In the weeks that followed, Sophia quickly felt herself drawn into the family that was the Opera House staff. However, such as with all families, with the warmth came a bit of tension in the form of gossip and jealousy toward the opera cast and crew. Sophia was unused to working with anyone in the first place, and so she took every opportunity to do tasks that meant working alone, away from the whispers and sneers. Of course, she hated to give the impression that she was unfriendly, but after twenty years of hearing nothing but gossip from Aunt Geraldine, she felt ill at even the thought of it. Let them whisper about me. I'm here to work. But then what? She shoved her scrub brush back in the bucket, unsuccessfully attempting to rid her mind of Monsieur Lauder's offer. "You'll always have a home here, once you are debt-free..." He had grasped her wrist just as she was getting onto the carriage that would bring her to Paris. Sophia had been forced to look him in the eyes then, seeing only greed in them. But even now, miles away from him, she could not ignore the fact that his offer was her only option. She shoved the brush deeper into the soapy water, drenching the cuffs of her dress. No matter. There's no one here to impress anyway.

That evening at supper, she took her normal seat at the table closest to the kitchen door. As usual, most of the chatter revolved around opening night and how exhausted everyone was from the preparations. Paulette served up the food before sitting down across from Sophia, the warmth never leaving her smile. "Is everything alright, dear?"

"Oh...yes, of course..Thank you.." Sophia returned the smile, nibbling on a slice of bread.

"I just want to be sure...I know it's been quite the adjustment for you."

"Yes, it is different from the country..." Sophia nodded.

"Well if there's any way we can help you feel more at home, you just let me know. Of course, I know of the arrangement for your earnings, but I always keep some savings handy for emergencies...You deserve to be happy, dear..."

"You're so kind, Paulette..." There were those tears again. Taking another bite of food, she excused herself and made her way up to the attic.

"Come on now, Sophia, dry those tears and keep reading…." As early as months after the fire, Aunt Geraldine had instilled the fact that tears were a sign of weakness. "You have me now. There's no need to cry." And so, it became a habit for Sophia to run and hide if the urge to cry grew too strong, and to make her absence quick so as not to upset her guardian. Nights were the only time she truly felt free to let all those pent up emotions go, her walls the only witness, her pillow the only gentle hug her tears earned.

I don't know why I care. Perhaps her pain is familiar. I have yet to discover her reason for it, though. Her face is not like mine in the least.

"Behold the fowls of the air: for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they?" Sophia sniffled, glancing up from the well-marked passage in her father's Bible. It seemed as though this sixth chapter of Matthew was among his favorite, and Sophia could see why. The thought of God above caring enough about her to provide for all her needs...it was hard to fathom. But as she looked back on her life...despite the pain and hardships, she had had a home with Aunt Geraldine, who had made sure she could write and read what sat in her lap this very moment. And she had a home now...a purpose. Drying her tears, she went over to the open window, sitting back down on the sill. As if on cue, a flock of birds were just now landing on the rooftop below. "It's true isn't it? You really provide for them, and You provide for me..." She lifted her gaze to the clouds above. "Tell me what to do with my life, God...If you mean for me to marry Monsieur Lauder, prepare my heart for that. But if not...deliver me...Show me where to go...Who to turn to…I place my fate in Your hands..."

It was the first time she'd ever prayed so casually. She remembered attending church services with her parents and definitely with Aunt Geraldine, but the prayers she remembered saying seemed so rigid and scripted, keeping God at a distance. But the more she read in the Bible, the closer He became. In fact, this very Book of Matthew spoke of how God came to earth in the form of Jesus...the little Baby celebrated at Christmastime...the Man who spoke of the sparrows He created….only to be put to death just a few years later….And it was all for me…. She remembered from the letters of His followers further on in the New Testament. You gave Your life so that I could be with You… Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. Is this what love feels like…?

She shivered a bit, turning her attention back to the scenery before her. The sun was setting now, and with the shades of pinks and purples came the reminder thatwinter was coming. She reluctantly closed the window, bidding a silent farewell to her feathered neighbors. They would certainly be on their way south by the time she woke up tomorrow. Who will sing to me now..? Fighting back tears once again, she curled up under the covers. She could only hope that her exhaustion from the day's work would keep the nightmares at bay.

I watched her today. She was cleaning the dressing room mirror. She absolutely has no idea...From her reaction to her reflection, I am certain she has never seen it before. She does not realize just how beautiful she is. I must show her.

