It was a brisk chilly night with a light dusting of new snow upon the city streets. The street lamps had been primed and lit for those few stragglers that still littered the alley ways; and for those few late night workers hurrying home to make it in time for dinner.
For the most part the, normally busy bustling, city had closed it's eyes for the night. Families were now tucked away into their beds, pick-pockets, hooligans, and stray beasts now found a small piece of heaven tucked away in abandoned or rundown buildings long forgotten. Everything was as it should be on this chilly night. All except for one glorious opera house.
In the heart of the city was the Grand Opera Populair. It's windows were aglow with happy dancing flames. Outside were the grand guests appearing in their horse drawn carriages, which would quickly by whisked away by stagehands and stable boys.
Guests of all shapes and sizes, dressed in their best petticoats and three pieces suits, gallivanted about before being ushered into the large doors for tonight's showing of a most tragic opera.
Once inside the full life of the Opera house burst open! Hundreds of eager patrons gabled on about the Opera's recent diamond in the rough discovered merely days before! Ms. Christine Daia had made quite a splash within the city's gossip. This gossip was only fueled itself when the newest management flaunted the young woman name in the newest of showings tonight.
Candles shown brightly for the guests to beat away the chill in the air, every piece of silver and gold gleamed to an aesthetic perfection to add to the sense of "awe" the opera house always seemed to offer. The sound of bold laughter boomed above the idle classical music coming from somewhere within the domain. Women cackled and chittered with each other as dancers in exotic garb bounced about the place to enhance everyone's expectations of tonight showing.
Yes it seemed all was alight with life tonight in the grand Populair. Even more excited than the grand ball going on in the foyer, we're the stage hands that roared with excitement! Stage rats, dancers, costume designers, backups, fill-ins, everyone was scampering about in preparation.
Dancers flitted about as they grouped together to once again practice and stretch for their numbers which they new perfectly already thanks to the wonderful teachings of madame Geri. Stage hands abided their time with checking riggings, lightings, scenes, and props. Nothing could go wrong under their inspection else they find themselves tossed to the streets at the beginning of a cruel winter.
It is true to say that it is a true gala once the opera house comes to life. Everyone has their hearts a flutter and their nerves grinding to the bone. Everyone seemed to be celebrating and alive with joy and excitement. All but one young woman who seemed to be having more than her share of work in her workshop.
Workshop was as great and understatement as they came. What she dubbed "workstation" was in fact quite a large facility located directly behind the stage and slightly to the right. It was a room large enough to fit seven or eight full grown women at one time, but however the space was reserved with mannequins, racks of beautiful gowns and tutus, bolts of fabrics, discarded trunks filled with mock gems and studs, shoes and slippers strewn about the floor, and lace. My god the lace and tulle that littered the area was obvious that a seamstress to the dancers was hard at work.
Behind a well used sewing machine was the bobbing and swaying head of a seamstress. Her golden brown hair was pulled back tightly into a signature ballerina bun and secured with old scraps of some forgotten costume. Her hands worked skillfully upon an exotic coat of arms in hues of deep purple and gold trimming that would play a great part in another production. She had been tasked with making repairs upon tutus and layered skirts for tonight's showing, however she had put herself hard at work to get all of her list completed so she could get a head start on her later projects.
Evaungaline Winter was a most talented seamstress. Her talents were passed down through the generations of her family as a proud trade amongst the women of her blood. With each new student it seemed that the talent only grew stronger and more detailed as each child would begin to add their own flare and technique. Eve had always been a lover of the old ways. Where her sisters would keep up to date with the newest fashions and trends to further sell their workings, she preferred sticking to strong ideas and bold stitchings. It's true her sisters names may have been called upon than her own but what she lacked in propaganda she gained in trustworthy reliable recommendations.
It wasn't by some tragic turn of fate that she had come to sell her skill to an opera house. Oh no. It was by choice. Eve had decided to forgo the ideas of designing vibrant gowns and suits for stuffy, air headed nobles and heiress', and put herself to use in a business where her talent would be of actual use and put her closer to her once glorified dreams.
With all of the commotion going on outside of her workshop Eve found it soothing to work. The hustle and bustle going on just outside her door made her heart sing and her pride fly with triumph; knowing that even tho the audience had come to see the vocal miracles that their opera had to offer and the perfected talented dancers that would wow the crowds with their flurries and Paste Duexs, they would secretly be wowed by her own creations of elaborate costumes and accessories.
Without a sound she moved her small hands from under the fabric to lift the foot of her sewing machine. With the fabric freed she gave it a good shake to her left and gave it a prideful once-over. It was a masterpiece in itself, measured perfectly to match the leading baritone's stout form.
