It's been wicked hard trying to write these chapters. Seriously. I'm nearly killing myself with the words. But, hopefully, you guys like them! :)

Chapter Twenty-One: Rejected

"Isabelle?" a voice called to the young girl as she sat behind stage, wearing her regular day clothes as she worked aimlessly on a needle point. That morning, the clothes had felt heavy as she put on her underskirts and top skirt, as well as a white blouse with a fabric vest over it that had belonged to her mother. She had always been so used to putting on her ballet clothes and it felt almost unnatural to her to wear the skirt and top.

When her name was called, she looked up slowly, seeing an older woman who seemed looked to be thirty-five. "Come with me, dear."

The woman, Amelia, was American who worked at the Opera Populaire while her husband, who had brought her here after they married, worked in the merchant shop a few streets away. The two women walked silently down farther back stage until they came to a set of spiral stairs, which they climbed before walking to a very large room that smelled of vinegar and soap.

"This is where you will be working, with Lucienne and I," she said, letting Isabelle look around the room for a moment. "This is where we wash the costumes," Amelia said as she lead Isabelle to three large metal wash bins. "Soak them in here-" She placed her hand on the edge of one that had murky gray water "-Wash them in here-" She pointed to one that had bubbles gathering on the top while the water beneath it jumped and boiled "-And cool them in here-" Another gray watered basin "-Before you wring out the water and set them up on the line."

Isabelle noticed a stepping stool that was below four think strings running from one end of the room to the other. "This is the soap and this… Smells absolutely awful…" Isabelle laughed quietly, covering her mouth with her hand. "But, it gets out any stains in the fabric of the costumes."

Isabelle noticed two wooden basins not far from the wash bins with wooden buckets around them and old looking cans that had different colors stained on the sides. "What are those?" she asked quietly, pointing to the corner.

"Ah, those. That's where we die the fabrics. The cans you see there are the different colors. You've got to be careful with them. They stain very easily and are very difficult to get out," Amelia said, waving her to the other end of the room. "Here is where we make and fix the dresses. Everything is very simple here, as you can see, but you've got to watch where you put your needles. We've lost quite a few, finding them only when we prick ourselves on them later."

Isabelle nodded, looking around the room again sadly. "I see."

Amelia looked at the young girl for a moment before she reached out and put her hand on her arm. "It isn't that bad working here. I know it's nothing compared to being on that stage, but you'll learn to warm up to it. I assure you."

Amelia handed her a white apron and Isabelle tied it around her waist. "I'm sure that I will, I just wish I could be down there," she said, looking longingly at the door as she pulled to knot tight. She looked at Amelia. "None of what happened, happened because of me," Isabelle said, sitting down on a chair that was nearby. "It was all Sandrine's doing."

"Sandrine?" another voice said as woman with fire red hair appeared in the room. "I cannot stand that woman." Isabelle looked curiously at the woman. "I'm Lucienne."

"Nice to meet you," she said, smiling at the woman who had started to put her hair into a braid before gathering it up into a clump and tying a white kerchief around her head to keep it up. "My name is Isabelle."

The three women looked at each other for a moment. "We best get to work. If we don't, one of the messieurs will come up here and it'll be to the streets," Amelia said in a mocking voice before she and Lucienne laughed together, going over to where they sewed the dresses, standing next to two mannequins. "Come here, Isabelle and I'll show you what to do." With a nod, Isabelle walked over to the blonde woman, taking the needle and thread she was holding out. "Before you start, you may want to tie your hair back. You may not think it does, but it can get rather warm in here," she said, walking behind Isabelle and gathering her hair back and up, settling her hair in a piece of white fabric before bringing it up and tying the two ends at the top of Isabelle's head, like Lucienne had done with her own hair.

"Now… This is Sandrine's dress." Isabelle let out a sigh. "At the moment, we are working on the corset. What you need to do is sew this lace along the top, you see?" Amelia said, running her finger along the top where a bit of plain white fabric was sitting.

"It has to go around the entire top and can't be too long, or too short, otherwise she will rip it off and demand you do it again."

"How like her," Isabelle said, starting on the first button.

Lucienne looked up from where she was sitting on a chair, the end of the skirt in her lap as she hemmed it to the right length. "Isabelle, that isn't even the worst she has done."

Slowly, Isabelle looked down at her with a shocked face. "What else is there?"

"And then she knocked over the basin that had the blue dye water and it spread throughout the whole room, ruining half the costumes," Lucienne said, cutting a piece of sparkled gold fabric to put over the skirt to Sandrine's costume.

It was nearing the end of the day and the entire time, Amelia and Lucienne had talked about all the things Sandrine had done when something on her costume wasn't right or if she needed her costume fixed because she had ruined it. Isabelle had listened closely, laughing at appropriate times or frowning when Sandrine had done something truly awful.

When things below them on stage had quieted, Lucienne and Amelia let Isabelle go, smiling and saying they looked forward to working with her the next morning as the young girl folded her apron on a chair and walked out. Isabelle dashed down the spiral stairs and was about to go to the girl's dorms while Sandrine appeared in front of her wearing an elegant evening dress.

"Oh, it's the Little Phantom Girl," she said in a snide voice, smirking at Isabelle. "Free from working on the costumes, are you?" Isabelle kept a straight face, just looking at the blonde woman in front of her. "It's such a shame you have to work up there, Little Phantom Girl. I was waiting all day for you to humiliate yourself, but I was upset when I remembered that you were upstairs sewing my costume."

