Prologue: Under the Parisian Rain


It was a gloomy April in Paris and despite a heavy downpour that cleansed cobblestones and gray tiled rooftops of residue, the streets buzzed with a vibrant sort of energy. Colorful cane umbrellas moved in a sinuous dance from above with black carriages speeding down the middle of the colorful sea; yet, through the noise of hooves clopping against stones, the pitter-patter of rain, and the dull hum of conversations held between Parisians, a sorrowful and calming song rose and echoed throughout the blocks, pleasing the senses of all who happened to hear it.

A small crowd had gathered around an alcove, their umbrellas linking together to create a semi circle surrounding a young woman and her black stained cello. With her head down, dark auburn hair hiding her face, and right hand gently working a bow across five taught strings, she created a hauntingly beautiful sound that vibrated in the chests of her onlookers. Her cello case laid open in front of her, a few francs scattered upon the maroon velvet lining inside, and a black Scottish Terrier sat diligently at her side, constantly scanning the area as if he were her body guard. It was clear the audience was impressed as looks of amazement graced their features and francs were clutched in fists, ready to be thrown into the case when the song ended, but there was one pair of emerald eyes in the audience who did not watch with wonder, but with careful calculation. His eyes followed the back-and-forth movement of the bow across the strings, evaluated what she surrounded herself with, including the dog, and questioned the mystery behind the black clothed woman, wondering for how many years she played at this spot right outside the café he frequented.

The song eventually ended, taking away with it the spell that it cast over the crowd, and as if waking from a deep slumber, applause slowly and staggeringly erupted. Francs flew through the air and fell into the open case while praise was shot in the direction of the performer. The woman kept her head down through the noise, but when the crowd finally dispersed she raised her head to acknowledge the lone man who still stood a few feet away in the bumpy street.

"Is there something you want to request monsieur?" she spoke softly, her right hand which held the bow resting in her lap and her left still supporting the cello between her knees.

The man held in a slight gasp at the sight he saw before him. The woman's face was simply enchanting with a delicate chin, full champagne pink lips and beauty mark placed on the top most part of her left cheekbone, but a pair of black-tinted spectacles hid her eyes from the world and obstructed the view of a uniform scar stretched from temple to temple. He now noticed how although she looked in his direction, it seemed as if her ear was pointed more directly at him than her eyes.

"Monsieur?" she questioned again, knowing that he still stood there from the sound of light rain hitting his umbrella.

He worked to find his voice as he stepped closer, noticing how the terrier at her feet now stood at full attention, prepared to protect his master if need be.

"Yes, uh," he stuttered, stopping to stand directly in front of her. She had followed his movement and bent her neck to "look" at him. "I often visit the café next door and have heard you play for many years. You're quite good."

She stretched her lips into a smile, sending his heartbeat into a flutter. "Why thank you, monsieur. I practice every day."

He cleared his throat, a nervous smile breaking out over his face in response as he thought of how to frame his next question. "I, uh, am the new manager at the Palais Garnier which is set to open again with a new opera on the five year anniversary of the fire," he began, gesturing down the street towards where the opera house stood in habit. She nodded in recognition, having heard about the devastation that happened there when she first came to Paris. "Most of the orchestra that played there before the tragedy were able to return, but a few have gone to start new lives, including one of our cellists," he continued to explain, glancing down at the terrier who had moved to sniff at his feet. He paused momentarily, distracted by the dog, but then looked up again to notice the woman waiting patiently for him to begin again. "I came to inquire if you would be able to fill that position, but…"

"You are worried if I will be able to perform with my disability I'm sure," she finished for him, a look of kind understanding on her features.

He nodded in agreement, but remembering she wouldn't be able to see, spoke out a quick "yes" instead.

"Monsieur, are there other cellists in the orchestra?"

"Yes, madame, there is at least one other," he replied, suddenly wondering what her marital situation was.

"If he may play the piece for me once, I will be able to play from then on, monsieur. And I am not married, so you may call me Mademoiselle Aemelie," she informed him, looking slightly off-put by the title he gave her.

"Yes, of course, Mademoiselle Aemelie," he corrected himself, liking how the pretty name flowed off his lips. "And I'm sure our cellist will be alright with that condition, especially if it gets such a talented cellist to play at his side."

It seemed as if the Scottish Terrier chuffed in response to his compliment towards his master, causing Aemelie to reach down and scratch her dog between its pointed ears in recognition before she looked back up at the manager.

"Splendid, Monsieur…"

"Oh, Casimir Delacroix."

"Splendid, Monsieur Delacroix. When do I start?"


Hello, kaiburns here. Most likely I will not be doing author's notes often because I feel awkward doing them, but I did want to thank you for reading the prologue to the new fanfiction I'm working on. This will most likely be a mixture from the events of the book, musical, and movie to clear any confusion. Please feel free to give me constructive criticism if needed and I hope you enjoy the rest of this story.