A/N: Yes, I'm uploading another fic finally. ; Not Teen Titans either, woot go me. Okay anyways, this is based upon an RP that I have but I, of course have tweaked it a tad. Creative drive. -nodeth- I would like at least one review before I update.
Chapter One
A young ballet girl sat up in her bed looking around the darkened dormitory she shared with a few other girls her age. As usual, dreams had chased out any thought of sleep. She had gotten used to that fact about her being. She pulled her long raven locks away from her face and into a low ponytail before putting her slippers on. She sighed and stood silently walking out of the dormitory. She walked aimlessly down the dimly lit corridors of the Opera Populaire like she had done almost every night since she had been moved there. Everything of her surroundings was silent, she could however, hear her heart still beating quickly with her mind still on the dream that had awoken her. She took a deep breath to calm herself anf continued to walking doing the only thing she knew would calm her down.
"Think of me, think of me fondly when we've said good-bye," she sung softly beginning the famous aria she knew so well. She then fell silent and still sensing that she was not completely alone. She shook off the foolish feeling and continued to walk. Little did she know that she was actually right. She wasn't alone.
In the shadows of the hall, the ever-haunting prescene of the Opera house dwelled, watching her in silence. His blue gaze betrayed nothing of the resentment and almost hate he felt at that moment in time. Almost everything about this young girl: her ivory skin, her full lips, the way she held herself, and her standing in the social pyramid of the Opera House reminded him of the woman who had stabbed him in the heart five years ago. Her voice, however, was different, less trained but managed to still have the same trancelike effect on him that the young soubrette's once had. She had begun to sing again, but once she got closer she fell silent once more, well-aware of the dark prescene that was him. Her grey-blue eyes narrowed.
(1) "¿Quién allí?" she questioned in, what he figured to be, her native tounge. He stayed silent. She rolled her eyes. "I know someone is there," she continued switching to the French she seemed to know just as well "I can hear your breathing." He still did not reveal himself to the chorus girl.
"Fine, be a coward," she mocked with indifference "I find it funny that you are afraid of an 18-year-old chorus girl." That roused him from his silence.
"I am afraid of no one," he hissed showing himself slightly. She put her hands on her hips as she gave him an almost judgemental look.
"And you are?" she questioned the black-cloaked form that was now a few yards away. The cloak hid the scarred part of his face in shadow.
"I'm sure you already know," he said monotonously.
"If I did, I wouldn't be asking now would I?" she countered. He smirked slightly: she was witty, he would give her credit for that/
"Le Fantôme de l'Opéra, at your service," he said with a mocking bow to her. The girl actually began to laugh at him. He felt his blood begin to boil.
"The Phantom? No such being. 'He' is merely a legend made up to scare the ballet girls," she said still laughing.
"You need to learn---," he hissed but she cut him off."
"If you're Phantom then where is your mask?" That was it, he couldn't deal with her teasing. Within an instant he was in front of her the hood of the cloak pushed back and his hands in and iron grip around her throat, she gasped. She tried to pry his hands off her neck but to no avail, he was too strong, she whimpered softly. She could not stop a few tears of pain from falling down her cheeks. He pushed her against the wall.
"Is this not proof enough?" he yelled at her making her look at him "Are these abhorrent marks enough evidence to please you!?" She was gasping for air. He let go of her neck only to backhand her across the cheek with enough force to make her lose her balance and fall. She touched the wound, it burned like fire, and she could feel the sticky blood he had merited with his painful strike.
"And who are you wench?" he growled kicking her in the side, not hard enough to break anything but hard enough to smart immensely. Though it was nothing compared to the slap.
"A-Adrina L-Leon, monsiuer," she whimpered in response. He moved towards her again and she winced looking up in terror, he loomed about her but he didn't do anything. His body had changed, some of his anger and hatred had left him and been replaced with something almost scarier: regret. Without breathing another word to her, he disappeared into the shadows again, just like a real Phantom.