The clouds were mocking me. They could dance so freely and were so in-tune with with the wind that I envied them. How was it that little wisps of frozen air could glide with such enrapturing grace to no melody, save the bustling symphony of Paris streets, and I could not? It did not seem quite fair that I was so inept.

I felt all the passion inside me was at a boiling point as I danced yesterday. And here, sitting on this cold window-seat with the winter snowflakes blowing kisses at the panes, I still feel the sweet intoxicating voice enveloping me and the tender emotion causing tears to flow down my cheeks.

I haven't been able to sleep all night. My entire being craves for that music, that... voice in the night. I'd been afraid of encountering this Opera Ghost hitherto, but now I found myself pining for his attention. Or, his voice's, anyway. I didn't really want his audience - I merely wanted to dance once again. Just once.

"Marguerite?" It was my mother, who had just entered the room.

"Yes, mama, I'm here," I answered, my voice unwavering as I stared blankly out the window.

She regarded my posture as slouched and unladylike, and made it a point to inform me of her thoughts. I tried not to seem distracted, as it would be quite rude to ignore one's own mother; thus I remedied my position to suit her. I heard the swish of her elegant, yet plain, black dress as she approached me. With warm, comforting fingers, she pulled my chin toward her so that I faced her when she paused, gazing into my eyes. This destroyed my train of thought, but I could dwell on dancing later. Mother needed me. And as my eyes fell upon her face, I noted some new and discomforting features that had not been present on her face before. My mother had always been a thin woman, but she now seemed unhealthily so. I could almost outline her entire cheekbone and follow them down to her jaw-line. The warm smile on my face faded and grew cold. I pulled her into a tight embrace - the sheer force of which was enough to cause her to buckle over in slight pain. How frail she'd become! She needed food and to leave this Godforsaken opera house. This I knew we could not afford, and that frightened me. I knew that if she did not leave soon and get some proper nourishment... the unthinkable could happen. I tightened our hug, suddenly realizing how much the thought of losing her terrified me.

"Maman," I whispered, still holding her near me, "I fear for your health. Regardless of our situation, we must leave this place!"

"Meg," she pulled away from me and rested her hands on mine. The place where she had been during our embrace still tingled with warmth. "I will survive." She was smiling but failed to mask the tears glinting under her eyes. I could tell that she did not believe herself, but pushed that thought away from my mind lest I would frighten myself further.

"We cannot live like this," she stated, hesitantly admitting the truth of the situation.

I nodded, "You cannot live like this."

She did not even respond to that. In fact, within moments, she fled my presence. I could hear her boots clicking against the hallway as I let out a sigh of utter defeat. I knew that if she was not careful, she would not ever leave... mortally.

"Dear mother, I wish you were more prudent," I confessed, thinking on it a moment than returning to my daydreams.

Then, I had an idea. I had to dance. Yes, that was it! I could dance on the street and gather money - enough for mother and I to purchase train tickets and something to eat. But, to dance, I needed to practice. And to practice correctly, I would need music, which I lacked. I also needed my shoes. I believe I displaced them somewhere. Were they still in Christine's dressing room, from last night? Pondering this, I decided to search for them there. It could not hurt to take just one look.

Not so gracefully, I rolled myself off the window-seat and proceeded to the door on the opposite end of the small room. It stood ajar, as mother had left it open, so I stepped through and glanced about the hallway.

Nothing.

Of course, what did I expect? I sighed, annoyed at myself, then turned to the right. My feet were cold, as I only had stockings on. I didn't want to wear my boots, and my ballet slippers were missing, so I chose not to wear anything. Another of my bad judgments. I kept my eyes on the path before me until I reached my destination and rested my palm on its door-handle. I realized that I was suddenly quite afraid of opening this door. Last night it had locked as soon as I'd shut it... would this happen again? I shuddered, and wished against it. I turned the knob and hesitantly stepped into the bright room. It was flooded with the pale light of the afternoon and caused me to squint as I entered.

