CHAPTER 5
Nearly one month has passed since my arrival at the Opera, and nothing too out of the ordinary had occurred. Of course there was the occasional ballerina who would start screaming fit in the middle of a run through, claiming she had seen the Phantom. Usually, however, it was only done to attract the attention of one of the handsome male actors, who would immediately come running to her side. Yet I never made fun of the girls for behaving in what I thought to be a silly way. They were my friends, as they were the only ones may age employed by the Opera. Plus, some of the men were quite attractive. If I had been bolder, perhaps I would have participated in the game as well.
One ballerina in particular, Darianna Élise, was extremely melodramatic. She was also my best and closest friend. She and I shared marvelous adventures, not only in the Opera house, but in the city as well. One Sunday each month, we were permitted to go out into Paris. Darianna and I would usually go shopping in the morning, and then spend the afternoon strolling though the park as she kept a watchful eye for handsome gentlemen.
While I took pleasure in this game, I was not as daring as she. On a few occasions, she would even go and speak to these men, while I stood with a watchful eye, safely behind a tree or bush.
Back at the Opera, there was one particular gentleman who more then one ballerina would spend hours daydreaming over. Gautier was a ladies man, and quite handsome at that. He flirted freely with most women, and had even come on to me once or twice. Darianna was absolutely obsessed with him, and she soon found that screeching around about the Phantom was the best was to draw Gautier's attention. I truly doubted if she had ever laid eyes on the Opera Ghost, for if she had I was sure she would have done more then shriek.
Tonight was opening night of the Opera Populaire's, The Marriage of Figaro. I had been looking forward to is ever since I had arrived and found out we would be putting it on. I found myself backstage on that warm spring evening. I stood just off stage left, gazing out upon the cast who were frozen in their starting positions, waiting for the curtain to rise. At precisely eight o'clock, it did so and beautiful music began to fill my ears.
It went well until halfway though the first act when Marguerite, the leading soprano in the Opera, came charging over to where I stood with Madam Alda.
"That stupid drunk Edgardo," She huffed at us, "Has knocked over a candle onto MY hand fan, and has not only spilt wax upon it, but also scorched it!"
She rudely began to wave it in our faces, showing us the marks that could have easily been observed in a much calmer manner. Madam Alda, however, gave her a warm, calming smile as she took the fan from her hand.
"Shhh, Marguerite," She spoke softly, "We don't want to interrupt the scene. I shall send Eveie here down to the props room to pick out a new one for you."
"Humph," snorted the snobby woman, "Fine. But she better hurry... I will NOT miss my cue."
"She is quite capable, Mademoiselle," Madam Alda replied in the same calm voice, redirecting her gaze to me, "My dear, will you run down to the props room and pick out a new fan for the Mademoiselle?"
"Yes," I responded in as pleasant a tone as I could muster, taking the charred fan form her fingers, "I shall not be more then five minutes."
I departed quickly, but not fast enough to miss one last Humph from Marguerite. That woman irritated me. She wasn't even a woman! She couldn't be more than six years my senior, yet she still treated me like the mud stuck in the cracks of her boots. I could understand why Madam Alda put up with her winning and complaining. It was ridiculous! And, worst of all, the ballerinas who had been here for a few years could sill remember when Marguerite had first arrived. They spoke of how she had started off a chorus girl and had been most friendly. Yet, after the whole Christine Daae incident, the old leading soprano Carlotta had retired and Marguerite had been cast in her place. They said it had gone to her head in no more then a day.
I let out a humph of my own at this thought. It never made sense to me... why people became conceded. It bothered me more then almost anything. Just because you get blessed with a better voice then someone doesn't mean you should become arrogant about it! I continued these thoughts as I walked down the long, winding hall. I was so wrapped up in them that I didn't notice two figures in the dark shadows ahead of me.
When I finally saw them, I was but five feet away. The sight before my eyes took the breath from my lungs. A large man dressed in a black cape, whose back was towards me, had another man pinned up against the wall. The man in the cape had his large hand grasped around the other mans neck. The poor man who was pinned up against the wall, was pawing helplessly at the bigger man's hand. Suddenly, there was a loud CRACK and the pinned man became limp as death consumed him.
I let out a gasp of horror, clapping my hand over my own mouth an instant later. It was too late. The big man whirled around, his eyes finding mine in a split-second. I immediately noticed a white mask covering the left side of his face, and if it were possible, my eyes grew even wider. It was him: The Phantom of the Opera.
Not hesitating a second more, I dropped the silly fan and turned to run as fast as I could. It was in vain however, for I could hear his heavily footsteps closing the gap between us. I suddenly felt a strong arm wrap around my waist, shoving me against the cold wall. A large hand clasped around my neck, squeezing just hard enough to make breathing difficult. A large masculine body suddenly pushed me further into the wall, erasing any hope of my escape.
"So, you're a little spy are you?" He snarled into my ear.
"N-no," I gasped, as tears began to burn at the back of my eyes.
"Felt like meddling in the Phantom's business? Well my dear, I'm afraid there is a price to pay for that!"
"yes..." I faintly replied.
He tightened his grip around my throat as the tears, which had been welling up, began to flow freely. My own small hands moved to where his large one grasped my throat. Just like I had seen the other man doing before, I tugged and pushed, trying to remove the Phantom's hand. It wouldn't budge, and I finally gave in to the fact that he was much stronger than I. I heard him begin to laugh... a cold, hard, cruel laugh sending shivers down my spine.
"A-Are you g-going to kill me?" I whispered.
"You'll have to wait and see, won't you?" He said in the same growling tone, yet I noticed his hand loosen its powerful hold as my tears finally reached his wrist. He began to questioned me further, "What are you doing down here?"
"Marguerite's fan was destroyed... I came to find her another one," I whimpered into his broad shoulder, which was helping to keep me secure against the wall.
"Hmm... I see," He said in a softer, yet still sardonic tone. Suddenly, he released his hand and stepped back half a foot, allowing me to collapse on the floor, gasping for air. My hands came quickly to my neck, which I slowly began to massage, trying to ease the pain. He stood towering over me as I recovered, allowing me to stand up a minute later but without any help on his part. I looked at him, making eye contact and giving him the pleasure of my frightened face. Then I turned and ran. This time however, he did not follow me.
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