This was just a random idea that popped in my head one day. I started writing it, then stopped, then decided to write instead of homework. Sigh. I have priority issues.
That said… enjoy? I think I need to make it clear the ships. It will NOT be Elsaanna in anyway. There will be some Hanna, but whether it lasts will subject to change. I have yet to decide if Kristoff will have a role in this.
This story is based more on the musical than the novel, because I'm more familiar with the musical. That said, I might choose to dig the book up to style the rest of the story.
Occasionally, other Disney movies will be referenced to fit the numbers in the story when deemed appropriate.
~~~0~~~
The Opera Ghost
1881. Paris, fashionable and booming, was the centre of the arts. All those who claimed themselves masters of their craft flocked here to display their talent, and those who wished to hone their skill, or simply seek draw inspiration from those who had, came to learn. It was the era of romanticism, of powerful emotions and lofty ideals, of humanism and spiritualism, where the lowly mankind sought the soul of the sublime.
In reality, of course, the arts could only be savored by the bourgeois, for the starving could not sit and contemplate the meaning of life as the affluent could. Yet, let it not be said that the arts could not be created by the lowly beggar with a poem on his lips, or the peddler with a brush in his hand.
Or the sewer-dweller with a song in her head.
Deep, deep, down in the catacombs under the city resided the finest composer Paris had ever had. It was said that her arias could bring one peace, her verismos made the hardened weep, and her oratorios carried one to the heavens. Alas, in the city that celebrated the beautiful, that too meant it scorned the deformed. And surely a creature who bore what must be the mark of Cain on her countenance could be nothing less than the scion of Hell.
So away from condemning eyes she hid, seated on her isolated throne and throwing herself into the world of song and melody. But perhaps if you pass through the Opera Populaire, you might hear a strong soprano echoing through its halls and you would wonder if an angel resided within.
Or perhaps, a demon.
~~~0~~~
"Mademoiselle, I beg you! Reconsider, please!"
"Non, non, messieurs! I cannot!" the blonde woman declared theatrically, flapping herself rapidly with her feathered fan. The Mademoiselle Charlotte La Bouff, sole child of the current Maire de Paris and distinguished soprano virtuoso, was upset and when she was upset, she could not be consoled. "It is clear that there are forces of evil at work here to interfere with my art!" She slapped her fan against her gloved hands, closing it with a distinct slap before pointing it at the fallen backdrop sitting on the stage - the backdrop that had fallen all of sudden in the middle of the rehearsal, whilst she had been practicing her solo. None of the stagehands had been up there at time, so the culprit for this crude prank was still at large. "No! I refuse to perform until you put to appease this-this-this opera ghost that haunts this stage."
Murmuring exploded amongst the members of the cast when she had spoken the unspeakable name. Whispers flew about the stage as each said the stories that they heard – how the props had gone missing in the night and ended up damaged, how curtains flapped against open windows that had been closed before, how hisses and curses followed the steps of those who wandered too far into the corridors.
The new owner of Opera Populaire grew quite impatient with this hullabaloo and tapped his cane on the wooden floor. "Now, now, stop this nonsense!" At this, the clamour died down, but only a little. "There is no such thing as the 'opera ghost'."
"Forgive me, Monsieur Weselton," one of the stagehands piped in. He was a large muscular man, who had grown his strength from moving heavy props and sets since his childhood days. "But you are unfamiliar to the Opera. You have not seen the terrible things that the Ghost would do to those who offend her."
"Her?" M. Weselton raised a bushy brow. The ownership of the opera had only been passed to him this morning and the lore that came with it was still unfamiliar to his ears.
"It's been agreed by many witnesses, sir, that the ghost is female," the stagehand elaborated. Many other members of the staff nodded their heads in agreement, while the cast members, draped in their opulent costumes, huddled fearfully together, eyes darting frantically.