I then remembered my purpose for being here - to collect my shoes, if they so happened to be in this room. I went about looking for them: I searched underneath the dresser, on the carpeted floors, everything. Yet it was seemingly missing. I groaned, agitated, then threw myself onto the vanity chair and peered into the mirror. "Meg," I scolded my reflection, "you should take better care of your ballet shoes!"

"I concur."

I heard a voice. Terrified of moving, I simply remained frigidly still and tried to discern a figure through the mirror's reflection. I did not speak, my mouth frozen shut.

"Marguerite should keep her shoes on her feet," the voice continued, icily.

"But I did," I piped up, surprised at my own pluck. "I cannot remember ever removing them."

Then it was silent. For a few moments, no words between the voice and I were exchanged. I did not even think to move, let alone breathe. I was horrified, because in the mirror, I'd caught sight of a movement. Just a slight one, but a movement nonetheless. And after the movement ceased, my ballet shoes sat upon the vanity as plain as day. But something was different about them: with golden thread, my name was engraved on the toes of each. It was all that I could do to stifle a gasp.

"It seems that you have found your shoes, Mademoiselle Giry." It now seemed as though the clouds were not the only ones mocking me.

"Why, yes!" I exclaimed. I giggled a little bit, for this all seemed too silly to me. Either that or the nervousness inside me spilled over in the most bizarre form.

"You laugh."

"Yes, I find it funny."

It was quiet again - but this time, only for a few seconds. For, after a slight pause, I heard it.

The voice had returned.

I whirled around to find the mirror hanging on the wall open, beckoning me to follow. I laced up my shoes as quickly as possible, my eyes never moving from the mirror; light seemed to emit from behind it, creating a very lovely image. As soon as I'd finished lacing my shoes, I stood from the vanity and walked, painfully slowly, to the mirror (or was it a door?). My bony fingers grasped it and pulled it back, the music guiding me. My ears and heart were filled with what I had longed for so long. As soon as my feet touched the hallway behind the mirror and my eyes fell upon the golden statuettes grasping fiery lanterns, I began to dance my way through. My eyes were closed, but somehow my toes knew where to take me. My pink tutu flounced behind me and my hair swished to and fro as I twirled and spun; my mind consumed by the delicious music. I began to sing along with it, but as soon as I did that, it stopped, and I stopped with it. I'd come to a set of spiral stairs winding down a few flights. I was slightly embarrassed, for I figured that it was my pitiful attempts at singing that stopped the music.

But as I began to step down the stairs, the enormity of the situation befell me. Here I was, completely alone, in this strange chamber, with no idea of where I might be and no idea of where I might be going. I began to cry a little as I followed the stairway. How silly I had been! I stopped, then glanced behind me to see if I could follow the path back to Christine's room (the thought of which filled me with concern for mother, as she would soon wonder where I was)... but the path was dark - it was as if I was leading a procession of light that only followed around me. I sighed, wiped my tears away, and then continued to move, my left hand grasped the thick railing. As I neared the bottom, I saw a horse tied to a wall and a little gondola adrift in a lake. A lake, underneath the opera house? This intrigued me, and I quickened my pace.

Suddenly, my feet grew slack and my entire world shifted. I tried to scream, but only a choked whimper managed to escape. I was standing on a trap door, masked as a stair that began to give way. I grasped the railing of the staircase, but could only hold on for a few seconds before falling to what I thought was my death. Then, finally, I screamed, because I let go. I screwed my eyes shut and braced myself. This is it, I kept thinking. I'm going to die!

One could imagine my surprise when my feet touched water and I slipped beneath murky waves. I fought my way to the top of this murky pool and gulped in as much air as I possibly could. I rubbed my eyes and glanced around, trying to stay afloat. I heard something rattle and looked above me. A gate was closing down on me! I screamed, completely unaware of what to do next. I began to panic; my breath became ragged and short as tears fell down my cheeks. Oh God, I was going to die. Again!

As the gate met my head, I took my last breath and grabbed onto it with my fingers. I slid underneath the water and tried with all my might to prevent it from lowering any further. I was at a loss as to how to stop it and began to panic even more. I needed to breathe. My chest tightened, my grip loosened, and I started to give in.