"I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be here" she chanted to herself.
"I'm gonna get caught, they're gonna kick my ass, ohmygod, I should NOT be here." She was walking down a fairly deserted corridor in the Paris Opera House.
"I don't even speak French. Good Lord, what am I DOING here."
Then again, why shouldn't she be here? It was a strange leap that had gotten her to Paris, anyway. She never involved herself in school activities, just this once, and it had happened to be the one club that had decided to send a few members to Paris on a "learning trip". It was truly bizarre.
She'd read The Phantom of the Opera so many times, she could quote passages from the text. There was no way she was going to miss the chance to see the famous building, sneaking away from the group and the repercussions didn't matter. It was almost 9 'o clock, the building was nearly deserted, except for the odd guard or two. She couldn't believe there was no security system and her every step was taken nervously as she prayed fervently that the discordant jangling of an automated alarm wouldn't disturb the calm Parisian night.
"My god" she breathed, disbelieving. "He did way too much research." The 'he' she was referring to was Gaston Leroux, and the whispered comment to no one was made because she had found an isolated dressing-room. Not just any dressing room, she knew it in her bones. This was where the novelist had set the fate of his brain-child Christine Daae, the dressing room that would belong, in reader's minds, to the young prima donna for all eternity.
She knew it wasn't rational, that there was no reason for her to be sneaking around finding places that the story had been modeled after, but that didn't matter to her now. The book had been her favorite for years, and was rarely seen without the company of her love-worn tattered paperback. She had it with her now and clutched convulsively at the creased cover, jumping at every small sound. She pulled her flashlight from the green and black purse she had slung over her left shoulder and swept its beam over the walls near the door.
"Damn it." She mouthed. The light switch was nowhere to be found. In a swift moment of foresight she'd stowed away a few taper candles and matches in her purse, which she now lit and placed on the vanity table. She pulled a chair in front of the table, back to the enormous mirror lining an entire wall. This was the moment she'd imagined in her dreams. Taking a deep, rapturous breath, she opened the book to the prologue and began to read. "The Opera ghost really existed. He was not, as was long believed, a creature of the imagination of the artists..."
She swung the book down into her lap and gazed wildly about the room. She was certain that she'd HEARD those words spoken, had not merely read them as she had countless times before. She half-whispered half-sung "the phantom of the opera is here, inside my mind" and chuckled. That was nothing new to her, certainly. She was never simply a fan of anything, but threw her mind and soul into it, a habit that her friends often sighed over in consternation.
She reopened the book, noting with irritation that yet another page had come loose. "So you sing, do you?" it was the same voice she'd thought she'd heard reading. A man's voice, very soft, with a heavy French accent. A beautiful voice, really. If she didn't know better...no.
"You're such a retard." She thought to herself. "Maybe you should see a psychiatrist after all. What the hell are you doing here? I can just imagine trying to explain this to some police officer…in English, no less. They'll think 'stupid American' and get my ass deported. Without even going to the Louvre."
"Mlle, why are you here in the dead of night, reading my book?" The voice was not imaginary. She stood up, frightened.
"I-I apologize, messieur, for my trespassing."
~~~Authoress's Note~~~ Please, please, please review. Sorry about my heroine's less than elegant language, that will change along with the revealing of her name. :) This story will pick up in the next few chapters and get more original, while stealing from the Twilight Zone...
Needless Disclaimer You know darn well what I don't own, and that I'm not making any money off of this. Please don't sue me. Thank you, and enjoy the show.
"I'm gonna get caught, they're gonna kick my ass, ohmygod, I should NOT be here." She was walking down a fairly deserted corridor in the Paris Opera House.
"I don't even speak French. Good Lord, what am I DOING here."
Then again, why shouldn't she be here? It was a strange leap that had gotten her to Paris, anyway. She never involved herself in school activities, just this once, and it had happened to be the one club that had decided to send a few members to Paris on a "learning trip". It was truly bizarre.
She'd read The Phantom of the Opera so many times, she could quote passages from the text. There was no way she was going to miss the chance to see the famous building, sneaking away from the group and the repercussions didn't matter. It was almost 9 'o clock, the building was nearly deserted, except for the odd guard or two. She couldn't believe there was no security system and her every step was taken nervously as she prayed fervently that the discordant jangling of an automated alarm wouldn't disturb the calm Parisian night.
"My god" she breathed, disbelieving. "He did way too much research." The 'he' she was referring to was Gaston Leroux, and the whispered comment to no one was made because she had found an isolated dressing-room. Not just any dressing room, she knew it in her bones. This was where the novelist had set the fate of his brain-child Christine Daae, the dressing room that would belong, in reader's minds, to the young prima donna for all eternity.
She knew it wasn't rational, that there was no reason for her to be sneaking around finding places that the story had been modeled after, but that didn't matter to her now. The book had been her favorite for years, and was rarely seen without the company of her love-worn tattered paperback. She had it with her now and clutched convulsively at the creased cover, jumping at every small sound. She pulled her flashlight from the green and black purse she had slung over her left shoulder and swept its beam over the walls near the door.
"Damn it." She mouthed. The light switch was nowhere to be found. In a swift moment of foresight she'd stowed away a few taper candles and matches in her purse, which she now lit and placed on the vanity table. She pulled a chair in front of the table, back to the enormous mirror lining an entire wall. This was the moment she'd imagined in her dreams. Taking a deep, rapturous breath, she opened the book to the prologue and began to read. "The Opera ghost really existed. He was not, as was long believed, a creature of the imagination of the artists..."
She swung the book down into her lap and gazed wildly about the room. She was certain that she'd HEARD those words spoken, had not merely read them as she had countless times before. She half-whispered half-sung "the phantom of the opera is here, inside my mind" and chuckled. That was nothing new to her, certainly. She was never simply a fan of anything, but threw her mind and soul into it, a habit that her friends often sighed over in consternation.
She reopened the book, noting with irritation that yet another page had come loose. "So you sing, do you?" it was the same voice she'd thought she'd heard reading. A man's voice, very soft, with a heavy French accent. A beautiful voice, really. If she didn't know better...no.
"You're such a retard." She thought to herself. "Maybe you should see a psychiatrist after all. What the hell are you doing here? I can just imagine trying to explain this to some police officer…in English, no less. They'll think 'stupid American' and get my ass deported. Without even going to the Louvre."
"Mlle, why are you here in the dead of night, reading my book?" The voice was not imaginary. She stood up, frightened.
"I-I apologize, messieur, for my trespassing."
~~~Authoress's Note~~~ Please, please, please review. Sorry about my heroine's less than elegant language, that will change along with the revealing of her name. :) This story will pick up in the next few chapters and get more original, while stealing from the Twilight Zone...
Needless Disclaimer You know darn well what I don't own, and that I'm not making any money off of this. Please don't sue me. Thank you, and enjoy the show.