A/N: Hi, everyone. I hope you liked the last chapter. Please review. It'll really help me continue this story. You get to meet the main character of this story in this chapter. The pronunciation is L-ai-l-uh. It means night or dark haired beauty. By the way, there was a line in the last chapter from Beauty and the Beast. I don't own that line nor do I own the Phantom of the Opera. That right belongs to Gaston Leroux.
My papa and mama took me to France when I was nine. They told me that Persia was becoming too dangerous for us to live in. At first I didn't understand why they believed my beloved home was so dangerous. We all spoke the same language, wore similar clothes, and ate the same kind of food. To me that was enough to feel safe around my neighbors. But as I started growing up, I realized that my papa was different than the rest of us. He was as pale as a ghost compared to my mother and I. His hair completed his ghostly appearance, the strands so golden they appeared white in the sunlight. For a little while I was almost convinced that he was an apparition because of the strange looks he would always get when we left the house. His beautiful hazel eyes were what helped me believe that he was just a man. They sparkled with such joy whenever he looked at my mother or me. I am ashamed now to say that at one point I was embarrassed of the way my father looked. There was also one more difference between my family and the rest of the Persian society. We were Christians.
My papa was a cultured man who came from Paris to Persia in order to study the unique Persian customs. He loved to learn about foreign countries, especially the fine arts. His passion was music but he loved literature and art, too. My mama was a widow at the age of twenty with no family left on either side. She was left to take care of herself which was a difficult thing for her. She would try to sell bread to people who passed by her home but was not very successful. My papa was passing by her home one day and was enraptured by my mother's beauty. Yes, it sounds shallow, but I understand why my papa was so fascinated with her. She was probably the most beautiful woman in the entire country. But she was also fiercely independent, because of the unfortunate situation she was put in after her husband died, which made many wary of her. My papa decided that he would buy bread from her for the rest of his life if it meant that he would be near her, soon after he started courting her. When my mama was twenty-two they were married and a year after that they had me.
My mama and papa were as different as the night is to the day. My mama had hair as black as onyx, eyes as brown as the paint used on the vases in the market place, and copper skin. She could also be intimidating and strict while my father was friendly and joyous. I loved them both very much which was why I didn't put up a huge fight about moving to France. They had started to feel threaten by our neighbors because they didn't like my father and thought that he was there to steal away their customs and faith. I liked Paris at first, seeing all the pretty ladies with the strange clothes and the huge, beautiful buildings but after we settled down I started to notice the stares that we received form everyone. I became embarrassed about the color of my skin and the way I sounded when I spoke their native language. I had to learn the hard way just how different I really was from everyone else in this country. I finally understood how my papa must have felt in Persia. I had started to miss Persia terribly.
It was only two years ago when my life completely fell apart. I had no idea of the tragedy that was about to strike my innocence. I was on my way back from the bakery; my mama had asked me to go to for a loaf of bread. I arrived at my house to find the front door hanging open on only one of its hinges. A sense of dread filled me as I stared at the gaping hole. As I slowly walked up into the house the smell of death assaulted my nose. Panic encouraged me through the door of hell as I like to call it now.
I ran throughout the house shouting for my mama and papa, praying that they were uninjured and it was all some kind of cruel joke but as I ran into the kitchen I realized that I was being delusional. The sight of my parents' mangled, bloody bodies lying on the kitchen floor made me drop to the floor with grief and shock. It is a sight that will haunt me till the day I take my last breath. What had happened here? Who could have done this to my sweet papa and loving mama? I crawled to my mama and screamed at her to wake up, when she didn't open her beautiful brown eyes, I laid my head down over her heart. No heartbeat. I then crawled to my papa to see if there might be any chance he was alive but came up with the same results. No heartbeat. I laid in between them and cried, thinking that if I gave God enough of my tears and sorrow he would give them back to me.
When neither of them woke I decided that I needed to find someone to help me. I picked myself up off the floor and exited the house. I veered to left going towards my mama's rose garden. I picked two of the most beautiful, perfect roses, refusing to give them anything less, and made my way back towards their lifeless bodies. I gently set the pink roses on their lifeless bodies to show them one last act of my love even though they would never see it. When I stood I looked around the kitchen one last time knowing that it could be the last time I saw it. Not wanting to be in the house anymore, I listlessly walked to my neighbor's house and knocked on the door.