"Well! That explains the jealousy!" huffed Mlle. La Bouff, sweeping her skirts, turning pink with fury. "Well, you will not be seeing me sing here tonight, messieurs. Not while I am being mocked!" Waving her fan at her companion, she called out with an air of finality as she descended the stage, "Come, Tia! We have better places to be!"
The companion sheepishly fetched the blonde virtuoso's furs and placing it over her shoulders. Mlle. La Bouff swooped down the aisle then with her companion, head held high. No amount of pleading on M. Weselton's part slowed her steps in any way, and her departure was marked with the resounding slam of the door. Silence then greeted the theatre where the soprano's aria was supposed to be.
"We'll have to cut her part, I suppose," one of the executive managers finally said with a sigh.
"We can't cut out her part, you idiot!" M. Weselton growled, his mustache bouncing he fumed. His twig-like legs paced the stage anxiously. "She's the main lead." He snapped at the repetiteur. "Who is the understudy?"
"There is none, monsieur," the man answered listlessly. "It is a new production."
"Really! This is ridiculous! Inane even! We can't not have a lead!" M. Weselton was almost frothing in the mouth.
"Sorry to interrupt, Monsieur, but I think I have a solution." One of the musical tutors stepped forward, waving his hand up at the manager. He seemed oddly cheerful and chirpy despite the misfortunate that befallen the cast at this moment. With a bright smile, he introduced himself, "Hello, I'm Olaf. I like warm hugs."
"Well, Master Olaf-" M. Weselton appraised him with a doubtful expression, "-what assistance might you possibly render?"
"We need someone else to sing in Mlle. La Bouff's place, right? I know just the person." The tutor spun around, gesturing to one of the ballerinas standing idly around the stage. The girl who came forward was a lithe, springy thing who was as thin as she was plain. With the servant costume on, she seemed even smaller and unremarkable, with a freckled face and light brown hair that betrayed her common upbringing. But there was something in her green eyes that flickered in excitement, making her whole self seem to light up. "M. Weselton, this is Anna." The girl made a little curtsey at the sound of her name, smiling nervously. "She has been taking lessons, and I think she'd be a great replacement for Mlle. La Bouff."
"A chorus girl replacing the main lead?" A sceptical voice shot up at once from the administrative staff. "Now that's pure absurd."
At this, the girl deflated. Her shoulders drooped and she twisted herself around to return to her join the troupe. But the musical tutor did not give in as easily as she had, grabbing her by the arm. To the managers, he said, "Come on, messieurs, just give her a chance. If it doesn't work out, then you can try something else."
There was a short discussion between the administrators, where all that could be concluded was that there was no harm in letting the girl try, even if nothing would come of it.
"Let us try the aria once more," M. Weselton finally said, removing a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket to wipe his forehead. The first day of running this opera and so much had gone awry. "Repiteur?"
The man nodded firmly before snapping into action, jumping to the piano. Giving the reference note, he then proceeded to play the introduction of the piece, nodding towards the ballerina as a way of indicating for her to start.
The young girl, gripping onto her skirt nervously, parted her pale lips and began to sing, "The windows are open, so's that door. I didn't know they did that any-" she caught the harsh stare of M. Weselton and her voice faltered, drifting into a mumble.
"This isn't going to work," the manager grumbled, scowling once again and starting to pacing the stage.
"Let her try, Monsieur, please," Olaf spoke up, sounding surprisingly firm for his easy-going demeanor. To the girl, he smiled encouragingly. The young girl called Anna then parted her mouth again and picked from where the repiteur was playing from, "-w-why have a ballroom with no balls? Finally, they're opening up the gaaaates!"
