His heart stopped. Everything around him seemed to stop, even time itself. The voice was the only thing that moved, surrounding him, seducing him. Word after the word, the song captured him, more and more. His eyes were now shut, and he was smiling, something he rarely did. It was if heaven's gates had opened up and angels were singing.
He couldn't stand it any longer. The man leaped up, knocking over the bottle of ink sitting on the table in front of him. It didn't matter though, as long as he found who the music was coming from.
He ran down the steps of the little room he was in, and out into the main room of his home. He grabbed a hat and cloak hanging on the wall, and was out the door.
The voice still echoing throughout underground chambers, inspired him to run faster. Just a few more feet, and he was in his boat. He untied from the dock, and pushed off, all the while listening to the voice.
It only took him a few minutes to reach the other side of the river. A staircase awaited him, which he ran up eagerly. At the top there was a door, which he unlocked with a key that he kept in his pocket. On the other side of the door was another staircase, which he approached, but had to stop.
It was too overpowering. The voice from a person he did not know was too much.
'No,' he thought to himself. 'I must see who it is.'
He took a deep breath and went up the stairs. At the top was another door. He took a different key out and put it in the lock, turned it, and went through. He was behind a mirror. He pulled a cord and the glass lid open, revealing a woman's dressing room.
It was that of the lead soprano's of the Paris Opera House, beneath which he lived, alone, composing his music in the darkness. He had been in and out of the room many times, usually every night, to go to the stage and sing. No one ever saw him except for the sweeper who was there all the time, after every performance. He allowed the man to sing and do as he wished, for he knew the stories, but saw how gentle the man was, and left him alone.
The man in the cloak and hat walked into the room, opened the door, and walked out. he navigated his way through the hallways until he reached the roof staircase, which he went up.
The voice was still singing, although he could tell the song was almost finished. He hurried his pace. Finally arriving at the door, he walked out onto he rafters of the Opera House. Here he could see everything. he carefully walked over one rafter until he came to a balcony rail, which he stepped over. Now he had an unobstructed view of the stage.
He looked down and saw the source of the music. A young woman, with brown hair that draped across her shoulders. He smiled, not realizing the song had ending, the other members of the cast applauding for her.
'An audition,' he said to himself.
The man could hear some of the woman's friends calling to her.
'So Christine is your name,' he said quietly. 'I'll be watching you.'
He took one last look at the woman, and moved over the rail, back along the rafters, back down the hallway, and through the dressing room. Past the sliding mirror, down the staircase, out the door. Down the other staircase and the other door, into the boat, down the river, and into his life of shadow. }
He couldn't stand it any longer. The man leaped up, knocking over the bottle of ink sitting on the table in front of him. It didn't matter though, as long as he found who the music was coming from.
He ran down the steps of the little room he was in, and out into the main room of his home. He grabbed a hat and cloak hanging on the wall, and was out the door.
The voice still echoing throughout underground chambers, inspired him to run faster. Just a few more feet, and he was in his boat. He untied from the dock, and pushed off, all the while listening to the voice.
It only took him a few minutes to reach the other side of the river. A staircase awaited him, which he ran up eagerly. At the top there was a door, which he unlocked with a key that he kept in his pocket. On the other side of the door was another staircase, which he approached, but had to stop.
It was too overpowering. The voice from a person he did not know was too much.
'No,' he thought to himself. 'I must see who it is.'
He took a deep breath and went up the stairs. At the top was another door. He took a different key out and put it in the lock, turned it, and went through. He was behind a mirror. He pulled a cord and the glass lid open, revealing a woman's dressing room.
It was that of the lead soprano's of the Paris Opera House, beneath which he lived, alone, composing his music in the darkness. He had been in and out of the room many times, usually every night, to go to the stage and sing. No one ever saw him except for the sweeper who was there all the time, after every performance. He allowed the man to sing and do as he wished, for he knew the stories, but saw how gentle the man was, and left him alone.
The man in the cloak and hat walked into the room, opened the door, and walked out. he navigated his way through the hallways until he reached the roof staircase, which he went up.
The voice was still singing, although he could tell the song was almost finished. He hurried his pace. Finally arriving at the door, he walked out onto he rafters of the Opera House. Here he could see everything. he carefully walked over one rafter until he came to a balcony rail, which he stepped over. Now he had an unobstructed view of the stage.
He looked down and saw the source of the music. A young woman, with brown hair that draped across her shoulders. He smiled, not realizing the song had ending, the other members of the cast applauding for her.
'An audition,' he said to himself.
The man could hear some of the woman's friends calling to her.
'So Christine is your name,' he said quietly. 'I'll be watching you.'
He took one last look at the woman, and moved over the rail, back along the rafters, back down the hallway, and through the dressing room. Past the sliding mirror, down the staircase, out the door. Down the other staircase and the other door, into the boat, down the river, and into his life of shadow. }