Several days later, Sophia was getting ready for the day when a knock sounded at her door. "Come in..." she called, expecting Paulette. Instead, it was the ballet mistress, Antoinette Giry, who opened the door. Blinking in surprise, she inwardly tried to think of something...anything...she might have done wrong. Her unspoken worries were met with a smile, however, and she quickly found her voice. "G—good morning, Madame...What might I help you with…?" She finished tying her apron.

"Just relax, my dear. I simply have a message for you." She handed her a plain envelope, the edges bordered in black, As she turned it over, she nearly dropped it, for there was the unmistakable form of a skull for a wax seal. "You needn't be frightened, girl...I receive them all the time...He won't harm you..." Madame Giry motioned for her to open it, which she shakily did. The card inside had the same black border, but at the top was drawn a single rose. Below it were these words:

"Mademoiselle,

Your presence is requested in Box Five opening night. Take the night off and arrive no later than half past six. Madame Giry will let you in. All arrangements have been made. Do not be alarmed. You will find the opera to your enjoyment.

Sincerely,

O.G."

Her eyes widened as she read it over a third time, despite the writer's words to not be alarmed. She had never been to an opera or any sort of performance for that matter. Why on earth would he invite a servant girl? Seeming to read her thoughts, Madame Giry placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You're very lucky, dear. No one's ever been in that Box. Not even me."

"Then...why…?"

"That, I do not know...All I can gather is you've made an impression on him. A good one at that."

"I...I couldn't possibly..."

"Oh, I very much advise that you do go...The Opera Ghost is true to his word, and he expects obedience. Believe me, he won't harm you. I suppose he simply wants to give you the night off for once. You should certainly take this opportunity."

Madame Giry's words echoed through Sophia's mind two days later as she made her way down the corridors toward Box Five. Paulette had given her the afternoon off as well, giving her time to bathe and do her hair. She barely touched her dinner, her nerves flying every which way. It was just as well; she would hate for a crumb or smudge to appear on her Sunday dress with no time to fix it.

Vanity. It was the word Aunt Geraldine used in giving the reason for not having a looking glass in her home. She remembered one being in her parents' house. She would sit next to her mother as she brushed her hair each night. Not wanting to start an argument by coming to her mother's defense, she never spoke of the matter again. Besides, to think on such matters would surely distract her from her duties. Now, as she passed the first groups of opera-goers, she saw that her assumption was correct. Some followed her with their eyes before whispering about how she didn't belong here. Others were too focused on complimenting each others' attire and describing the lengthy processes they'd taken to get that particular look. So much time and care devoted for a mere couple of hours...Sophia shook her head, finally reaching her destination.

As promised, Madame Giry was there to let her in. "Right on time. He will be pleased." She smiled, opening the door. "Sit wherever you'd like. Let me know if I can get you anything."

"Thank you, Madame Giry..." Sophia smiled and chose a seat in the front, closest to the stage. If she were to truly enjoy her one and only opera, she wanted to take it all in.

How on earth did he know? Sophia blinked as the curtain fell, signaling the end of the performance. She had in fact thoroughly enjoyed every moment of it, caught up in the music, the elaborate costumes and sets, and the sheer emotion of it all. To be sure, it was sprinkled with bits of laughter to take away from the drama; if not for that, she would have surely been too overcome with tears to remain.

Rising to her feet, she glanced around at her surroundings. She was sure she'd felt some other presence with her, but of course she had been too focused on the stage to take her eyes away. Now, the curtain on the opposite end of the box seemed to flutter in an imaginary breeze. Chills ran up and down her spine, but she reminded herself that he wasn't to be feared. Still feeling him near, she whispered a quick, 'Thank you, Monsieur…' before exiting into the hallway. Madame Giry was nowhere in sight, but that was to be expected. She would surely be tending to the dancing girls, preparing them for bed. At that thought, she suppressed a yawn. True enough, she had been given the night off. Tomorrow, however, was another day of work. As she climbed into her own bed several minutes later, she had a very good feeling that tonight would finally be nightmare-free.

Over the next few months, Sophia kept finding little gifts or tasks done for her upon returning to her room. If a dress got torn, she would find it mended and back in its place in the wardrobe. A collection of hair ribbons gradually formed next to her wash basin. Embroidery thread and needles were placed on her storage trunk, and if she lacked the free time to do it herself, she would find beautiful patterns mysteriously appearing along the edges of her aprons. Only once did Paulette give her a questioning look, but when she could only respond with a shrug, the cook knowingly smiled and left the matter alone.

