hey guys. how are you? good? awesome. i hope you enjoy this chapter. Cara's starting to heal a bit, but she's still quite bitter. i think that she's going to stay sarcastic, because i love writing her like that. and if Lizzie from TLBD can be sarcastic, so can Cara.

enjoy x

One month into my run with the Royal Ballet, things started to, eventually, settle down. By that, I mean that I was finding it easier to get up in the morning and face the day. I found myself truly happy whilst dancing, wanting to, not just doing it because I have to and to distract myself. I simply felt... happier. Millie had noticed it to, smiling at me, hugging me less since I was no longer about to burst into tears. Everyone knew about Papa now, which I think helps more than anything; now that everyone knows what I'm dealing with, everyone understands why I was acting the way I was at the start of the rehearsal period, why I was so distant and sad. I'm smiling more now, although I still consider myself to be in mourning. Even though I was happier, I still missed Papa terribly, and I was still acting not-myself, still being bratty and annoying and frankly very cynical about everything. The outer core and layers had changed, but inside, I was still raw from losing everything.

Burying him helped. About a week ago, Auntie Anna, Millie and I were given grace to leave the Opera House to go and bury him. Auntie Anna drove us to the village nearby where we used to live, dropping me off to walk home and meet the funeral directors. This was the first time that I had met them, as the plans for the day had been made via Skype. But everything ran smoothly. Thanks to the money Papa had left me, and the money Auntie Anna insisted she paid, the day was beautiful. I had never ridden in a limo before, and I never thought I would... to my own father's funeral. It wasn't much of a funeral as a blessing from the priest and a final goodbye from those in the village that knew us best. Huh, I guess God did let me have a final goodbye to him. If only he were alive to hear it. I buried himself, sort of; everyone had thrown lilies on top of his coffin, and were starting to depart, only I beg for a shovel and to be left in peace. For about ten minutes, I threw mud on top of my father, crying hideously until Millie and the church's grave digger stopped me. Even though it was killing me from the inside, it felt nice to do it, a sense of closure that I felt blessed to have. The reception was a diet coke in the pub before heading back to London. The girls had been told the previous day by Millie with my permission, so they didn't hate me for feeling a little ratty at dinner that night.

Whilst I have been settling in, though, I can't help but feel as if someone has been watching me the whole time I have been here. It's the same feeling that I have had since my first night here, and I thought it was my father's ghost looking over me. On the night after our first rehearsal, however, I knew it was different, like it wasn't a ghost or a shadow, but a person. That is the feeling that I feel like I am being watched. The strange thing about it was that whilst I was sure it was a person, it felt like a spirit, a ghost, a specter. Talk about confusing. The feeling wasn't frightening though, if anything I enjoyed it, whatever it was, being around. Almost as if I am never truly alone. It's comforting. Just the other night, a few nights after the funeral, I could have sworn that I had heard singing. It was the same song that I was singing the other night, the last few similar lines that end the song;

And it whistles through the ghosts still left behind.

It whistles through the ghosts still left behind.

Whistles through the ghosts still left behind.

At least, I thought I heard singing. It was a voice I hadn't heard before, yet it was a familiar song. I had checked everywhere in our room after I thought I heard it, (Millie was down the hallway with her mother for a while). It was only I had realised that nothing was there that the singing stopped. It was probably just my subconsciousness playing tricks on me.

Nothing has been there. I'm all by myself.

~oOo~

Honestly, I didn't mean to alarm her that night. She was just so beautiful, yet so sad.

For a whole month, I've been watching her. She was truly sublime; her beauty, her voice, her dancing, the very essence of her spirit. I have never seen anyone like her. Cara Elizabeth Rebecca Donnelly. One woman could not be so marvelous. Of all the girls who have passed through these halls since I have been here, there has been no one but her. In my mind, dancers are next to talent-less. All they do is move around a stage! But any woman with a voice... one a beautiful as hers... would be remarkable.