A flush rose into her cheeks and her eyes were glowing again. Forgetting her shyness, the ballerina stepped forward, singing out the next lines with greater gusto, "They'll be actual real life people! It'd be totally strange." The cast gazed on in amazement at the unexpected transformation of the quiet girl, watching her mesmerized as she lifted up her arms and belted out, "But wow, am I so ready for this change-"
~~~0~~~
"-'cause for the first time in forever,"
The opera stage was glowing, light illuminating its ever corner. The glittering crystal chandelier over the seats reflection of a psychedelic whirl onto the stage, where the young woman, flowers in her hair and donning a stunning gown of lace and silk, sang. And when she sang, the wealthy of Paris could not help but listen in awe.
"-there'll be music, there'll be light."
Who was she? The aristocrats didn't know. They fluttered their fans against themselves, wishing to whisper amongst themselves to ask one another if they perhaps knew who this young brunette singer was. But one and all was paralysed by the hypnotic melody that passed her lips. They amazed by the youthful energy, the unhindered passion and the rawness of emotion that they had never seen at the Opera Populaire before.
"For the first time in forever, I'll be dancing through the night."
The once-ballerina and now prima donna twirled around, laughing joyously as she skipped across the stage.
"Don't know if I'm elated or gassy. But I'm somewhere in that zone. But for the first time in forever,-" she clasped her hands together, wringing them against her cheek in a manner so heart-wrenchingly wistful that the audience could not help but sympathise with the character she played "-I won't be alone."
In the instrumental break, applause broke out but she paid them no mind now. She was not Anna Skaðidottir, the sad, orphaned Norwegian ballet dancer. No, she was Princesse Anne d'Arendelle, dashing around the castle and eager for the coming ball that was to be hosted. She skidded down the set, up the spiral stairway that had been arranged for her, a wide grin on her face as she waited for the musical cue. When it came, she sang it as if indeed she had been born into the role.
On the upper tiers of the theatre, in one of the boxes marked '5', a lone figure watched the stage. The curtains had been drawn forward to keep the countenance of this member of the audience in the shadows – not that anyone now could take their eyes of the stage. She leaned comfortably back against the chair set there, her eyes trained downwards. Her hands, gloved, rested on the side of the chair as she listened.
"For the first time in forever, there'll be magic, there'll be fun."
Good. Still in key while retaining the excitement. She nodded approvingly.
"For the first time in forever, I could be noticed by someone."
From that line and the comical expression the ex-ballerina pulled, the crowd could not help but chuckle at the line. At the sound of laughter, the one in Box Five allowed her lip to curl up slightly – just slightly.
Then she heard the door behind her shake, followed by a curse, "Darn it! The door is locked. I beg your pardon, Vicomte de Westergaard. It was unlocked the last time I checked."
"It is quite alright, M. Weselton," another smooth voice followed behind the door. "Perhaps we can find another box?"
"Oh, but this is the best one, Monsieur le Vicomte. As our patron, you should have nothing but the best seat in the house." Quick footsteps. "Ah! There's the key!" The jingling of metal against metal.
At once, her enjoyment faded, turned into irritation. Had she not left a set of instructions for the manager in his office before rehearsal? Hadn't he read the line which stated very clearly that Box Five was to be left for her private use at her discretion? The insolence!
She could make a scene. She wasn't afraid too. That lack of fear to carry out her threats was made the previous managers of the opera leave in the first place. It was only right that she did, after all. It was more her theatre than any of those puffed peacocks, who strutted about in their fine feathers with nothing but air in their heads.
But tonight was Anna's debut to the Parisan public. If she did anything now, it would take the attention of Anna. No, she would let this error slide – for now.
She quickly darted to the dark corner of the box, where there hung a painting of Venus and Cupid. She shifted the frame slightly to the right, making the panel on the wall sink back, revealing passageway. She slipped inside, wrapping her cloak around her. Climbing down the wooden stairs, she flicked the trigger on the side of the wall, launching the mechanism which drew the passage shut. It was in just in time, too, for the muttering she heard above her head told her that Box Five was now occupied. She glared hatefully up at them, before spinning around to descend the rest of the steps.
