Thank you for your support so far, lovely readers! It's going to get exciting soon :') Constructive criticism is very welcome!


2
Reunion, Revelation

"You did very well, my dear. He is pleased with you."

An unusual gift for an Angel. I tentatively lifted the rose from Madam's hands, rubbing the silken black ribbon between my fingers. It seemed to say so much – there was something about it – but quite what, I didn't know. My careful guardian flashed a mild smile at me before retreating.

Carlotta's old dressing room was resplendent with roses of every colour – peachy pink, creamy white, luminous red. All were open and curling, in full bloom. I could barely move for them. The rose in my hand was a far deeper crimson, a hostile blood-hue, still wrapped in its young petals, barely out of the bud. Its difference to every other flower, its singularity where all others were in bunches, attracted and intrigued me.

The Angel of Music knew me best.

At last, I was alone. As alone as I could be with my avid worshippers buzzing and rustling just outside, most of them elderly gentlemen. It was always the way. I had no intention of greeting any of them.

I had no sooner sat down at the vanity – clutching the rose to study its supple rich beauty in the candlelight and delve freely into its hidden meanings, my heart quickening with curiosity – when the door was pushed open again. Intent upon the mysterious flower, I ignored my intruder.

"Little Lottie let her mind wander."
At that voice, I broke away and glanced up. A childhood friend was not to be neglected. The same conspirator's grin greeted me as he let himself in, hands folded casually behind his back. He had changed, but he was the same as always.

"Little Lottie thought, am I fonder of dolls or of goblins or shoes?"
"Good evening to you, too."
"Or of riddles, or frocks?"

Raoul. He hadn't lost his taste for teasing – though he was much less abrasive now than as a boy.
I had often hated him for hours at a time in sheer frustration of his impish behaviour.

"Those picnics in the attic."
"Or of chocolates."
I chuckled despite my humiliation. "Please don't remind me."
"You have gotten thinner since I last saw you."

He didn't kneel to address me eye to eye. He was too familiar for that. I simply sat and looked up at him, enjoying his presence.
He felt like home, as though we were back in that attic with chubby, rosy cheeks and glinting mischievous eyes.

"Father playing the violin," I murmured.
"As we read to each other! Dark stories of the North."

He cast a cursory glance upon the rose, and I realised I was still fondling it absent-mindedly.

"A particular admirer?"
"Not exactly."
"Intriguing."
"Don't pry, you are as disrespectful as ever."

He beamed to confirm it.
"What awful fate has thrown us together! The place will be in flames within a week. I look forward to the terrific fights, don't you?"
"I am more a lady than I was. I shan't be fighting anybody."
"You have obviously forgotten me."

I laughed aloud, almost accidentally.

"Shall I make a peace offering in advance by taking you to supper?"
"No, thank you. I am occupied."

"Aha!" he cried, "I knew it. Who is he?"
I blushed dreadfully, not because of Raoul, but because the Angel may be listening even now. What would he say to this?
What if he guessed the queer places my thoughts had been venturing to recently?

"It's no business of yours," I changed the subject quickly. "What do you think of the new managers?"
"What, Andre and Firmin? A pair of ambitious fools, I fear. But I'm sure," he lowered his voice jokingly, "the opera ghost will take care of that."

"Don't tell me you are superstitious too!"
"Little Lottie! You mean to tell me you spent all those years believing in goblins but you would refuse the idea of a musical phantom?"
"Raoul, be serious."
"I would much rather not. You used to have fun, too."

He was right. I didn't feel witty. I hadn't felt really mirthful in an age. The Angel was solemn though gentle, and my tutoring so strict. Even Meg was so focused upon our dancing – but the rest of them were chirruping idiots. Perhaps Raoul would be the one to fill me with real laughter again, after all this time. I revealed this to him with a familiar smirk, and without bothering me further he took his leave.

"Be more cheerful, little Lottie. I shall see you often! Goodbye for now!"

As he shut the door behind me, a shiver surged down my back and my hair began to tingle at the roots. I could feel somebody else, I could feel somebody within the room. An aggressive aura perforated the very air I breathed. It was cold. Deadly. But only a feeling. Only a feeling.

Shaking the sudden dread from me, I ducked behind the dressing screen to change out of my bulky costume. My stomach twinged with slight hunger. I would ask Madam Giry to arrange a small supper for me here.

My hand was upon the door knob – but then – I knew. The eyes, the invisible eyes upon me, were his. They could be nobody else's. The threatening, bristling atmosphere evaporated as soon as I recognised him, replaced by the honey-warm caress of his company. Delight seeped through me and I drew my hand back immediately, awaiting the washes of his praise, the golden splendour of his heavenly voice.

"An insolent friend you have there," his words hummed musically, half in speech, half in song, "I hope he shan't distract you from your duties."

Eager to terminate the subject and move onto our celebrations, I turned back to the empty room. He always liked me to sing to him. He said I had great potential as a composer; the melodies I improvised were so sweet and endearing. I only knew that I sang the notes he made me feel. It was all him, really. Only him.

"Angel I hear you; speak, I listen. For you, I shall not falter."
Aren't you proud? Aren't you proud? I wished with all my might, only wanting to hear his approval. "Angel, my heart is opened to you – enter at last, Master?"

Charmed, he picked up my tune with ease and made it his own, filling my soul with the echoes of my own love.

"Flattering child, you shall know me; see why in shadow I hide."

Another vibration made its way rapidly up my spine, chill and somehow terrifying for just a moment.

Gazing out across the room, I caught a movement in the mirror that was not my own.

As though to confirm it, his tones reverberated more confidently, rising in pitch and beauty. "Look at your face in the mirror… I am there, inside!"

The realisation struck me like a blow to the head. I was abruptly dizzy, so light-headed, so transfixed. It was as though I floated, I was floating on sheer mist and air towards the double reflection in that glass. My figure approached the mysterious other who towered above me – I did not catch my own expression in the glass, though it must have been one of utter disbelief and wondrous awe as I advanced slowly. My mouth betrayed me, would not move with the words I wanted so to sing aloud to him. Angel of Music, guide and guardian! Grant to me your glory!

His image was blurred, silky and dark, mystical, and not at all like I had imagined – but it didn't matter, somehow none of it mattered. Deep, thrilling things were blending and waking within me. Ecstasy and curiosity and wild abandon were coursing through me, pulling me towards his image as though my blood were magnetised to him.

He was not my father. And for some reason, that was better. That was everything.
Angel of Music, hide no longer...

"Come to me, strange angel." I uttered, finally, in a voice I didn't know – a low, resounding voice that seemed to come from my core rather than my lungs.

A black-clad hand was extended towards me, the mist was swirling clear of his outline, and I could see his face. His shrouded, cryptic, horrifyingly handsome face. Two great stormcloud eyes flashed and darkened at me, the lights in them like luminous white sails tossed by monstrous waves.

"I am your Angel of Music… Come to me, Angel of Music."

It was a command, not a request. I stretched out my own hand, quivering from head to foot, until my fingers were suddenly clasped in his leather grip, and I was his. Conquered, subdued, willingly, entirely his.

He led me through the mirror. I stepped straight through the glass just like a ghost – into the dark unknown.