"Leila, what are you doing here? Your parents are going to worry about you if you don't get home before sunset." Mrs. Fournier said as she opened the door.
I searched my brain for an answer to her question trying to decide what to say to her. She must have realized something was wrong because she ushered me inside without another question. Her kind, wrinkled face gave me a little comfort, something that I obviously needed. She made us tea as I still tried to come up with an answer.
"My dear what's wrong? Why is such an ugly frown marring your beautiful face?" She asked.
"I-I, m-my mama an-and papa are...they're dead." I quietly explained.
At first I didn't think she heard me but as I looked up into her wrinkled face I knew she had. Her face was colored with shock. She hugged me to her bosom and tried to comfort me. When she finally released me, her plain, blue dress was soaked. I wiped my face and realized that I had been crying. I looked from her tear-soaked dress to her face only to find that she was looking at me with pity. That was the day I started to despise pity; I didn't want her to pity me. If there was anything in that moment that I wanted, it was for this all to be an awful dream and I could wake up to my papa's beautiful singing and my mama's delicious cooking like I did every other morning. But I knew that that was just the wishful thinking of a child.
"I'll take care of everything dear. Here, let's get you to bed." I wanted to argue and tell her that I needed to be involved but my eyes were drooping so I complied with her. Maybe a little sleep would help me comprehend the terrible situation a little more. She lead me up the stairs to what I assumed was a guest bedroom. The day's events had exhausted me. I was asleep before my head hit the pillow. Sleep did me no better than if I had stayed awake. My dreams entirely consisted of my parents' dead body and how they managed to get that way. I woke to the sound of voices drifting up from downstairs.
"She showed up on my doorstep looking very lost and tired. I had asked her what was wrong but she didn't respond so I invited her inside." I heard Mrs. Fournier explain.
My curiosity swept aside my exhaustion and I got up and peeked out the door. I couldn't see anyone in the foyer so I crawled closer to the stairs hoping that no one would notice me.
"Did she tell you what happened at her house, madame?" The other person questioned.
I didn't recognize his voice so I knew that it wasn't Mr. Fournier. As I peeked around the corner of the stairs I saw Mrs. and Mr. Fournier and the strange man sitting in the parlor. The stranger was sitting across the Fourniers staring intently at them.
"The only thing she could manage to tell me was that her parents were dead. I didn't try to get anymore information out of her. The poor dear was about to drop from exhaustion."
The man wrote down something and then looked back at the couple but he must have noticed me because he looked directly at me. I pulled myself back around the corner and started to hastily crawl back to my temporary room but stopped when I heard him say something to me.
"Are you the girl that parents have been murdered? If so, I would like to ask you a few questions that could help in our investigation."
I peeked back around the corner to see that everyone was staring up the stairs. I slowly stood and descended the stairs. I walked up to a chair and sat down.
"What happened today concerning your parents, mademoiselle?"
I studied his features, trying to decide if I should trust him. His eyes were a cold and unforgiving gray color and nose pointed out over a blond mustache. I detested the man. He was nothing like my papa. I told him all that I knew which was very little. He seemed disappointed that I didn't know more.
Once the officer left, I walked over to my house once again. There was officer crawling in and out of my house. I entered the house and darted up to the stairs. I swung open my bedroom room and started stuffing anything that was within my reach into bag. I then raced towards my parents' room and grabbed their favorite things: my papa's cigar box and my mama's hair clip. The cigar box could be mistaken as a book if you didn't look carefully which was why my papa enjoyed it so much; he would hide secret presents in it for me and my mama. My mama's hair clip was exquisite Persian finery that my papa bought for mama. On it is two doves kissing while sitting on a branch with blue turquoise paced on the bird's wings and tails and in the leaves of the branch. Once I had packed everything, I went outside to wait for the woman who would take me to the orphanage.
A plain carriage rattled up in front of me and a woman in here forties exited the carriage. Her plain, brown hair was placed into a tight bun that looked as if it were cutting circulation off to her brain. She looked at me as if she was trying to decide if I worth talking to. I guess she didn't think I was. A jerky flip of her wrist gesturing towards the open carriage door was all that she did to communicate with me. I quickly got in not wanting to face her any longer. I had started to despise the woman. I felt bad because I barely knew her, but she obviously thought that she was better than the rest of society. I didn't look at her as she got into the carriage.