The costume was then placed upon a rack consisting of nearly twenty other pieces labeled for the next production. It had been nearly two straight hours she had been working on her laborious love to which she discovered she now had a rare moment of free time. Being the closest to a top seamstress in the opera house as a young woman could get, she rarely had any amount of time to herself, save the moments when sleep was a welcomed guest.
Looking around at the chaotic mess she would surely have to clean up, eventually, she shook her head. How had she ever allowed to let this place get so out of hand? Madame Giri would have about field day with her emotions later, when she was done whipping and caning her dancers to perfection.
Gathering up the bottoms of her dress she made her way through the clutter and exited the workshop.
A burst of music and laughter assaulted her senses. People rushed by her through the tight hallways behind the stage. Woman hung over rafters calling to the male stage hands who went about their jobs and occasionally giving into one of their admirers cat calls. These were the times that really made her proud of her choices in life to live in an opera. She'd never be able to belly laugh with friends the way she did here. There would never be such a flaming sense of freedom outside of these walls where women were to be freshly starched each morning before their cup of tea. In here, people lived a life of lust, liquor, laughter, and comfort.
Closing the door behind her Eve zig-zagged through the heated bodied of her friends. Those who knew her working habits called out in mock surprise that the workaholic has finally come to play. In response she would give them her signature look to which her eyes would shine with enjoyment and her lips would crack into a graceful smile, "Why misteor, how nice of you to notice my absence", would be her simple retort.
She was not as risqué as the other women, nor was she as extravagant. Her choice in hairstyle matched that of her wardrobe, a soft cream colored corset and skirt detailed in dark brown trimming. The skirt was hemmed up in the back to give a gentle scoop at the small of her back, the corset was tight about her small waist and gently pushed at the graceful swell of her breasts that were hidden modestly by a sheer tulle. It was a modest outfit that both made her unnoticeable and enticing at the same time. Her dancers bun stuck firmly to her scalp at the back of her head was meant to take focus away from her delicate features but only accentuated the slender column of her neck.
After working up a bit of sweat trying to untangle herself from the merry mass of bodies she found herself now in a hallways that lead to the small cathedral where many would go to pray. She had once devoted herself dearly to her daily prayers. There was a time when she carried a delicate silver cross around her neck in her pursuits to live an all holy life. But life had had other plans for her in the past. Her visits to the chapel had become less and less in the five years she had been at the opera house. Life had been cruel to a pure devotionist like herself. She had been a great believer in her Jesus Christ before her tragic accident. Staring down at the long darkened hallway brought a sense of irony into her bosom where a deep empty wound would never heal.
Looking away from the holy trek she made a right which lead away from the lively party, away from the disagreed chapel, and away from her labors in the workshop. After a short five minute walk Eve found herself in her haven. A section of the Opera house that had been forgotten in the passage of time once the place had been "reinvented" at the turn of the century.
This haven was nothing more than a cornered section blocked away by a half hanging dusty drapery that had once been used as a stage curtain. It's this black folds gave way to an area half the size of the workshop and almost as clutterd. There were pillows thrown about, some stacked into the corner to make a decent pallet, others were strewn about in randomized places. Tall and short candles were placed in any area to which they could burn, on top of piles of books, the ledges of old metal works, and mostly around the makeshift pallet of pillows.
Eve took in her sanctuary with a lovely sigh. The stress of the day washed away and was replaced by that which was a sense of melancholy. The music was almost nonexistent which was okay with her. It was nice to find some time to yourself once in a while and what little time she ever had was spent here.
She walked into her haven and let the curtain fall behind her. With her feet she pushed some books out of the way to give herself enough room to make a three foot circle. Her right foot pointed, she pushed the last book out of her way then drug the tip of her toe quickly about her sending the hem of her skirt light fluttering about her ankles. This small act brought a silly smile to her lips. Again she brought her toe around, this time with a little more oompf, sending the hem whirling about the middle of her calfs. Her arms went up into the air with their fingers pointed delicately towards each other as her left foot planted itself firmly upon the ground. She focused her gaze directly in front of her at the black curtains as if to draw concentration from their never ending darkness. She stayed like this for a long timei, her breaths coming in and out slowly, building up the courage for her next move. With her last exhale she slowly brought her right leg away from the ground, up her leg to her knee, from her knee to just below her pelvis. Her balance faltered for just a moment, to regain her composer her arms lowered to her wait and then directly outwards away from her. A small sheet of sweat began to gloss over her ivory skin from the strain she now felt.
The cream folds of her skirts now bunched up around her waist with her leg still resting below her pelvis. Finally with enough confidence her right foot moved forward away from her, pointed in front of her then made its way in a circular motion away from her body to which her balance then shifted with the motion.