There were no peep-holes installed on this particular passageway, which made her especially unhappy since she couldn't continue to watch the girl on the stage. However, on the bright side, the acoustic of the theatre was good enough such that she could hear the sounds through the layers of wood and metal, and Anna's voice in her solo was unmistakable, "But for the first time in foreverrrrr, at least I've got a chance."
The masked figure listening the tunnels could not help but pause her steps as she heard the quickened bowing of the violins and the instruments approach the sudden decrescendo. She knew that was the cue for the entrance of the Queen Elise d'Arendelle, the deuteragonist who would sing the rest of the song with Princesse Anne. She would know, after all. She wrote the songs herself.
"Don't let them in. Don't let them see," she found herself singing softly over the alto on the stage. Squeezing her eyes tight, she went on, "Be the good girl, you've always had to be." She adjusted the mask over her face and let out a breath. "Conceal, don't feel." She drew herself up straight, steeling her expression, though there was none to see it in her darkness. "Put on a show."
She glanced up at the passage that she had come from, up to the Box that was meant to be hers. "Make one wrong move, and everyone will know."
She forced herself to calm down. She had already decided that she wasn't going to make a move on them to. But of course, it was only for today. Later on, she would be penning some letters to M. Weselton and spell out her terms for his ownership over her opera more clearly.
But for now, she would find another viewing point for the show. She wouldn't miss this for the world.
So, into the shadows retreated the phantom, carrying darkness in her every step.
~~~0~~~
"I know it all ends tomorrow. So it has to be today! 'Cause for the first time in forever-"
She skipped down the center steps now, as she had practiced, hitching her skirts up. Her heart was thumping in her chest wildly. In her mind, she was wishing hard. 'Please let me get the last note right.'
"-For the first time in for-e-ver-"
Anna sucked in a deep breath, stopping herself at the edge of the stage, arms spread open. 'Please, please let me get the note right.'
"Nothing's in my waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayy!"
When she broke off, she knew that the belt was perfect. She had been perfectly in key and perfectly in time. It was perfect.
The roar of the crowd only confirmed it.
~~~0~~~
"Who is that girl?" the Danish viscount had to shout over the applause in the theatre, which included the applause from himself.
Though he had arrived halfway through the song – the carriage got stuck along the road earlier - what he had watched was sufficient to impress him. He considered himself a true critic of the arts and was rarely impressed with anything. Too often he had brooded moodily on the expenses he had wasted on second-rate commissions and sub-par recitals. But this performance, it wasn't the pretentious display of powder and caked rogue. It was refreshing, new and utter delight. Moreover, the lead soprano for tonight's pantomime was a sight for sore eyes. She was by no means beautiful, or exquisite, or even particularly gorgeous, but there was something attractive about her simplicity. Besides that, he couldn't help but think her face familiar.
"Ah, she is Anna – what was it -" M. Weselton scrunched his face up as he struggled to recall the name "-Anna Skadolton –Skador –Skaldere - oh, blast those Norwegians and their unpronounceable names!"
"Anna Skaðidottir?" Vicomte de Westergaard suggested, his eyes widening as he leaned forward once again, catching one last look at the singer in question before she vanished behind red curtains in preparation for the next act.
"Why, yes!" The manager removed his pince-nez from his nose to wipe the lens, then replacing them back on. "How did you know the name?"
"I've met her before, when we were children," the Viscount recounted softly, his expression spelling out every inch of his surprise. "How young and innocent we were in those days, running run on the beaches of Calais without a care in the world." He leaned back into his chair, deep in thought, before saying, "Monsieur, might I trouble you to arrange a meeting between myself and Mlle. Anna?"
"Of course! Certainly!" The manager was too eager to please, which made the viscount roll his eyes. He had spent less than an hour in the company of the other man and he already had him figured out. This was the sort of fellow that never did any theatre well – more focused on popularity and profit rather than the quality of the arts. He wondered if channeling funds into this place was even worth it, if it meant having to see the unlikeable man so often.