Three years in this wretched place. Three years feeling just as alone as before, when I was a child. A bastard child to a loving mother, who had died a little later. I can't remember that it was from, but I remember hearing that she gave birth to me by herself, in a dirty back room, in a shed. She had no one with her, she did everything by herself, the birth, cutting the cord, everything. No pain relief, no comfort, no help. She didn't think about cleaning anything, making it safe for herself and for me. I don't know what caused my deformity, but with the knowledge I have given myself over the years, I knew my birth probably didn't cause it. My scarred and terrifyingly hideous face...

25 years of living with the guilt that I killed my mother.

My first kill. It wasn't my last.

I couldn't stop thinking about her. This Cara reminded me of her. Her eyes, her voice, her feisty personality. The things I remember about my mother. That's why I've been following her. I don't mean to, but I cannot leave her. Knowing about her father's death reminded me of my mother's. I pitied her. I love her. Yet, I do not know what love is! That is the problem! But I know that I feel it towards her. She knows that I'm following her, I can see her looking for me. I know that she heard me that night, how see was looking around, searching for my voice. It's only that she seemed so lost, so helpless. I thought that it will help, encourage her to sing some more. Only the poor lark never sang. Maybe sometimes I would be graced to hear a line from her. Maybe she'd hum something a tune. They were the moments I adored, to hear even that much of her heavenly voice. It was obviously untrained, however. Perhaps it had seen one or two lessons in it's life, but it was weak. Cara carried the tune well, her vibrato was always under control, it was a pure sound that followed from her mouth... but weak. She'd could be great, adored by many. I could see her addressing her adoring fans after a gala or a performance, struggling to her dressing room, being swarmed by many, only to close the door where I would be waiting for her, my wife...

I love her so much, that I must see it it done. But how can it be done?

Laying on the bed I had made for myself in my lair, I thought about it. I know next to nothing about woman in general. Some of the novels that I have read have told about the physical ways to be with them, but not how to approach them. And how can address such a beautiful woman? She'd take one look at me and scream. I sat up, raking my hand through my short, black hair and sighed. Composing helped me to think. Walking over to my piano, I picked out a piece of sheet music that I had not been written on yet, and sat down, filling my head with whatever melodies I had trapped inside of my disturbing mind.

I made a silent promise to myself and to Cara; I will make her a great singer... and my beautiful, loving bride.

~oOo~

Auditions for the new ballet, Swan Lake, had already been had and the roles were chosen. Sorcha had been chosen to play the White Swan, even though Auntie Anna, (or Mistress Giry, whatever I should be calling her), had confessed that Sorcha's stunning red hair was a problem. She didn't care; in her two years of living and dancing here, she has never had a chance to shine, and she deserved this. If she needed to dye her hair, she would. Seeing how hair proud Sorcha is half of the time, it was something that we were all surprised to hear. Her dancing was amazing. Naturally, Antonina's talent and jet black hair had been in her favour and she, finally, got a lead in a show, the Black Swan.

"Three years!" she exclaimed to the four of us one night in mine and Millie's room, as we sat on the two beds which we had pushed together. "Three years of dancing in this country, and FINALLY I get to dance!" We all laughed at her happiness. She and Sorcha were delighted to dance together.

"Just wait until you can audition for the next ballet." Daniela remarked, and I smiled at Millie. "I tried this year, but I know I need to improve, still." I rubbed her back; Daniela really wanted the White Swan, and when she lost to Sorcha, she had volunteered to give up the role for her. Daniela had told her not to be stupid, she deserved it, and that she'll get her own time to shine.

"Oh no," Millie spoke up, "if anything, Cara should be a singer. She's amazing!"

"Millie!" I hid behind my hair, embarrassed at the compliment.

"Well, it's true!" I groaned, falling over onto one of the pillows, and Daniela started to stroke my hairs, giggling at my reaction. "Cara, you are! You're amazing! We first started dancing together when we were, like, five or six, and she would always sing! Sometimes when the classes with Mama were over, Uncle Gareth would start to play something, and she'd sing. It was great. Cara has such natural talent, but she's too shy and modest to admit it!" Millie grinned at me, as I glared at her, sitting up and pointing my finger to the ceiling.

