Soft humming could be heard within the back-end of the Palais Garnier, and its creator just so happened to be in extremely high-spirits as she made her way into her dressing room to retrieve a comb she had forgotten, after all she wanted to look her best today and the small comb's emeralds matched perfectly with the green in her dress. She'd had a wonderful night's sleep, relieved some stress, and had had a wonderful breakfast.
Today Clementine couldn't be happier, as today she sealed her fate. Today she signed her contract with the Opera Garnier. She was looking forward to a life of luxury, and felt that she deserved it as well.
She found her comb right where she left it, on a small coffee table arranged in front of her dark red fainting couch. Her dressing room had come together rather nicely. She had arranged for wallpaper do be put up that sported a deep, red, elegant pattern. A small round end table made of dark wood that held a beautiful china vase stood in the corner of the room just to the left of the door, right across from the door stood her fainting couch and dark mahogany coffee table. Across the room from the beautiful gilted mirror that had been placed in the room before she came, stood and ornately carved dresser, which held extra garments and some spare towels to help her clean up after her "hobby". A large desk sat close to the mirror, its purpose mainly to hold the many bouquets she recieved from her adoring audience.
But Clementine found something else next to her comb, something that made her blood run cold. A sealed envelope, addressed to her in a familiar, red, childish sprawl. Oh no. No, no, no, not when everything had been playing out so perfectly! She hurriedly opened up the envelope, not even bothering to use the letter opener in her desk drawer.
She wretched the letter out, and it read:
Mlle. Le Gall,
It has come to my attention that you have failed to heed the various warnings I have given you to exit my stage, it has also come to my attention that you invited a guest into your room last night, at an entirely ungodly hour, and then proceeded to strangle him, among other things. Considering that I am a man of mercy, I will give you two choices. You can leave my opera house and never return, or you can choose to stay, and I will tell the managers of your dirty deed. What is to become of you after that, I cannot say, but you will be permanently removed from my stage for good, that much I know. The choice is yours.
Your obedient servant,
OG
Clementine slammed the letter onto the table, her breath coming out in harsh pants. No. This would not happen, she would not let this happen! She was so close, so close to her destiny. Clementine's breathing intensified as she paced her room. And then, an idea came to her.
She hurried over to the mirror, then taking a deep breath, struck herself across the face.
To say that Armand Moncharmin was surprised to see his new lead soprano burst into his office with a cut lip and a swollen eye, while blubbering incoherently, was an under statement. He had hoped that his last week managing the opera house would run smoothly, but as always, something came up.
No one knew that he and his partner, M. Firmin Richard, were planning on turning the house over to new management, and they were planning on reveling the news today. Neither of them wanted to deal with the ghost's antics anymore, but they also didn't want to leave the Garnier in shambles, as they felt it would reflect badly on their reputations. So before they left, they made sure that they had found someone to replace their previous singers.
Moncharmin hoped he wouldn't have to replace this one as well.
"Mademoiselle, what's happened?", he asked as she threw herself into his arms.
"It was the ghost! That dreadful opera ghost! He burst into my dressing room and he-", at this Mlle. Le Gall began sobbing dramatically.
After somewhat calming the young woman, Armand called for a doctor come and assess her injuries. After assuring her once again that everything would be fine, he left the room hurriedly to find M. Richard.
No sooner than immediately after the door slammed after Moncharmin, did Clementine let a self-satisfied smirk spread across her swollen lips.
Now let us see the opera ghost push me off of his stage!
Thinking she was alone, Clementine let out a devious chuckle.
Erik was furious. How dare this self-righteous little bitch from god-knows where, waltz onto his stage like she owned it and dismiss his commands to leave completely! And now this! He listened to her chuckle to herself from beneath her feet, under his secret trap door.
It took all of his will power not to burst from the door and strangle her, right there in the office. The only thing keeping him from doing such a thing was the drama and noise it would cause, and Erik was so, so sick of the noise.
If only he could rot away in the comfortable solace of his underground lair in, in complete silence. That was his only wish, or so he thought.
As of late, Erik wasn't entirely sure what he wanted, which put him in an even fouler mood.
As he stalked back down to his house, he pondered what his next letter to Mlle. Le Gall would contain, and whether he should actually kill her or not.
Author's note: I'm sorry for the extremely short chapter, I've been very busy lately. Also, I know that this chapter is somewhat confusing, but everything will be explained in the next chapter. Thank you to the people that read this fic, it means so much to me that you would take time out of your day to read my little story.