Author's Note: As I post this, the eleventh chapter, I am writing the twenty-first chapter for this story. Yes, that's how far ahead I am in writing this story. But while my muse is currently strong, I know that it won't last for long. There's also the fact that my classes have resumed, which now leaves me with little to no time to write during the weekdays, unlike before. Because of that, my updates will no longer be days apart but most likely weeks. Specifically, a week at least and a month at most. It all depends on how fast I am able to write in advance with what vacant time I'm gonna have. Wish me luck!


( eleven )

GLASS HALF EMPTY


Jovan woke up with a scream on her lips and Elea's slender fingers wrapped around her wrists. A sheen of sweat covered her skin that made the fabric of her nightgown stick to her figure. She wasn't aware of the tears on her cheeks until Elea wiped them away. She was only vaguely aware of her name being called as her eyes darted around the room.

"Jovan! Look at me! You're here, you're safe with me." Elea's face screamed before her.

She furiously nodded her head as she tuned out Elea's voice, her friend's hands placed on either side of her face. Jovan gently pulled them away as she wiped away the sweat and tears on her face.

"I'm fine, Elea," she muttered, her voice cracked. Had she been screaming?

In the background, she saw the concerned faces of Tess, Adèle, and Christine in the dark. Maeva was sitting up on her bed as well, but her expression read more of irritation than anything else. Their lamps on their nightstands were lit, their curtains drawn. Elea sat on the edge of Jovan's bed. Had she woken them all up?

Jovan grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled hard, quietly berating herself. Elea gently untangled her fingers from her hair as she pulled the redhead closer.

"Back to bed, everyone. We still have rehearsals tomorrow," Elea announced to the room in an effort to drive away their attention from Jovan. Maeva was the first to collapse back on her bed while Christine and Adèle followed after a second's hesitation. Tess softly muttered something that Jovan failed to comprehend to which Elea gave a nod in response. All the lamps went out in the dormitory save for the one on Elea's nightstand which stood between her bed and Jovan's.

"I'm sorry I woke you all up," Jovan whispered, her voice painfully small.

Elea shushed her. "You don't have to apologize for anything, Jo."


One week. One week from now and it would be opening night again for the latest opera. This meant that practically everyone was in a rush to perfect or remedy something for the premiere ― chorus girls spent most of their time practicing high notes while the ballet rats were trying to perfect their moves. The stagehands were left to inspect the props, rigging, lighting, and equipment. Amir was checking the fly system for any more damages. Somewhere in the orchestra pit, Monsieur Reyer could be heard wailing.

"Jovan, could you bring that rock over here?" Mateo asked, pointing to a prop that weighed heavier than it looked that he had more than once wondered whether it was an actual rock. "Wait, no. Never mind. I'll do it."

Mateo began to march towards the prop but Jovan pushed him away with a sigh. "I can do it," she said with a roll of her eyes, approaching the prop before she lifted it with both her arms with little effort. Mateo tried not to gape at the sight, but he often forgot that Jovan was stronger than she looked.

The rest of the day passed by quickly. At one point, one of the chorus girls had a panic attack, but other than that, the day was uneventful. Jovan was thankful for the fact that Maeva no longer took notice of her, even if they were in the same room ― the girl wouldn't even put an eye on her. Erik's little trick worked after all and, at that thought, Jovan found her lips pulling into small smile.

"Head in the clouds again, hm?" a familiar voice disturbed her thoughts. The smile vanished from her lips as Jovan glanced behind her shoulder, but was puzzled to see no one behind her. Her eyebrows knitted in confusion.

"Don't bother looking for me," Erik's voice whispered again before she could even voice out her confusion. She reckoned he had to be throwing his voice from a distance. Jovan didn't bother giving a reply, unsure whether he'd be able to even hear her from wherever he was. Instead, she shrugged her shoulders and resumed securing the knots and ropes that held the backdrops.

A hand landed on her shoulder with an unfamiliar voice accompanying it. Alarm shot through her as Jovan flinched and quickly pushed the hand away before turning to see who the person was. A fellow stagehand, Isaac, met her gaze with widened eyes as he backed away from her, his hands raised up in a gesture of surrender.

"Calm down, calm down. It's just me," he said with a crooked grin before Jovan gave a sigh of relief. "Amir's calling you down backstage, he told me to notify you."

Jovan finished her work of knotting the ropes before she pushed past Isaac towards the stairs leading backstage, not even bothering to grace him with a reply, not after he gave her such a fright. She jogged towards the lead stagehand who was busy instructing two of his stagehands to fix the lights and the cords.

"Monsieur Vacher, you called for me?" Jovan called out when she neared him.

"There you are, Jo. Monsieur Lefèvre's asking for you," Amir replied with a glance towards her before he gestured to the manager, who was busy chatting with Madame Giry not far from the entrance to the stage. Jovan gave a nod of thanks before she went to Monsieur Lefèvre, trying to calm the way her heart had raced at the mention of the manager's name. She hadn't done anything wrong, had she?

