The gown was well preserved but its age still clung to its sleeves and tightened its back.
A rebellious curl fell down from the woman's chignon, as she tried to stretch within the confines of the dress that was meant for a more petite mademoiselle.
She had to give it to her grand-mere,she truly wished to be authentic.
A shiver ran down Ange's spine, "Too authentic..."
She turned away from the image in the mirror that no longer looked like herself and gazed down at the old photograph her grand-mere had given her.
They nearly looked identical now.
The image of the young woman with the sad smile and watery eyes.
She pulled at her rebellious curl.
No, not the same eyes; hers were irritated.
"Stop looking so put off, Ange. If you didn't want to be part of one of your Grand-mere's schemes you should have never made the bet."
Ange turned toward Amelie, "I thought I was going to win. I really thought this year was going to be different. I was following my dreams..."
"Or so you thought."
The woman in the hundred year old dress let out a frustrated yell, the older woman behind her didn't even blink instead she tucked the stray curl back into the coil at the base of her friend's neck.
"Why must she always be right!"
She let out a sigh.
"I can't shake the feeling that she's been planning this for far longer than than the bet."
"Perhaps."
Ange narrowed her eyes at her friend's reflection in the golden gilt mirror.
"You know something don't you?"
Amelie shifted her eyes away, her smirk slipping slightly.
Before Ange could even ask what was wrong, the dressing room's door burst open and her grandmother burst through.
The wheelchair was gone.
Her granddaughter raised an eyebrow while still trying to catch a glimpse of the hallway.
So far the only part of the opera she had seen was the rooftop from their favorite cafe and then the back entrance. Her grandmother had been insistent on her not entering the main hall until she was in costume. The carriage ride to the Opera had been interesting, it seemed as if the whole city was putting on a show for this night, and her grandmother wished to keep aspect of the evening as authentic to the staged time as possible.
"Can I go now?"
Ange squirmed some more in her seat. The dress wasn't the tightest she had ever fit herself into, she remembered one particular terrifying dress she had to be cut out of closing night when she was an understudy.
"Are you ready?"
Ange tried to make an exaggerated curtsy but bit the inside of her cheek as her dress pinched her as she did so.
"As ready as one ever is when they are assigned an improv part."
"Good."
Her grandmother grinned, a little too widely, before pulling her up onto her feet and shoving her out into the hall.
"The manager has already been briefed on your part. Have fun! And Ange try to not draw too much attention to yourself!"
A shiver ran up Ange's spine as the door the dressing room closed. Her grandmother's last command hanging oddly in the strangely stuffy hallway.
She had a sudden urge to rush back through the door, there was no light seeping from beneath it...as if...she shook her head. It had been an odd day and now at last she had a chance to engage in her first proper gala.
Her steps echoed down the halls.
The hallways seemed eerily quiet but as if they heard her thoughts all at once the sounds of a boisterous party could be heard.
She stopped in her tracks, but the sound of the festivities only gathered more and more sound as if they had been muffled and now they were fully allowed to burst forth with their energies.
She continued on through the halls the sounds of Paris's finest growing louder and louder as she walked through the famous corridors of the Garnier Opera House. Shivers ran up and down her arms, the idea that such a magical place could exist was beyond her wildest imaginings. She had dreamed of this place since she was small. She had memorized every blueprint, photograph and drawing; and now she was now tiptoeing down its halls.
She had never understood her Grandmere's refusal to take her to the Garnier despite her obvious grooming her to have a musical career.
Golden gilt columns rose on either side of her arching high above to reunite with the crystal chandeliers above her head. Thousands of reflections sparkled above and around her as every surface shined and twinkled.
The doors to the auditorium arched above her.
Too soon it felt, Ange looked back at the glittering hallways; a part of her ached to slip off her pinching shoes and run through them. Her heart yearned to explore where no one dared to go.
Ange took in a deep breath, her hands clutched at her dress, and she shook her head.
Why was she so nervous?
She had played many a role before, how was the one before her anything different?
Tonight should be fun.
She marched forward and as she pushed through the doors to the main theater, her mouth gaped open at the sights before her.
Laughter filled the air and drifted up into the arched golden gilt ceilings.
The theater opened its crimson and crystal encrusted arms welcoming Ange within its grasp.
The stage seemed to blossom from the corridors, the lighting illuminating dancing couples.
The velvet seats had been moved to the sides and in their place was Paris's finest creme-de-la-creme in all their historic 19th century costumery.
It was absolutely breathtaking.
Ange's lips lifted and her eyes brightened, the eeriness from before at the far reaches of her mind.
She couldn't help but feel that this was all so fortuitous, if she hadn't bet that she would at last find her destined role in America, she would never have had lost and been given the chance of a lifetime.
She fluttered on the edges of the crowd as an onset of butterflies in her invaded her stomach.
"It's just another stage, another role."
Ange tilted her chin high and put her shoulders back.
Tonight she would be Christine Daae and oh what a night it would be.
And with that last lingering thought she stepped within the fray.