But perhaps for the sunny young woman on the stage below, for a fond friend from the past, this might not have been a mistake after all.
~~~0~~~
Applause thundered like a storm and whistles echoed throughout the theatre. People called for encores and others just chanted her name. Flowers were thrown her way, forming a ring at her feet. Someone even rushed onto the stage with a bouquet and presented to her – just for her!
Anna could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks, the beating of her heart still pounding on. She was smiling so hard that it hurt. Oh, how magical it had been! How wondrous! She had never gotten so much fun out of performing as part of the ballet before. Then again, no one had ever clapped for just her till today. It made her feel, well, almost special.
The curtains were falling, so she retreated back behind them, waving and blowing kisses as she had been taught. Once she was safe from the sight of the audience, she suddenly found herself surrounded by the chorus girls, all eager to shower praise.
"Did you see how those people cheered for you?"
"Oh, how lucky you are, Anna! What a chance!"
"I think the Baron Moreau look positively enchanted. You know how much he dislikes female leads most of the time."
"You'll be all over the papers, Anna! You'll be a star! Isn't that splendid?"
"Okay, okay, that's quite enough." Olaf had pushed himself through the throng of girl, till her was side by side with Anna himself. To the ballerinas, he said, "Girls, we've got to prep for tomorrow. You know that the last dance wasn't up to standard, so we'd better get to practicing." He waved them off. "Go on. Chop-chop." The dancers groaned before dejectedly flocking off to the rehearsal rooms.
Once most of them were gone, Olaf whispered to her, "Awesome job! She liked it." He gave her a thumbs up, before following after the rest of the dancers, skipping and humming as he did.
Anna beamed. That was the most important part. She gazed upwards to the ceiling, closing her eyes and making a silent prayer. If anyone saw her, they would think her behavior strange – standing in the middle of nowhere and praying all of a sudden. But they didn't understand, of course. They didn't have a guardian angel watching over them.
"Anna!" Abruptly, the girl's focus was broken and her eyes snapped open. She found that clinging to her arm was a girl in a trimmed pink bodice and a flat tutu. Her ballet shoes were in her hands rather than on her feet, but she seemed to be in no hurry to put them on.
It took her a moment to recognize her and when she did, Anna laughed. "Rapunzel, I'm going to drop the bouquet."
"Oh, sorry." The other ballerina quickly detached her arm, frightened that she might have ruined the lovely prize. "I was just so excited. You were absolutely perfect out there."
"Thank you," Anna said warmly. She had repeated this answer at least a dozen times to others who had complimented her earlier, but she knew Rapunzel better than many others in the troupe and she was certain that the praise was sincere.
"I wish I had the confidence to perform the way you do." The blonde girl tugged self-consciously at her tutu. In the years that they had practiced together, Anna knew that Rapunzel was more of an artist in the visual medium than one of dance. She had no love for the hours of hard practice and repetitive exercise, much preferring to the exercise her creativity. Unfortunately, the girl's mother was a dance tutor at the opera and she was adamant that Rapunzel would be nothing else but a dancer. A woman painter was hardly a respectable career, after all. "What's your secret?"
Anna blinked. "Sorry, what?"
"How did you become so wonderful in singing? You must have a tutor teaching you. Who is it?" The blonde girl looked at her imploringly, very keen indeed to know the truth behind this.
Anna hesitated. She never spoke the Angel to others, mostly because they would think she was crazy. It sounded a little silly too, like a story that a child would make up to make themselves feel better. Sometimes, she would wonder herself if the Angel really was real, and not just a dream or a fantasy she concocted to fill her lonelier hours. But the music from the Angel was nothing like she had ever heard. Rapunzel was not one who would mock her, so after taking in a deep breath, she said, "Promise me you won't tell another."
Rapunzel nodded, making a cross sign over her chest as she did.
"Alright." Anna thought of how to phrase her words, and deciding that being direct was the best way to go about it. "The Angel of Music."