Finally, Sophia had enough. One evening, before going upstairs for the night, she approached Paulette in the kitchen. The cook was rolling out dough for tomorrow's pastries, and when she saw Sophia, she grinned. "Come for a sample? You've more than earned it today..."

"No, thank you..." Sophia returned the smile, sitting down on a stool opposite the counter from Paulette.

"Suit yourself...What can I help you with, dear?" Paulette began scooping apple filling onto the dough before folding it over.

"Please...I must know more about these little mysteries..." Sophia stole a glance down at the pastry being formed, and her stomach gave a betraying growl at the sight. Blushing, she glanced up at the cook, who was shaking her head with a slight smile on her face.

"These'll be ready in fifteen minutes..." She slid the first batch into the oven, wiping flour onto her apron before grabbing some more dough. "As for your question, I cannot tell you much more than I have already. The Opera Ghost knows his way around, and he knows how to stay hidden. He's never hurt anyone as far as I know, and I've been here for some fifteen years now." The older woman paused her explanation to focus on pressing the dough as flat as she dared. "Mark my words, dear...if he wants you to know more, he'll reveal it when he feels like it. Until then, just be thankful that he's watching out for you."

"But...all these gifts...how can I tell him a proper 'thank you'?"

"That, I cannot say..." The cook pursed her lips in thought. "I suppose if he's made a way into your room, you can always leave him a note or gift of sorts. I'm sure he'd appreciate it...No one's really thought of that..." The conversation dropped for a small time while both thought the situation over. When the fragrance emerging from the oven signaled that the first batch of pastries were done, Sophia got an idea.

"I can't afford anything store bought, nor do I want to put anyone out...but do you suppose I could leave him a few of the pastries..?" Paulette turned from the oven then, setting the pan on a rack to cool.

"What a wonderful idea! Come over here and I'll help you make him a batch yourself!"

"Are you sure you can spare the ingredients?" Sophia climbed down off the stool and made her way around the counter.

"Oh, of course, dear! The ballerinas never touch these, even though their diet allows for one a day...I suppose I could start cutting the recipe in half, but I find it's always better to have too many than too few!" Paulette moved over, handing a ball of dough to Sophia.

Their conversation soon turned to other things, and Sophia found herself opening up about what little memories of her mother's cooking she had. Aunt Geraldine didn't take the time to teach her much, and so most of their meals came from the market place, as ready-made as possible. Baked goods were of course the easiest to find, and other ingredients simply needed to be thrown into a stew pot. If she ever had any questions, Sophia could easily get recipes and tips from the sellers, but even then she was on her own to guess if she was getting it right. Paulette listened sympathetically, promising to teach her more whenever the time allowed. Just then, they both took notice of the time. "Oh my..!" Sophia quickly brushed off her apron.

"Now don't you worry about it, dear...You can sleep in an extra hour tomorrow to make up for it." Paulette arranged Sophia's batch of pastries in a basket, covering it with a cloth before handing it to her. "Do you have paper for the note?"

"No…" Sophia shook her head. Paulette reached into a drawer where she kept blank recipe cards.

"Here you are...You can borrow a pen and some ink as well." She handed her the supplies.

"Thank you, Paulette...You're so kind..."

"Now don't think anything of it, you hear?" The older woman gently squeezed her shoulder. "Run along now and get some rest."

"Good night, Paulette..." Sophia smiled.

"Sweet dreams, dear.." Paulette returned the smile before focusing on getting the rest of the pastries onto the serving trays.

"Dear O.G.

This is to thank you for all the things you've done for me. Even though I never want you to feel obligated, I truly appreciate each and every one. You have made my transition here very welcoming, and I cannot thank you enough.

Sincerely,

Sophia"

Sophia placed the basket and note centered on the storage chest first thing the next morning. The tasks of the day kept her mind busy, and only when she returned later that evening did she remember. In place of the basket was a simple charcoal sketch of a mourning dove holding a rose in its beak. Above it was written: "For Sophia", and it was signed, "E., the O.G." So...he has a name after all...and quite the talent! She carefully studied the drawing, tracing each line with her eyes. It was so detailed yet so simple, she couldn't discern whether it had been drawn days in advance or just that afternoon. Either way, she could only guess at the double meaning. For one, he'd proven that he knew how much she loved watching the birds when they perched below her window. The second reason had to be from all the times he must have heard her crying or at least seen her sadness. I need to be more careful...No one should feel like they need to pity me...