Paris Opera, 1881
Louis thumped his staff against the wooden floor. "Five, six, seven, eight."
Twelve years had passed since that fateful night, and since then, Louis had replaced Madame Lumilda as the top ballet teacher at the Paris Opera Ballet. Under his tutelage, many a student had gone on to achieve great things. He taught the best of the best, and made them even better. People had learned to fear and respect him.
"Class dismissed," he boomed, and his students thanked him and scurried out the door.
Louis strode to the window as the door closed, swinging his cane behind his back. Paris seemed to glow in the summer sunlight as people swarmed the streets.
The door opened and he whirled around, ready to unsheath the sword that was always by his side. But it was only the cleaner.
A cleaner who, upon closer inspection, looked very familiar.
"Odette?"
She didn't look up, only froze from her work.
"Odette, it's you?" He took a few hesitant steps closer. They hadn't seen each other in years - not since that fateful night. She'd pretty much disappeared without a trace, and now, here she was.
Except, it wasn't her, Louis realized as she remained frozen. He was right in front of her now, yet her eyes remained on the floor. "Od . . . Odette?"
She took a breath, knuckles white from her tight grip on the broom. "If you could leave, please, monsieur. I'm sure we both have work to get to." Even her voice had changed.
"What's wrong with you? Talk to me!" Louis frowned, wanting to hit something. He lowered his voice when she flinched back from the volume, "talk to me, Odette."
"I'm nobody," she said. "You have important business to - "
"My business is right in front of me," Louis replied, "now tell me where you've been all this time?"
She didn't answer.
"Odette, please," Louis said.
"Leave." It was so soft he could barely hear it.
"Odette."
She limped over to the door and slipped away as Louis sank to the ground. What had he done?