"Actually, I'm not modest." I corrected her. Turning to the girls, I joked, "I'm a bloody good singer." We all laughed. "But, no, in all seriousness, I'm only alright."

"What do you mean?" Sorcha asked.

"I mean that I'm hardly amazing at singing. I'm okay, but I haven't got the X-Factor or anything." The girls all giggled again when I crossed my arms over, mocking the TV show.

"Of course you don't have the X-Factor! You're better than any scrap of talent on that show. You're too good for it." Millie insisted. "Besides, why would you want 'the X-Factor'? That show is always filled with deluded people who are only judged on their beauty, and not by their talent. That's why all of the winners are never heard of again; their voice just can't take it."

"Fair play." I agreed.

"Here here." Sorcha joined in.

"I have to agree." Antonina spoke up. "We have the same show in Russia, and every time I try and watch it, my head ends up in my hands!"

"Yes!" Daniela exclaimed. "Me too! Their talent will only be lost and forgotten in the auto-tune softwares that are put on every singer's voice today, anyway. It's as if talent means nothing to anyone anymore!" We all nodded. We were quiet for a little while, before Daniela spoke up again. "May we hear you, Cara?"

That got everyone's attention; Sorcha was shaking me, Antonina was begging me, and Millie was giggling, exclaiming of how amazing my voice, apparently, was. I gave up after a while, holding my hands up in defeat;

"Fine! Fine!" They all grinned. "I'm going to sound terrible, though. I'm not trained and I haven't warmed up." The girls gave me an encouraging 'it'll be fine', and I started to smile. Sitting up straight, air filled my lungs and my mouth started to open... only to be rudely interrupted by my cousin;

"Wait a minute. Why do it up here? I'm sure the theatre is empty." My eyes grew large, whilst the others agreed with her. It seemed to be a brilliant idea to them, as they completely overlooked how much trouble we'd be in for being in the theatre at this time of night. The managers would see it as breaking and entering, and Auntie Anna will be forced to strip Sorcha and Antonina of their lead roles. But no, hearing me sing was obviously more important.

Millie and I lent the girls some hoodies and cardigans, whilst we pulled on our dressing gowns that, for some strange reason, always reminded me of kimonos, even though they were shorter and were made out of wool... and had a Cookie Monster design on them. Checking the clock at 11:34pm exactly, we started to creep down to the stage, involuntarily laughing the whole time. Sneaking down the stage, I really felt like one of those old ballerinas that you see in the films; on their tip-toes, giggling away in delight, always a group of them.

Thus began my decent to the stage. Oh God.

~oOo~

I had been watching her all day! Why did I, at this unholy hour, chose to try and see her again?

She'd be sleeping, her golden haired brat of a cousin sleeping beside her. She wouldn't care for me in that state. She'd be too far into her pleasant dreams to even notice my presence, my singing.

No, I should leave her be.

... Oh forget it, I'm going off again.

Getting up off of my piano stool, I fixed my shirt, pulling on the waistcoat and the suit-jacket, and putting the mask on my face once more. This haunted, wretched face. I couldn't help but wonder how Cara would react to it, if she ever had the misfortune of seeing it, by accident. Would she flee? Would she scream? Would she stay? Maybe, just maybe, she'd smile at it, stroking the untouched skin that blighted my face... or what I have of one.

My thoughts were interrupted when I reached the surface of the Opera House, by a ghastly sound of young girls laughing. Who is up at this time? Where are they going? And why on this earth are they laughing about?! Keeping to the shadows, I crept out into the corridor, at little further ahead of the sound. By listening, I guessed that four, maybe five, girls were out of bed and making their way towards the stage. Going out the front entrance, huh? Ballerinas are really quite tiresome. In my three years here, I have seen many a ballerina try to sneak out at night, ready to become intoxicated and to engage in physical ways that once reserved for the worlds in the classics. Disgusting. Almost as disgusting as my warped mind and my hideous face.

