AN: I do not own anything from Phantom of the Opera...This is a story I've had stuck in my head ever since I saw the movie. I may use music for some chapters because it's what I envision. I ask in advance that song choice doesn't affect how you feel about the story.
Except for her cousin, the infamous Christine Daae, everyone knew Celeste was a big disappointment; considering that she hardly socialized at all. It was rumored that she was mute, but she had been accepted into the Opera House because she was an exquisite dancer. She even had the Girys beat, which was saying something. Also, because she bore the Daae name, she might have been favored.
So she arrived, did as she was told, and minded he own business; all the while never speaking unless necessary.
"Monsieur, I beg you. Let us go. We've done nothing."
"Nothing indeed; if only that was true. HA! We shall all die together if you keep this up. Just tell me where you hid it, and I'll leave. Go ahead, the laturn is over there. Give it to me."
The boy was slow to move toward the light. He grabbed the handle suddenly and swung it at the man. The lantern smashed against the ground as the man and the boy began fighting. The kerosene lit up the hay in the barn within seconds.
The fire spread quickly. Then came the gunshot.
Celeste bolted upright at the sound that rang in her head. She hated these nightmares; they came every night, always different. But he was always there.
She rubbed her forehead as if to wake up. The clock on her bedside read 3:00 am. Well, she was too frightened to go back to sleep in fear of another nightmare.
Several months later.
"Madam, Senora, please? Can we work this out?" A man of average height with dusty blonde hair tried to reason with two women, the dance instructor and the lead singer. An argument broke out when the lead singer demanded that there be less dancing in a certain scene because she felt upstaged by the petty back up dancer, Celeste.
Celeste, of course, had no objection to the request; but Madam Giry felt Celeste was too good to be pushed around.
So Beckley, the manager, was trying to intervene to please everyone. He tried to reason, "Senora, please try to understand-."
But Carlotta didn't give him time to say more. "If you want me to sing in this opera, then you get rid of that ballet rat!"
Beckley became angry. "Decide what it is you'll do because I refuse to change a thing. Either sing the opera the way you're told or you can quit."
The Prima Donna was taken aback, never had she been treated like an inferior. Well, this was a new manager; he could not understand the importance of her role. "As the manager, you are compelled to say this; but mark my words; you will come begging to me, wishing this moment had never taken place." With that, she stomped off.
The manager let out a deep breath as if he had been holding it the entire time. Deep down, he knew that she was probably right.
AN: As always, reviews are wonderful!