I nodded my head.
"Don't just sit there and nod your head. I've already taken the liberty of sending everyone away for the day. The entire building is deserted. So I beg of you Erik," her voice became softer, kinder. Confused, I looked up to see why she was no longer yelling. To my surprise, I saw concern and worry not only in her eyes, but also across the rest of her face. "Please just get out of here, if only for a while. Here," she handed me a bag. "In here there are several items with which I think you could use." And with that, she walked through one of the many secret passageways.
In the bag were a number of items. A small, warm custard filled pastry which smelled so delicious I gobbled it down without even tasting it, a razor with which I shaved off my beard that had begun to grow, A comb that I used to tame my wild hair, and…
I picked up the smooth, familiar piece of porcelain. "My mask…" I whispered. It was then that I made my decision. No longer would I mope over a love that could never have been mine. No longer will I waste away as the endless days pass me by. No longer would I stand in the shadow of my deformity. "I am Erik, phantom of the opera, and no one will take my pride or dignity away from me ever again. I give my heart to no one, especially not her." I dumped all my pictures of Christine into the lake, along with the manikin and the diorama of the opera's stage. "I am Erik," I repeated once again as I took my most prized possession, her ring, from my finger and watched as it slowly floated down to the bottom of the murky water. "I love no one."