The wind swirled in cool bursts through the streets of Paris, intermingling with the humid air. With it flowed the blend of city noises, a thousand different sounds rising up into the clear, blue sky that hovered above the late afternoon crowd. Within this chorus hung the bright, joyful melody of a song, drifting like a dove amidst the tangled mess of caws and breys-the cries of street vendors, the clanging of automobiles, and the consistent murmur of blissfully ignorant tourists on their merry summer holidays.
It was on days like this that Marie loved to stand in the park and play her violin, letting her music join in harmony with the birds as she swayed back and forth with the rhythm of the breeze. This is precisely what she was doing on this particular day, oblivious to all other obligations, hardly noticing the passerby that stopped to enjoy her gift before moving on, nor would she have cared if she had been aware of their admiration. Nothing could draw her from the dreamy world in which she dwelt. Besides, she had to practice.
The thought presented itself to her repeatedly, doing its best to distract her from her joy, but she shook it away each time. After all, she had no need to be nervous. It was only one song, and she had practiced it day after day until, finally, she was entirely confident in the complicated piece. If anything, she looked forward to the night ahead. It wasn't every day that a girl was to attend a ball, and she had prepared herself for the event nearly as much as she had for the solo she had been asked to perform.
She only wished... but she knew it was in vain. He had been gone for over a year now, and it was no use wishing anymore. She had to move on. Even so, her heart ached at the memory of his hand in hers, and she subconsciously dropped the violin from beneath her chin, sighing in despair.
As if it felt the void left by the abrupt interruption, the city produced another sound-one far less enchanting. "Father," a young girl stated firmly, "I will not allow it." She crossed her arms and stood, her face turned upward in determination, her fiery, green eyes rested on her father as he studied the pages of the day's paper.
"I am done discussing this, Charlotte," he sighed in exasperation. "There is no room for debate, and that is final. It is a great deal to be invited to such an occasion, and you should be honored to attend."
"But, father," she moaned, "what is so honorable about it?" She plopped down on the sofa, causing her hair to rise and fall, sympathizing with her despondency. "It's nothing but a bunch of old men in suits, tripping over the heels of desperate, middle-aged women who never quite found Prince Charming."
The inspector's stern brow crinkled as he scolded, "You know full well that this is a very exclusive event, hosted by the Duchess Elizabeth herself. I told her we would be glad to attend, and so we shall."
Charlie shoved her head into her palm, slumping over, muttering, "At least half of us will."
He cast a burning glance at his stubborn daughter. "You will attend the Dutchess' ball tonight," he snapped sharply, "and you will be presentable. Now, go buy yourself something to wear. I will not have you tramping about in your ridiculous getup. This conversation is officially ended, Charlotte. "
He began to stamp away, fuming. "It's 'Charlie,'" she mumbled under her breath.
Her father halted, then turned to face her once again. "Impertinent child..."
Marie's afternoon flew by quickly, leaving her just enough time to put the finishing touches on her hair before she was beckoned downstairs. Every inch of her was tingling with excitement as she stepped gently down the stairs, her flowing, blue gown floating along behind her as her white heels clicked on the hard floor. "You look lovely, ma chérie," her mother smiled at her as she joined her in the hallway outside the ballroom.
Marie returned the gesture, then stared at the double doors before her. Her stomach began to turn, and a surge of worry swept over her as she listened to the hum of guests' chatter behind the polished wood. Her mother put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, as she whispered softly, "You'll do fine. Play it for him."
"Raphael..." Marie breathed longingly. Her words evaporated into the air and, as she inhaled deeply, filled her with renewed confidence. The murmur in the next room was hushed, making way for a single voice, which, after thanking all invitees for their gracious acceptance, announced the entrance of "the grand Duchess Elizabeth and her talented daughter, Marie."
Marie emerged onto the small stage, following her mother closely, glancing at each member of the orchestra as she passed. "Talented daughter..." The words troubled her nerves. "Now they expect something from me," she thought to herself. "What if I don't do well enough for them?"
She gazed over the audience as the announcer prepared them for her solo, ensuring them again and again of the wondrous treat that awaited them. So many important individuals stood, watching her, and her heart cowered at the scene. At last, the speaker ended his speech with a flourish, exiting the stage with the Duchess close behind, leaving the girl alone on the center platform. Her violin was placed into her trembling hands, steadied only slightly by Alfred's comforting glance, and she lifted the instrument to her chin, bringing the bow upon the strings in unsure readiness.
Then she paused, studying the guests, all of whom stared right back at her in expectation. Suddenly, a blue-clad figure caught her attention, and she fixed her sapphire eyes on his. They were copper, shaded by a lock of red hair that lay across his forehead, and looking into hers like those of a mind reader. Something in them seemed to say, "It's okay. You don't have to be good enough for them. You'll always be good enough for me. " Her heart fluttered for a moment. Was it really him? No... no, it couldn't be. It was just her imagination again. A single tear formed itself in her eye, sparkling as the light shone upon it. She would play for him, wherever he may be.
She drew her bow back as the applause faded, shut her eyes tight, and began. A lone, pure note suffused across the room, filling every heart with awe. The song was complicated and forebodingly fast-paced, but Marie flew through it almost effortlessly. When she had played the last bar, a great cheer rose to the high ceiling, and the girl blushed a bit at the praise of the adoring multitude. She had done well, and her face was beaming as she lowered her violin and curtsied. As she looked up, however, her spirits sank as her imagination failed her. Phantom R was gone.