Quiet. All around her was quiet. She had done this a thousand times but it never seemed to get easier. How simple this move had been years ago, but here she was straining with all of her might just to hold her composure.
Her torso began to lean forward as her leg was brought around her pointing and elongating her calf muscles. The amount of weight on her grounded leg began to shiver from the workout. Her arms that were stretched from her body struggled to keep the baled adjusted for her, this was the moment she needed to focus the most.
Her teeth set themselves tightly against one another from the concentration. A bead of sweat pooled from her hairline down to her collarbone. Her floating leg began to move upwards in a show of practice and awkward grace. This was the farthest she had come in ages of practicing and that in itself was a reward but she pressed on. If only she could retain her form long enough so she could lower her torso flush against her grounded leg. If only the small twinge of pain the was now beginning to make itself known would stay at bay for a little longer.
The small shutters of strain began mixing with the familiar pain ringing inside of her leg. The weight was becoming too much for the ligament to withhold but she had to hold on for just a moment longer!
This would be it! She was close to accomplishing a small goal she had set for herself. In the many times she had come to this exact spot to practice she had never gotten this far, or this long, in a balanced stance. Pain or not she would accomplish this feat!
Slower, even slower her torso began to lower. Her leg shook itself so much it almost sent her crashing to the floor if it weren't for her flailing arms. Just a bit further and this moment would be a triumph! She could feel the sense of excitement over powering the pain that now radiated up the back of her leg to her hips.
With eyes closed she lowered her head feeling the middle of her belly coming flush against her thigh. Just a bit more. Every muscle in her small frame was rigid with the battle of letting go and going further. Her lips peeled back from her teeth in a grimace of determined pain. Just a bit more.
All of a sudden the silence of her sanctuary was broken. Like the shattering of a piece of glass in a graveyard her concentration was broken and her leg gave under the pain and pressure upon it.
Somewhere above her in the pitch black rigging there had been a loud clash of metal upon metal. Someone had been walking up in the rafters?
To mimic the loud clash of metal Eve's body crumpled to the hard floor in a not so lady like manner. Her skirts flared about her in a messy ensemble, her limps laid this way and that in a mess of body parts and clothing. She gave a great hiss of pain as her shins and elbows collided with ground. Whatever had broken her silence had suddenly gone still in her clumsy scene of failure.
She lay there in an emotional mixer of disappointment, frustration, pain, and curiosity. For a moment she let herself lay there in frustration. She had come so close to her personal goal only to have it dashed away by an intruder!
Pushing herself up onto her knees she took care as she stood not to put any weight on her damaged limb. A small hiss of pain escaped her lips once she completely righted and the frazzled skirts of her dress settled about her ankles again.
'I was so close this time', she thought to herself.
Looking up into the darkness she strained her icy blue eyes in attempt to catch a glimpse of whoever had sent her crumbling to her fall. There was no movement up above not even a sound of residual movement. Either whenever was up there was incredibly quiet or she had been hearing things all along.
'How on Earth could I have been hearing things? Perhaps I've been spending too much time locked away in my workshop'. she thought angrily to herself in an attempt to rationalize herself.
She remained quiet. So did the rigging. Perhaps she had been so concentrated that she indeed made up a noise in her head. She certainly hoped this was the correct answer for the other answer meant someone was indeed above her, and quite possibly watching her. The small hairs at the back of her neck began to prickle and rise. Whatever sense of pain she had was washed away by the icy blasts of fear. Whether she liked to dwell on it or not she was in fact a young woman in her early twenties and she was all alone in an abandoned part of the theater. This new found situation sank in harder than she'd liked it to have but got her mind in gear. She made quick work of blowing out the candles she had lit previously, leaving only one to which she used to guide herself away from her spot.
All around her the candle bit into the dense darkness. She had never been bothered by the dark like just now. Sure some things went bump in the night but never in her section of the Opera house. Her pace picked up the fraction of a bit.
When she was almost to the juncture where the sanctuary hall met the bustling hallways of stage hands she heard the faint sound of metal being jarred behind her at an alarming rate.
Fear jumped straight from her chest and into her throat; tightening her airways and sending her mind into a spin of horror make believe. Her legs, however painful they seemed, carried her quickly away from the darkness and into the joyous warm glow of the ever increasing bustle of the cast and crew.
Being in such close quarters with her friends should have made a sense of relief wash through her but sadly it did little to cool her nerves. Never had the opera house given her such a shake before. What had been in those rafters just now? Why the sudden chase? Was it even chasing her? Had it even really been there? Perhaps she had spent too much time locked away from the outside world.
Eve clutched her hands tightly in the folds of her skirt as she once again zig-zagged through the throngs of people. The last thing she had on her mind was being alone to peck at more theater costumes. Her destination would be her closest friend within the opera. The goal however, was finding her.