With a laugh, Sandrine started walking away as her dress billowed out around her. Glaring at the women, Isabelle put her foot out and stomped down hard on the skirt, creating a large hole as she caused it to rip. Sandrine stopped short, her mouth hanging open but when she turned around, Isabelle was gone.

She was running as fast as she could, her skirt bunched up in her hand. She ran around a corner and felt someone catch her arm, making her stop in her tracks. Isabelle shrieked, but calmed herself when she saw Matthew standing there, smiling.

"You startled me," Isabelle said, her hand on her chest as her heart beat slowed.

Matthew stepped toward her, pushing her hair out of her eyes before pulling the kerchief off her head. Her dark locks fell around her shoulders and Matthew looked at her with loving eyes. "Deepest apologies, my love," he whispered, stepping close to her as he softly twisted his fingers into her hair. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Isabelle smiled as Matthew pressed his lips to hers, holding Isabelle tightly to his body as they stepped into the shadows. They stood there quietly, their lips moving softly with each others before Matthew pulled away. "Henri has invited us to his home for supper," he said, resting his forehead against hers. "I thought it would be a lovely idea. You need some cheering up, amore."

Isabelle nodded and smiled, reaching her hands up to cup Matthew's jaw in her palms. "That's a wonderful idea."

"Bon. On allez, ma belle."
~*~

"Erik, this is childish," Christine said as she stood over him, watching as he carefully wrote out a note on a piece of stiff parchment paper.

Without a word, Erik poured salt onto the paper before letting the little grains fall off as he folded the letter into thirds. He poured wax over the edge and stamped it, creating the deadly skull that Christine recognized too well. "This is not childish. What's childish is the fact that those impertinent men don't realize what talent Isabelle has. With Sandrine, the seats are full, yes, but with Isabelle, they would have to do more than one performance because so many people would want to hear her. But, there hasn't been a chance of that because Sandrine, once again, took her opportunity away from the girl. And if they refuse to listen to me, then they deserve what is coming to them."

Christine let out a heavy sigh and walked away from him, going to their bedroom. She stopped by the bookshelf Erik had pressed against the wall and pulled a book off the shelf, looking at it for a moment. It was a play, one that she had listened to her father read to her before he died. With a smile, she took it to their bed, where she settled herself comfortably before she opened the book and began to read.

She didn't get far, though, before Erik appeared in the room, his envelope in hand. "Would you mind delivering this to the messieurs?" he said, holding it out to her.

Christine put her book down and folded her hand in her lap, giving Erik a very annoyed look. "I would mind very much, Erik," she said, standing up in front of him. "Erik, this isn't necessary, really."

"Yes, it very much is." She looked at him with an amused and expectant face. "They cannot do this to Isabelle. The poor girl has done nothing, honestly nothing and they are punishing her like everything is her fault. In my production, and your opera house, that will not pass in any way at all."

"Erik…" He gave her a very sad look and she sighed, bringing her hand up to his face. "Alright," she said, taking the letter from him. "I will leave it in their office. The rehearsal has to have ended by now. They surely went home."

With a nod and a smile from Erik, Christine left the lair and retreated down the corridor that she had come to know so well before taking a sudden turn down a secret passage way, instead of continuing down the dark hall to Box 5. She walked a few paces, and then stopped, her hand reaching out until it connected with a flat piece of wood. Cautiously, she pushed against it and let a faint light into the dark hall as she appeared from behind a large painting that was hanging in the office of Monsieur LeBlanc. She was a few feet above his desk, where the painting was acting as a door and so she leaned over the wall that was at her waist and dropped the letter on his desk.

"I simply cannot stand that woman," a voice from behind the office door said, and Christine panicked, scrambling to pull the painting back against the wall. She slowly let it close as she listened closely to the conversation.

"Which woman?" another voice said, and Christine recognized it as Monsieur DeSaulniers.

The other man, who Christine could only assume was Monsieur LeBlanc, scoffed. "That Daae woman." Christine scoffed silently. "She pretends as though she owns this opera and then, while we are the ones running the productions, she tries to take control and tell us who should and should not be allowed to be in those productions."

Monsieur LeBlanc was silent for a moment. "Well, she did not appear anywhere today, but-"

"Last night, after the retched Phantom completely ruined our show, Mademoiselle Christine came and scolded nearly the entire cast. She even hit Sandrine Faraday." The two men were silent, before Monsieur LeBlanc spoke again. "Look, another letter."

There was the sound of paper ripping before he read, "'Dearest Messieurs, I will give you an offer, but know that it stands for only one day. What was said last night from both Madame Christine and I will be forgotten forever, if, and only if, you put Isabelle Poirier back into the place Sandrine currently has. If you fail to do so by the evening tomorrow, there will be hell to pay in Madame Christine's opera house. O.G.'" Both of the men scoffed.

"This is just ridiculous," Monsieur DeSaulniers said, sounding aggravated. Christine scoffed silently again, placing her hands on her hips. "They think they can run us."

Monsieur LeBlanc ripped up the letter. "There is nothing they can do to hurt us. We simply won't listen."

"And so it begins," Christine whispered before retreating back to the lair to tell Erik that he can begin his plan.

You like? I hope you like. I was actually kind of proud of this chapter, and I'll be updating more, if I can. Love you guys! REVIEW LIKE YOUR LIFE DEPENDS ON IT! :)