June, Paris 1880
Lisette woke up the next morning in a daze, trying to remember all that had happened the previous evening as she saw light streaming through her window. She stretched dreamily, smiling as she thought of the evening she'd had with Armel and the exquisite music she'd heard at Debussy's recital. Armel was sweet, even if he was a bit awkward, and she knew he fancied her. She sat up, running a hand through her messy braid, frowning as she thought of the knots she'd have to comb out.
She suddenly leapt out of bed, feeling her shoulders shaking as she caught sight of the sheet of music lying on her table. The mystery of the composer continued to boggle her as she dressed and ate breakfast, barely able to let anything else run through her mind. She didn't want to believe that the opera ghost was responsible for this masterpiece, but who else could it be? Surely it was not a creation of Reyer's, for his compositions were mediocre which he openly admitted, and she couldn't think of another person in the orchestra who would specifically address a piece of music to her. She frowned as she scooped up the last of her potatoes and popped them into her mouth, thinking of Armel. She debated if she should share it with him, but she decided against it, knowing that a composition was sacred and meant to be kept to oneself until ready for publication.
She spent her morning at her church, practicing preludes for the services the following day. However, as she felt her feet pressing the pedals on the floor, she couldn't help but feel the power in the instrument and think of how the mysterious piece would sound on the organ rather than the piano. She took it out, cracking her knuckles, and began to play.
The music completely filled the sanctuary, with its stone walls and high ceiling. By the time she reached the end of the first page, she couldn't help but bow her head and begin to weep, overwhelmed by the immense sovereignty of the piece. It seemed as if this was meant to be played on the organ, and as she wiped tears from her face, she decided to make a single edit to the score, her hand shaking as she went into the parlor to find a pen. She simply scratched out "pianoforte" with a single line and neatly wrote "organ" in its place.
She made up her mind to return to the opera house and go to the organ in the orchestra stalls. She knew it wasn't the most private location, but there shouldn't be anyone in the opera house and she was dying to hear how it would sound in the main auditorium where there wouldn't be as much reverberation.
When she reached the back doors of the Palais Garnier, sweating from her walk from the church, she was relieved to find them locked, knowing for certain that even the ballerinas would be out for the day, training at the Academy where they had a larger rehearsal space. She quickly unlocked the door, a privilege she had been granted by becoming the prima pianist, and ducked inside, feeling a sense of dread as she found backstage to be immersed in darkness, something that had always unsettled her.
Seeing a nearby lamp, she lighted a few of the candles on stage before lighting the small wall candles beneath the stalls. It was despairingly hot and she was determined to try and keep it dark in the auditorium to prevent it from getting any warmer.
Again, she put the single sheet of music on the organ, this time prepared for the piece she was about to play. With every ounce of strength she had in her body, she threw herself into the first chord, feeling the room immediately seem to light with fire from the magnitude and strength of the instrument. She let out a laugh, almost as if insane, and played through the page, angry when she reached the last measure because it was unfinished and she was craving to know what was on the next page. She tried to play through a similar chord progression herself, but quickly grew frustrated how it couldn't match the magnificence of the sheet of music.
She threw her hands on the organ, creating a cluster of chords before letting off of them and groaning. She had to find out who this composer was and if there was more to the piece. She decided she would ask Reyer in secrecy tomorrow.
Just as she was about to stand to collect her thoughts, something from the corner of her eye made her heart stop, sending her music tumbling out of her arms and onto the floor.
Looking out into the audience, she saw something stand out in one of the boxes on the ground level to the right of the stage. There was something white standing out amongst the dark curtains and normally she would've ignored it, however, there was something strange in its shape. It was oddly curved and there was a gaping hole in the middle, as if where an eye might be. But this strange shake only seemed to imitate half a face and fear clenched her heart as she was sure a stagehand was playing a prank on her.
"What do you want?" she cried, backing into the shadows of the stalls. She often heard stories of stagehands preying on the ballerinas at night when the opera house was abandoned. She never thought she would fall into their hands with her deformed face, but she began to think she had guessed wrong.
The shape moved in the box and she saw a gloved hand appear, pulling part of the curtain back just slightly. She still couldn't make out the other half of the face, but she was determined to find out who had been playing games with her these last couple of months.
"If you don't tell me who you are I will call the police this instant!" she said meekly, trying to act brave. "No one except for employees are allowed in the opera house during these hours!"
The voice laughed, but she was instantly mesmerized. It was like a tinkling bell, yet warm and mellow, and she heard the rich timbre of the voice she had heard last night. She instinctively took a step forward, blushing as she realized the involuntary movement, and tried to maintain a stern composure as she let the light from the candles wash over her face.