But among the sound of happiness and laughter came a sound of... vocal warm ups? Sounds of 'ummms' and 'gee-gee-gees' were mixed with the laughing, and the warm ups spurred the laughter on. Sometimes, you could the hear sounds of 'shhh', as one of the ballerinas tried to silence her friends, probably in fear that they'd be found. That sometimes happened, and it was always a joy to watch. Down the corridor, near to the stage, I watched, ready to see the ballerinas that I would soon bring a terrifying hell upon. That was always fun, too, scaring the brats.

One of the many blondes in the company led the way. This one I recognised, though, the ballet mistress' daughter, all crazy curly hair with bright blue eyes. As cruel as it would be to scare her, given everything that her mother has done for me since I arrived here, it would be fun to see the horror on her face. The red-head followed next, then the Russian with the black hair, finishing off with another blonde, the petite one, the new one. Behind her, she was pulling a brunette, her hairs falling in curls, the front pinned back, her eyes stormy blue.

This one was making the warm up noises.

This one plagued my mind every night and every day.

This one was the girl that I couldn't help but fall in love with all over again, every single day.

Cara.

She was giggling slightly through trying to warm up, happy and smiling. I've never seen her act in such a way; in the whole month that she has been here, I haven't once seen her give a genuine smile. Fake ones, all of the time. But never real ones. My hearts strings started to pull so hard that they started to kill me, the pain was too much. I could only hope that, one day, I could make her this happy. One day, I could cause her to smile with pure happiness and love for me. This was wishful thinking of course. Only a mother could love this face. And even if Cara could, I would need to try and speak to her first.

"Daniela," I heard her whispered to the blonde holding her hand, "Please take me back. We really don't need the stage to hear me sing!" Sing? Will she sing? That was it, I was following them.

"I understand that you're nervous, Cara," the blonde whispered, giggling, "but your cousin will kill me if I let you go!"

"You just leave Millie to me." Regardless, the blonde held on, tugging to make sure that she picked up the pace.

I followed along behind, keeping out of sight and in the shadows. I felt like a heroin addict; all it need was a little bit to get me hooked, and now, I am clinging on until I can hear my angel sing once more.

~oOo~

"Guys! For the last time, we could get in serious trouble over this!" It was one final attempt to get out of this. I didn't want to sing! Whilst I am at least half decent, I'm not good enough. I have one of those voices which you hear all of the time, and it's simply boring to listen to. Just like me, I'm nothing special.

"You remind me of Hermione Granger, in the Potter books, Cara!" Sorcha exclaimed as I was forced onto the stage, and they ran around to the front rows of the stalls. I almost ignored Sorcha's comment, because I was so amazed by what stood before me; all I could see was row after row of seating, and when they ended, the back wall was curved around, where more seating was placed, along with a few boxes hidden neared the stage. The fancy persons' seats. Papa and I never had enough money to afford a box seat, so we always had to settle for seats in the far back. It wasn't so bad for the operas, but it was difficult to see the ballets. I have been dreaming since I was a little girl about performing on this stage, and now I am, even for a small audience of my three friends, plus one cousin, I feel just brilliant. Uplifted. Fulfilled. Every word that describes unbelievable happiness.

"Come on, Cara!" Millie called from a few rows back. "Sing for us!" This was met with a few muffled giggles from the girls. What the hell was I going to sing? I didn't think that far ahead. Oops.

"Please sing for me." That voice. The voice of a man. What? What? Where the hell did it come from? The feeling came again, the one that I've been sensing for a month now. The baritone voice that has been in my dreams, it was speaking to me. I whipped my body around, trying to figure out where the voice came from.

"You alright, Cara?" Sorcha called out. I stared at her, seeing her concerned and confused face in the semi darkness.

"Did you not hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"That voice."

"There was a voice?"

"Please." The voice sounded strangled, almost desperate. "Please sing for me." I guess that I was the only one that could hear this phantom voice. I don't know whether that is good or bad. Hearing voices usually means that you're crazy, not right in the head. Please tell me that I'm normal, sane, okay to be around in society! ... Well then, I guess I'm crazy.

I nodded to the voice, before addressing Sorcha. "Nothing. Sorry, I just thought I heard something."

"Sing for us, then!"

