A/N: I hope you enjoy...
At the Opéra
June
From the instinctive fear of one Dark Sorcerer's twisted sense of humour, I caught myself from wondering whether it could possibly get worse. Of course it could; under these circumstances, it was possible for anything to happen. And there was no doubt in my mind that he was relishing my disappointment, as I could feel his prying eyes on me while I stood feebly before my fate.
Why had I assumed more? Why did I think he would hand me recognition on a silver tray when not only would it not have worked for him, but I realized, I couldn't sing or dance worth recognition. Okay, I could sing, but it was hardly at the standard of a solo performer. Dancing was a different matter altogether, meaning, it was like me trying to do a Finite problem in my head – fruitless. As powerful as Julian may have been, nothing could make me dance well enough to be one of the "rats" but then why could Julian not have made me a Chorus member? Ah, but what else could I have become, limited by my gender and inexperience?
The fact was that the Palais Garnier had eighty-eight dressing rooms requiring tending-to, and this was done on a rotation-basis by nine people; I was now the tenth. My job included cleaning, arranging, and ensuring the divas and dancers were happy; the Prima Donna and Ballerina were to respectively receive eleven freshly cut roses daily; ten or twelve even would be bad luck. For days and weeks to come, at the start of each shift, Mme. Remais would be directing me on my way.
As I mustered the strength to set to my task, I heard a familiar voice in my mind, Just be grateful it's not your job to launder the costumes. Even mentally he could be sardonic.
I mock-laughed aloud, as I twisted the excess water from the mop with my hands, trying to ignore the repugnance of having to touch the smelly, ratty end, yet allowed the disgust to show on my face.
God forbid I should waste my time doing such a thing! I shot back at him mentally but heard nothing in reply.
I didn't know how, but I would somehow get him back for this. He may have been a powerful sorcerer, but the universe still had laws, and I fully believed in the cliché saying that things tended to balance themselves out. It made me smile to think that somewhere, five cellars below, Erik lurked, and at one point or another would breathe the same air as I. Perhaps he was in his box, or running an errand, but the reality remained that he was existent, and was, in fact, here. And even if I was a simple cleaning-maid, I was still free to go about the building and poke around as I did my chores.
The highlight of my day was when I came to a most generously decorated room, with peach hues and shades of pink. No, I wasn't fond of these colours; in fact they were a horrendous combination of over-the-top elegance. Rather, it was the name on the door, engraved in elegant cursive, on a thin, wooden plaque that that made me grin, the sight of which seemed to lessen the hint of regret this whole escapade was waking in me: Carlota Gutierrez.
La Carlotta?
It was a very messy room with costumes and other garments on the floor; some slung over chairs as well as on other furniture; also there were glasses of water abandoned sporadically on various surfaces. I nearly knocked one over, but saw it in time, hidden beneath the divan beside a box of half-eaten chocolates. Giving the bonbons a sniff, I couldn't determine how long they had been there so I resisted trying one…
Unable to fight the temptation to snoop a bit, I opened a few drawers to peek inside. One drawer had The Holy Bible, another contained a pair of ugly pastel-purple gloves with pearls, and the bottom one of her vanity had a collection of fans. In her closet, were five pair of shoes, all satin, most of them light blue. In the make-up compartment of her elegant vanity, there was another box of chocolates, the kind with liquored cherries, but to my disappointment it was unopened. The unusually annoying thing was that I couldn't find a single personal item that could and would confirm it was really her.
At lunch I sat downstage by myself, munching on some apples, cheese and bread that I had picked up at a Boulangerie on Rue Scribe. As I felt the camembert cheese melting in my mouth, I gaped at the empty house of gold-glazed boxes and soft seats with their plush maroon splendour. The hall was so massive and beautiful – this was what Christine saw when her voice would float up to Box Five's shadowy occupant. It really was too bad I would not sing.
It was something that hit me then that caused a distraction and made me bite my tongue – I realized that I hadn't seen Christine's name anywhere. Then I reasoned that perhaps I hadn't cleaned a little corner which contained her little dressing-room, all by itself.
On my very first day, I managed to tidy up three dressing-rooms fueled by the inner delight from just being able to breathe the air of L'Opéra. By the end of it all, I had grown very sick of my gown, yearning for pants, and my feet ached so badly from the damned heels that I was caught up in day-dreams of being able to put them up.
The sun was descending behind the city's landscape silhouette when I inspected the sky as I left the Palace. Every step made me grit my teeth and was ready to tear the dress and shoes off. Bundled up to the extreme, my yelps at every step were muffled by the thick cloak Julian had conjured up for me.
Oh that being!
Darkness greeted me when I entered the house, and I looked up to see a shape eclipsing the soft light spilling from my room. As I headed up the stairs, he was on the landing, blocking my path, smirking smugly as usual.
"Did you have a good day at work?" He asked lightly, his self-righteous smile almost broadening with pleasure. His words sounded as though he too had just arrived home, and was ready to share his hard and laborious day's events with me.
Silently, I simply blinked at him while flashing him one of my darkest glares, just faintly visible from the lack of light. If he couldn't see it, I was sure he could feel it.