"What is your name?" She asked in a quiet, clipped voice. The thought of not answering her crossed my mind but I knew that it would do me no good. It would just get me on her bad side and if I was to live in the same house as this woman I needed to be on at least decent terms with her.
"Leila, my name is Leila Desrosiers." I answered with a quiet voice. She gave me a strange look that I didn't know how to decipher. I wish she would have just left me alone.
"How old are you? You can't be older than ten." Her voice again filled the small space between us. I looked across the carriage towards her trying to communicate that I did not wish to talk to her or anyone else at that moment. Her face showed no emotion telling me that she either did not care about what I wanted or did not understand.
"I am nine years old." Desire to get to the orphanage completely consumed me. I needed air. The small space was closing in on me and the woman across from me was not helping. I had the sudden urge to jump from the bouncing carriage, to escape the cramped space. Pushing the urge down, I finally felt the carriage come to a stop. I quickly moved towards the exit not caring about courtesy. The fresh air helped clear the crazy feelings that filled me. I looked toward my new home feeling despair for it looked nothing like my old home. It was huge, creepy and old. The pale bricks gave the building a dull feeling and the small windows made it seem as if it were more like a prison than a home for the unfortunate children. It was nothing like my old home, which was small but had a vibrant look to it. Our yard was alive with many types of flowers and our home was cramped with the love between the three of us.
Tears had begun to blur my eyes as I thought of all the beautiful memories I had with my parents now becoming too painful to remember. I pushed them aside as I did not want to cry in front of the cold woman who was walking towards the front door. I hurriedly followed after her. She walked through the doors and immediately went to the set of stairs just right of the doors. I ran after her with my heavy luggage. I didn't want to get lost that would have been embarrassing. I counted the stairs as I made my way up thinking that it would help me keep my mind off of the loss of my parents and my new home. Twenty steps up and a quick turn to the right and then fifteen more steps up. We entered a hallway. The woman, whose name I realized I still did not know, turned left down the dull hallway and went all the way down to the room at the end of the hall. I started down the hall and thought that this hallway looked like it would lead me towards my worst nightmare, but I knew that my worst nightmare had already come true. She opened the door and gestured me inside.
"This is your room. Unpack your stuff and then come down to dinner when you are done." She briskly explained. Before I could ask her where the dining room was she disappeared down the hall and into the stairway. I sat on the lumpy bed looking at the luggage that was all that remained of my old life. I started to pull out my clothes so that I could put them away. While doing so I had accidentally pulled my father's cigar box out with one of my dresses. It crashed to the floor. I quickly picked it but realized that something had fallen out of it, a letter. I picked it up and looked at it. I turned it around and saw that there was a seal on it. The seal was a strange one; there was a scorpion imprinted in the wax and its tail looked as if it was ready to strike at an unknown prey. I felt a chill race down my spine as I stared at the letter. I turned the letter over to see who it was from. There was no signature but I realized that the letter was written in French which unfortunately I had not yet become proficient enough to read French.
I put the letter back into my papa's box not wanting to look at it any longer. I dug in my pocket and pulled out my mama's hair clip. I also put that in the box so that I could keep them safe together. After I emptied my bag from my clothes I put the box back into and it hid it under my bed. My stomach started hurting so I made my way out of my room. I looked around hoping to find someone who would tell me how to get to the dining room. When I saw no one I made my way toward the stairs. I quickly descended the stairs feeling as if I would get trapped there forever if I did not hurry. I ended up back by the doors and I looked around, trying to decide which way I had to go in order to find the dining room.
As I stood there I spotted a girl about my age run out of one of the doors. Her hands were full of bread. She came to an abrupt stop when she spotted me. I wondered what she was doing with so much bread and was about to ask her when I heard a voice yelling from the room the girl had just exited from. She must of heard it too because she started to run past me into the stairwell. The woman who had brought me here burst through the same door the girl had come from. She looked infuriated.
"Where did she do?" She snarled at me. I stared at her blankly, not knowing who exactly she was talking about. I also didn't want to tell on the girl if that is who she was asking about. She stared at me, expecting an answer. What was I suppose to tell her? I didn't know who she was talking about or that a girl had just stumbled up the steps with arms full of bread. I decided to not say anything at all and just shook my head. The half-crazed woman looked even scarier now than she did in the carriage. She stomped past me and up the stairs.