The blank expression on the other girl's face spoke volumes.
"You see, my father used to tell me stories about an Angel," Anna hastily explained, not wanting to make her sound crazy, then realizing that now she had spoken, she'd probably sounded even crazier. "The Angel of Music, who would care for little girls by teaching them songs of Heaven to comfort their souls. Before he died, he told me he would send the Angel of Music to look after me. And he did!" She clutched the blonde's wrists, making Rapunzel gasp in surprise. "He really did!"
"An… angel?" Rapunzel said in a dubious tone. All she knew of angels was that of the marble statues housed in the Notre Dame.
"Okay, I can't see her or anything," admitted Anna, "but I do hear her speak to me, and sometimes I can feel it when she's around. She watches over me, protects me, teaches me music - that kind of thing. It's, well,-" seeing the confusion on her companion's face "-it's not something I can really explain."
The other girl, who had at first looked enthusiastic, now seemed a little worried. "Are you really sure of this? It could just, well, be -" she made a shrug "-imaginary?"
"It isn't!" Some reason, Anna felt a little indignant at the girl's suggestion. "The Angel of Music is real. She's the one who taught me how to sing. Without her, I'd sound like a dying cat, honest."
"Okay, if you say so," Rapunzel quickly said, though she didn't seem to completely believe this. "This … angel of yours sure seems mysterious. Why doesn't she let you see her?"
"Oh, she likes her privacy," the brunette girl said with a little dismissal wave. "And you know, being holy and all that stuff, I don't she can go around showing herself to everyone."
Rapunzel's tone was undecided. "Of course."
"Rapunzel!" That sharp could only belong to one person. Both girls' heads jerked up to see Madame Gothel, head dance tutor and Rapunzel's mother, marching towards them. "Are you not one of the dancers?"
The blonde girl stuttered, wringing her hands together, "Y-y-yes, mother?"
"Then why aren't you practicing with them!"
Bidding Anna a meek farewell, the ballerina pranced away as if she was stepping on hots coals, rushing to the recital rooms. Her mother merely gave Anna a sniff, before turning away. After she did, Anna stuck her tongue out her. She never did like Madame Gothel. Her teaching style was very strict and she was not a kind woman. Perhaps if the opera managers gave her more singing roles, she might not have to dance anymore. It would be nice to escape from that woman's gaze.
Only after the Madame's departure did the girl then realize that she was alone at this lot of the stage. She glanced down at the silk dress that she wore and frowned. She had best get out of this soon. The costumers no doubt would be looking for it.
As she took her first step towards the exit, she suddenly heard a voice, with a calm and lightness that she and only she knew. And it sang, "Brava. Brava."
And just as mysteriously as it came, it was gone.
Anna hugged the bouquet tightly, smiling widely though none could see. None as except her angel, perhaps. She departed the backstage feeling contented and accomplished, unaware that tonight was the night everything would change.
~~~0~~~
Charlotte La Bouff and Tiana from Princess and the Frog. Charlotte is in the role of 'La Carlotta'.
Rapunzel and Mother Gothel from Tangled. Rapunzel is in the role of 'Meg Giry'. Mother Gothel is NOT in the role of 'Madame Giry.'
'First Time in Forever' from Frozen, written by Robert Lopez and Kristen Anderson-Lopez.
It is implied that the opera that Anna was acting in is based on the plot of Frozen.
I haven't decided if Elsa does or doesn't have powers in this AU. If you have an opinion on this, I'd like to hear it.
My knowledge of French and French things is quite inaccurate. I apologise for that, but it's not meant to be. I wrote this more for fun than anything.
I don't really know if I want to continue this, considering the other stories that are demanding for my attention. My school course is also quite heavy, so I'm selective about the stories I update. So, if you do like it, leave a review. Otherwise, I hope you enjoyed this piece as it is, because it might not get any longer…
See ya.