She immediately saw a reaction from the figure just a few meters away. The hand disappeared and the white shape drew further back into the shadows. Despite being afraid, she couldn't help but feel a lump form in her throat from their reaction to her face.
"You have nothing to fear, fräuline."
She gasped, taking another step forward. The voice was so pure, so deep, and filled with such color. This person might as well have been singing instead of speaking from how beautiful the timbre was. The need to find out who this person was suddenly changed from fear to intense curiosity and she craned her neck, trying to see the face.
"Who are you?" she asked quietly.
"I'm the opera ghost," the figure answered, chuckling. "I thought I had made that point quite clear by now."
"I don't believe in ghosts," she said, feeling her confidence return. "If you were a ghost, you wouldn't be sitting here in the flesh."
The voice chuckled, amused at her answer. "I may be what I please. Besides, if no one's ever truly seen the opera ghost, they can't know what he looks like, can they?"
She had no answer. She continued to stare into the darkness of the box, trying to understand this strange interaction she was having.
"Play it again," the voice demanded, a glove barely visible pointing to the organ beneath the stage.
"And play what exactly?" she inquired.
"My piece," it responded.
The color drained from her face. "Your piece?"
"Yes," it responded coolly. "Now play."
She obeyed, going to the organ with shaking hands and placing the music back on the instrument. She cracked her fingers, finding the pedals underneath her feet, before beginning, feeling the music swelling among the room as it had done before. When she reached the end of the page, she turned to the box, where the white shape remained. She was strangely comforted by the fact that it hadn't left, that it was real and she wasn't going crazy.
"You played it better earlier," the voice said harshly. Lisette didn't react to the criticism, for she knew it herself. Having an audience of whom she was unsure had made her nervous and she was aware it lacked the passion she had played with earlier.
"I'm aware," she replied. "The music is gorgeous, it makes me nervous to play it for someone with such great musicianship."
She couldn't tell the reaction of the figure, but she hoped it was one of flattery, not of disdain.
"It's something I've been working on for a long time," it replied, merely a whisper. There was a brief silence, as if it was reflecting on something, before it cleared its throat and said much more loudly, "Why did you make an edit to my score without my permission?"
She smirked. "You cannot deny, monsieur, that the organ suits the style you are going for."
The figure shifted, bringing itself closer to the edge of the box, but not revealing itself from the shadows. "I never denied it. I'm simply asking why you changed it without finding out who the composer was."
"How was I supposed to know?" she inquired. "How does one find the opera ghost when he does not exist at all?"
She heard the figure scoff and shrink away. "I appear when it's convenient for myself."
She turned at the organ, and with a wave of adrenaline, played the page once more, this time feeling the passion of the music growing within her. The chromaticism and the movement of her fingers and feet seemed to sweep together and join as if a live being, and she felt sweat begin to pour down her temples as she tried to hold back the tears that were forming in her eyes. When she reached the end of the page, she cried out in frustration and leapt from the seat, throwing herself at the edge of the stalls.
"Monsieur, please!" she cried. "I'll give anything to hear the rest of the piece!"
She saw the figure was now sitting in a relaxed position, almost as if its legs were crossed.
"I'm impressed," she heard it mutter. "You are what I need to lead this music to the success it deserves."
"Monsieur?" she questioned, not understanding.
"You will do," the voice said in its musical tones, standing. "There is no second page… yet. If you remain discrete about this interaction, only then will you see more of music. However, if you tell anyone what has happened between us tonight, I cannot prevent the terrible things that will come upon you."
Lisette couldn't help but feel a chill run up her spine at his words. Somehow she knew this opera ghost meant this threat, but with such fantastic music sitting before her, she quickly made up her mind about her secretiveness.
"You have my word," she responded, squinting to try and make out the other half of the face in the darkness.
"Good day, Fräuline Geiger," the voice said, turning as if to leave.
"Wait!" Lisette cried, startled by her own boldness. The figure turned, surprised by the command.
"Will you not sing for me?" she asked, growing quiet and blushing. "You were the one singing to me all this time, weren't you?"
She saw the figure's shoulders slump.
"Not today," it answered coldly. "We'll see if you prove yourself worthy to obtain more of my compositions."
Suddenly, she found herself very alone in the auditorium of the Palais Garnier, aware of the dimness around her due to the very few lights illuminated. She quickly gathered her things, putting the sheet of music in her hymnal, before leaving the stage and disappearing into the late afternoon, her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to imagine the man behind the mask.
Don't forget to rate and review! Looks like we're finally making some progress with the Opera Ghost!