I stood there trying to comprehend the scene that had just taken place before me but could not come up with an explanation for what it could possibly mean. I shook the thoughts from my head and decided that the doorway where the mischievous girl and scary woman had come from was probably the dining room or at least closer to the dining than where I was at now. Walking through the door did indeed bring me to the dining room. I was overjoyed to be so close to food, realizing that I had not had a proper meal since yesterday morning.
It was noisy in the crowded dining room with lots of other girls. They were all eating away at their dinners. I walked up to one of the empty spots and was ready to sit down when the girl from before appeared beside me. I jumped not expecting to see her again. She grinned like the cat that ate the canary.
"You must be new here. I'm Christine." The little blonde-headed girl dipped into a curtsey. I wasn't sure how to respond so I did my best attempt at a curtsy and mumbled my name to her. I wasn't sure if she heard me but her smile grew bigger so I figured that she must have.
"Can you keep what happened before our little secret? Madame Mesquine would have me over her knee if she knows." I nodded my head. It was a relief to finally know that woman's name. She sat next to me and started piling food onto her plate.
"Why did you take all that bread?" I asked her. My curiosity had encouraged me to ask.
"Oh. I …like to keep a little extra food in my room so that I can eat when I'm hungry. I share with other kids, too. It's kind of a secret, although Madame knows about it she has never been able to find my bread stash. So, thankfully she can't punish me." She explained as her cheeks turned a cherry red. I laughed. I had not expected such an strange explanation. I thought she just didn't like the bread or something similar not that she kept a secret soup kitchen in her room.
After we all ate dinner and cleaned up, Madame Mesquine approached me. I nervously watched her as she walked towards me. Her face seemed more serious than it was all the other times I saw her.
"Leila tomorrow your parents are to be buried. I expect to be up and ready early in the morning. You will meet me at the door at precisely 8:30. Do you understand?" She said. I was going to ask her about my parent burial. Relieved that she had brought up the subject, I slowly nodded my head in understanding. She quickly left after that. I walked back to my room wanting to be alone.
That night I didn't get much sleep. Between all that happened yesterday and all that happened today, sleep evaded me. Anytime that I closed my eyes all I could see was my parents, the policeman, and the scorpion seal. I had a feeling that the three were connected but could not understand how. I knew the only way to know was to read the letter inside my papa's box.
Walking down the depressing staircase did nothing to improve my mood. I felt like crying. I didn't want to go the funeral. I didn't want to watch as their bodies were lowered into the ground confirming my worst nightmare had truly come to pass. How would I go on? For the last couple of days, I could pretend that I was just visiting this place and that I would soon be able to return to my home and parents. But no, now I have to face the reality of it. My parents were dead and I was left with nothing but some clothes, a cigar box, and a hair clip. Why had this happened? Who killed my parents? I knew that these questions would haunt me till I had an answer. And at the rate that the police were going I knew that I would be haunted for a long time.
I stood by the door waiting for Madame. She soon met me and we silently greeted each, although I could hardly call her greeting an acknowledgement. She had hardly glanced at me. I climbed into the carriage hoping that this would all be over soon. I looked towards the sky feeling bitter. Why did it have to be so beautiful out? I hated that the sky was such a brilliant blue. There shouldn't be any beauty on such a tragic day. There are many memories that I have when the sky was just as blue. The day we moved into the nice, new home in Paris. The time my papa and I played in the yard. And the time my mama and I trimmed the beautiful rose bushes in the front. The sky was just as blue on all of those days but now those memories would be tainted with the tragedy that happened. I wanted to be able to remember those things without the pain but I knew that that would be impossible. The pain of this day will forever be laced into my childhood memories. I felt like crying again.
The service at the church was all a blurred memory of tears and agony. Now I stood next to the freshly covered graves not knowing what to do next. I had been given a bouquet of flowers by the priest. The bouquet consisted of beautiful purple orchids and white chrysanthemums. I decided that I would split the flowers between the two beloved graves. There was no special tombstone over their graves because we were not a rich family. We couldn't afford it. I couldn't afford it. There were just two wooden crosses that marked the spots that mean the most to me now. I turned around to go back to the carriage but glanced back one more time before leaving and saw the cold, cruel wind blow off the petals from the flowers I had laid there reminding me of the love I had lost and thought that I would never feel again.