He immediately noticed her presence as she approached him with a thin-lipped smile. "Ah, Mademoiselle... Rousseau," he gave a nod and greeted her with a slight hesitation towards what he should call her. Jovan took notice of it but simply replied with a polite bow towards both the manager and Madame Giry. The ballet headmistress gave her a small smile.

"Monsieur Lefèvre, you asked for me," Jovan said.

"Yes, I did." He reached for something in his jacket and pulled out an unsealed envelope which he handed to her. Jovan took it with a questioning look towards Monsieur Lefèvre.

"I hope you haven't forgotten the occasion, mademoiselle," he chided her lightheartedly before gesturing to the envelope in her hands. "It's just something I saw in the archives, although I've no idea how such a thing got mixed up in the opera house's records. So I thought you just ought to have it."

Jovan stood still for a moment, mulling over his words until the day finally dawned on her. She felt the blood rush to her cheeks, painting them a rosy red, before her lips broke into a sheepish smile. "I-I've forgotten ― it slipped my mind, monsieur! And madame."

"You ought to have given the poor girl a calendar instead," Madame Giry playfully rebuked Monsieur Lefèvre, who replied with a chuckle. Jovan stood frozen in place when the ballet headmistress leaned in close to her, her voice barely above a whisper when she spoke to her in a gentle tone.

"Happy birthday, child."


Jovan wrapped her cloak tighter around herself as she adjusted her position at the foot of the marble statue. Her knees were drawn up to her chest while she rested her chin on them. In her hands, she kept on turning over the cream envelope that Monsieur Lefèvre had given her earlier. She ran a finger over the name written on the front in the manager's handwriting.

Mlle. N. Jovan S.

She sucked in a breath of the cold October air. October. How could it have slipped from her mind? Her own birthday forgotten, buried in the back of her mind after all that had transpired before and after she arrived to the Opéra Populaire. But Jovan was quick to put aside the occasion in favor of her work. After all, there wasn't much to celebrate besides the fact that she was now nineteen. The latest opera however, would be premiering one week from now and that was worth more paying attention to.

Still, she found herself alone on the rooftop once again after that day's rehearsals. Jovan had no doubt that, at such a late hour, Elea would be losing her mind in search of her, which was why she made the precaution of leaving a note on the ballerina's nightstand, asking her not to worry about her whereabouts and that she'd be back in their dormitory before eleven. Jovan wasn't sure how much she needed the isolation and quiet all to herself on that day, and she even had a sneaking suspicion that she might stay on the rooftop past midnight. That was, if she could have the rooftop all to herself up until that hour.

Biting her bottom lip, Jovan opened the envelope and pulled out whatever it contained. She was stunned to see that it was not a letter, but a photograph. It was a bit faded in some places, and it was black and white, lacking any colors. Her eyes widened into saucers as she recognized the two people frozen in the moment that was captured in the photograph she held.

It was a couple that she guessed to be in their twenties. The woman had her back pressed against the man's chest while his arms were wrapped around her figure. Behind them, against the night sky, was the very opera house that Jovan was staying in at the moment, unmistakable in all its fame and glory. But she was quick to spot the architecture which slightly differed from the Opéra Populaire's present design, and given the time when the photograph was taken, which had to be many years ago, Jovan deduced that it had to be the former Palais Garnier standing behind them, long before it was reconstructed and rechristened as the Opéra Populaire.

But it wasn't the opera house that garnered her shock and curiosity. It was the couple who stood center in the photograph. They were wearing costumes, she realized, and the woman held a mask in one hand. The picture had to be taken during the annual Bal Masqué. Smiles curved their lips, and Jovan wondered for a second whether the photograph could've managed to capture and preserve the very happiness they felt at that moment as well. The man had a dark mass of unruly, curly hair on his head, but he didn't seem to mind his appearance in light of what the occasion was when the picture was taken. The woman in his arms was the spitting image of Jovan.

She let out a silent gasp as she hovered her finger over the woman's face, her curls pinned up into a half-do with a few loose stray strands. The photograph lacked any colors but Jovan knew very well that the woman had the same color of hair and eyes that Jovan had.

So this was Monsieur Lefèvre's gift to her ― a decades-old photograph that had been lost among the archives in his office. A photograph of her mother and father in a time when the world was kinder, a time that had long past by. It not a mere photograph, but a reminder as well.

Jovan felt tears prick her eyes but she immediately dried them with her sleeve. Once again, she had just been reminded of everything that she had lost.


Author's Note: So I introduced the idea in a previous chapter (Muse Of Mine), but more light about it is shed in here. I'm talking about Opéra Populaire's history ― this is just a little deviation from canon. In a nutshell, Palais Garnier was the name of the original opera house before it was reconstructed and renamed as the Opéra Populaire. Sorry 'cause there's barely any Erik in here! Leave a review? Pretty please?