You're sitting in a back ally of an amateur theatre in Paris, fog settling on the cobblestones creating a sea of dappled grey. The year is 1870 and you had just been turned away from a backstage position at a small theatre in the western quarter in Paris, sadly your dreams had been crushed with a mere, "sorry (Y/N) you're not what we're looking for."
Crushed and dejected you took a moment outside to fall apart, you had only just moved to Paris from the country side and you needed a job. You had very little money to your name and you had rent as well as expenses to pay neither of which you could afford.
"Come on (Y/N) pull yourself together," you whisper to yourself, standing as you do so, your knees cracking in protest the cold seeping into your bones. Wiping a few stray tears from your face viciously, you start to walk out of the ally running away from rejection.
As you walk sounds of busy urban Paris invades your senses, drunken warbles float out from a nearby pub and the slight smell of baking bread permeates from your favourite bakery, you release a sigh. Paris and its patrons be it for good or for ill always brings a slight smile to your face allowing you to relax slightly.
This was a mistake.
As you pass the warm light of the bakery a small wave of fear washes through you, completely unfounded as there was no one around. It was completely quite, no noise –the distant sounds of city life had all but been cut off. The only sound you could hear was you even breathing that was by the second becoming more erratic. Out of the corner you your eyes you see a flash of blood red fabric you of the corner of your eye.
A cloak maybe?
Then a pair of strong hands shot out of the darkness trying to grab at your clothes, satchel anything, you took a step forward, then another and in a few seconds you were running. Running seemingly for your life. The footsteps behind you tapped out a sprint as you were chased down the street, you pushed your legs to go faster, they burned like fire. You keep running further and further; your breath misting and your body screaming in protest.
You come to an ancient door, and it swings open before you reach it. You run into the dilapidated building turn on a dime and shut the door as quickly as possible. Holding your ear to the door to see if your attackers had followed you.
This night was going from bad to worse.
The door meets you halfway as you cool your forehead on the old wood that had been chilled by the evening's brisk climate. A slight sigh begs to be released from your lips.
You turn around slowly and lean against the door in exhaustion, the musty air tickling your nose. Looking around you notice the graceful arches leading to the roof of the seemingly primordial theatre, the velvety but moth eaten curtains cascaded down from the stage, rustling from a slight breeze from the broken windows. It was beautiful.
As you turn you see up in the Queen's box a silhouette of a man, a stark white mask shining out from the gloom.
"Hello?" you call out into the gloom, "who's there?" a slight panic edges its way into your voice.
"Who are you?" you hear his voice come from the shadows, reverberating off the walls.
"I'm (Y/N), sorry for intruding I just came across this place on my way home," you decided not to tell this stranger about the people who were chasing you. Not one hundred percent certain that he did not contain ill will.
"Ah yes, the criminals chasing you, I heard them outside, you are welcome to sanctuary here," you can see through the darkness, a small smile tug at his lips, you feel slightly better now that he is showing you welcome, "why are you out so late at night?" he inquired, eyebrows quirking.
"Oh, I had a job…interview, I guess," you blush in wake of your rejection.
"I take it; it didn't go well?" he starts to come down from the box towards you.
You look back at the door, still cautious, "something like that," you shoot him a wane smile, "it was at the amateur theatre club…the director didn't really like me too much…I think I rubbed him the wrong way," a small tear makes it way down your cheek.
"Oh, I see…were you looking for a job in theatre?" you nod pathetically, "well seeing as the theatre is in such disrepair I could use someone to help me get it back into shape and run shows in the future, do you think you might be interested?" he asked seemingly embarrassed.
Your eyes widen in shock, "A-a job? Are you sure Sir? I don't even know your name…" you smile you feel yourself fill will hope.
"You can call me Erik," he smiles brightly and you feel that this may be one of the only times he has smiled in a very long time.