But what? What the hell do I sing? Song titles were flashing in front of my mind, so many options, and yet I was still stuck. I looked around the stage, trying to find some sort of inspiration. We were two weeks until opening, so unfinished sets, ladders and painting materials filled the stage, along with the odd table and chair that wanted to make an appearance. But far downstage right, on the corner of the stage, was mirror, partially covered with a black sheet. Why it was there, I don't know, but I knew that I was going to sing. Slowly, I walked over to it, opening my mouth to satisfy not only my friends, but the voice that has been haunting me for the past month;

Look at me,

I will never pass

For a perfect bride,

Or a perfect daughter

Can it be I'm not meant to play this part?

Now I see that if I were truly to be myself,

I would break my family's heart...

I don't know why the song fit how I was feeling, but it did. Was I meant to play this part, as a hopeful ballet dancer, wanting to make it big with my cousin? Or was I supposed to be a singer? I love singing, maybe more than dancing. Despite my persistent dedication to dancing, all of my life, I've felt happier singing. Whether it was my father's love of music and his happiness of performing with me, or something else, I'm not sure. But singing has always seemed more like me. Not the dancing. I reached the mirror, staring at myself for a little while.

'Who is that girl I see

Staring straight back at me?

Why is my reflection someone I don't know?'

I looked out over the audience, almost as if I were talking to the invisible people coming to hear me sing a song from a bloody Disney film. Don't judge me. I'm a child at heart, and Mulan is an amazing film.

Somehow I cannot hide

Who I am, Though I've tried

When will my reflection show who I am inside?

I heard a murmur of 'wow' come from the girls after I had finished belting the last few notes, and Millie whispering 'I told you that she was amazing.' A tear started to fall out of my eye, from the amount of emotion that I forced into the song, just to please the voice inside my head.

When will my reflection show

Who I am inside?

The girls jumped up and started cheering, and I let them. Who cares if we get caught? I feel amazing at the moment; I have no care for the rules. It's not like we are trying to bomb the opera house, we're just singing and having a little fun. The managers should keep their hair on... or what they have left of it. Oof, that was rude of me. Ahh well. I wiped the tear from my cheek, before Millie slammed into me, hugging me ferociously, leaving Sorcha, Antonina, and Daniela to either join in, or to pat me on the back, praising me for my mediocre voice. Saying that, it probably sounded better just then than it ever has before. My soul lifted and rejoiced, all because of that voice. Was it really in my head? If so, I sang my soul out for a figment of my imagination. That's a bit embarrassing.

"Come on, guys," I managed to pry Millie off of me. "We're going to get in trouble if and when we get caught." We ran back to the dorms, laughing our heads off, whilst the girls continued to tell me how amazing they thought my voice is. All throughout the journey back, and even when we had reached our dorm room and trying to fall asleep, I waited for the voice, just to say something to me. I was about to give up and give in to the arms of sleep, when I heard it;

"You are tired." It stated, sounding so calm and soothing.

"I gave you my soul, tonight." I whispered back, feeling a little silly.

"Your soul is a beautiful thing, Cara. No king has received such a gift. The angels wept tonight at the sound of your voice."

I laughed lightly, pausing to check that I'm not crazy;

"You are... real, aren't you? You're not inside my head." Silence. "Um, hello?"

"My voice is for only you to hear, even though the bearer is real."

"Can I see you? Just to check that you're actually real, and that some sort of imaginary friend hasn't been following and singing to me for the past month." Again, there was silence. I had no idea what I was getting myself into, but I deserved to know who has been following my around, who begged to hear my voice tonight.

"Tomorrow night, you will return to the stage. I... I have something I want to offer to you."

It was my turn to be silent. What am I getting myself into? What did he want to offer to me?

"Yeah, okay. I'll go." I heard a sigh of relief come from the voice, and I could almost hear the smile in his voice.

"Rest now, my dear." I don't know why, but I complied straight away.

eek! more of the mysterious voice. do you like?

i don't own 'Reflections' from Mulan or the movie, that goes to Disney, nor do i own Phantom or the words i adapted, they belong to Gaston Leroux.

r&r if you're enjoying the story, and if there's anything that you'd like to see happen.