Please read and review, this is my first time working with Phantom of the Opera. I hope you all like this, and brownie points for whoever guesses what other Andrew Lloyd Webber show Allyson's last name comes from.
Allyson DuArte sat at her piano bench, skillfully reading the sheet music she had in front of her. Allyson was a double threat when she was younger, mainly because she could sing and accompany herself on the piano. Twenty-one years old, Allyson had recently lost her drive to sing. Two years since Mama's death, two years since Christine Daaé disappeared, two years since the Opera Populaire went up in flames she thought, wiping a stray tear away. For four years, Allyson was hailed as the best singer in Nice. Allyson had been singing since thirteen, then she and her mother moved to Paris before Allyson turned eighteen.
"I was no match for Christine Daaé," she admitted, remembering the performance in Hannibal.
Her peak was a month before Christine's last opera, when her mother's health began to fail. Emiline was in her fifties, and she had contracted a terrible illness. Allyson did not sing as often as she did, she only sang to her ailing mother. Two disaster occurred on the same night, tearing Allyson apart. Her mother passed suddenly, her hand dropping from its spot on her daughter's chin. Through the open window, the sound of breaking blass and the crackle of a fire brought Allyson to tears.
She shook her head, banishing the memories to the back of her mind. Angel of Music, for I know I have one, please speak to me she thought as she gathered up her sheet music. Since her mother's death Allyson found that she could think in the Paris Opera House. It was as if, by some miracle, it made Allyson feel better to sit in the seats as she wrote songs. She glanced at her left hand, seeing the scars on the flesh. Allyson generally wore gloves, more to cover up the injury on her arm than for fashion purposes. Fetching her leather case, she put her sheet music in it before she held it close to her chest. With a slight smile on her face, Allyson reached for the dark purple gloves that she had. She put her dress coat on, her sleeves partially rolled up.
"Perhaps, I will sit in Box Five this time," she said to herself, knowing about the Opera Ghost.
Allyson then exited her room, the second master bedroom in the quaint house. She descended the stairs, stopping at her mother's second room. Allyson lowered her head in respect and mourning, for she never entered the room out of respect for her mother's last night alive. After a minute, Allyson composed herself and walked toward the door. Checking to make sure she had her key, Allyson exited the house and locked the door behind her.
xXxXxXx
She ascended the stairs upon entering the foyer of the Opera House, glancing around at what was left. It was dark, yet sunlight came in through holes in the ceiling and birds flew in through shattered windows. A whisper graced her ears, causing Allyson to search for the sound. It happened each time she walked around the Opera House, yet she never found out what it was. Well, it's time to see Box Five Allyson thought, walking up the grand staircase. She took another set of small steps to her right, heading to the dress tier.
"Ah, here we are," she said, walking through the open door.
Allyson sat in one of the chairs and opened her case, revealing several different songs. She found the newest piece and read it, humming the song to herself. For the Sake of Talent was the title, but only a working title until she had entirely finished the song. As she softly sang it, Allyson became away that she was not entirely alone. Please, let it be the Phantom she thought. Reaching for her ink pen, Allyson crossed out the first title and wrote Sweet Angel.
She heard fabric rustle and she looked on the chair next to her, seeing a dark red rose with a black ribbon attached to its stem. An envelope was beside it, and Allyson picked it up with her left hand. This glove had a rose embroidered on it, the petals as pink as a carnation. I swear Jacqueline did it on purpose Allyson thought, remembering an incident three years prior. Allyson got up and clutched the rose in her left hand, breathing in the scent of the flower.
"Please, Angel of Music, I need your guidance," Allyson whispered, her folder in her right hand.
Allyson exited the box and walked down the steps, unaware of the figure that had emerged from the shadows. Erik watched her leave, a slight smile on his face.
xXxXxXx
"Allie!" a cheery, almost too cheery, voice called as Allyson exited the Opera House.
She cringed and replied, "Mademoiselle Jacqueline de Chagny, what a pleasure. Where you coming to visit the Ghost, or did you come to see me?"
Jacqueline's tone changed as she retaliated, "After what happened to Christine, you shouldn't go in there. Plus, your mother is dead and you're vulnerable, you have no husband."
"My dear, I think you should go," Allyson said, glancing past her friend.
Snorting, Jacqueline replied, "You have no right to order me around. Ah, I see you're still hiding the scarring. It's not as hideous as the Phantom's but you're likely to not find a suitor."
Allyson walked toward her friend and brushed past her, possibly with more force than necessary. Against Allyson's will, tears began to roll down her cheeks. She did that on purpose, she knew that I looked at Jacques like he was more than a friend. I know that he felt the same way, but she didn't like the idea of me getting with her brother she thought, ripping off her embroidered dark purple glove. The scars started at her wrist, going up her arm, and ended just above her elbow. Finding an empty bench, Allyson sat down and opened the envelope. A letter, written in perfect calligraphy, was inside and it read:
Mademoiselle,
I have heard you sing to yourself, and I can sense your potential. Grief should not keep you from singing, but I will help you. Come to the Opera Populaire tomorrow after dark, wait for me in the foyer and I will give you further instructions at that time.
Your humble servant,
The Opera Ghost
Allyson closed the note and stood up, heading back to her home. The Phantom of the Opera Allyson thought, knowing how Christine Daaé learned to sing like she did. Walking back to her house, Allyson was more confident than she had been in the past two years. A confidence boost, just from a simple note and a single blood red rose.
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