Title: le Visage dans le Miroir
Author: Rancid Melody
Summary: A ballerina from Rouen joins the staff of L'Opéra Populaire to prepare to take the position of a soon-retiring Madame Giry – assuming, of course, that 'all goes well.' Is there more to this cryptic reference than the ignorant Mireille Decker realizes?
Disclaimer: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra belongs to all those people who wrote it and stuff. But I reserve the right to stalk Gerard Butler. Until he notices, and gets a restraining order. Upon which I would have to use binoculars. Or something. Um. Heh.
Warning: I have not read the book. I have a Gerard-Phantom. Deal. However, my Gerard-Phantom will not be OOC. Also, there's some French in here. It's all translated at the end, if you don't mind scrolling down to check. However, most of it is easy to figure out, and what is not is not important to the story. Enjoy!
Chapter Title: la Liberté n'est pas Libre
To Laura Kay and Countess Alana: Thank you so much for your wonderful, if short, reviews! My first two, and on the very day I posted the first chapter! I'm so excited!
My breath seemed not to reach past my suddenly constricted throat as I tore my gaze from le joint mauvais de crâne qui a grimacé, ripping through the red wax with hands that shook despite my admonishment. I unfolded the coarse paper, eyes focusing, but not comprehending, the messy scrawl.
Salutations, Mademoiselle Decker.
Welcome to mon théatre de l'opéra. I expect that you are pleased with your situation; however, Madame Giry, unfortunately, was not authorized to inform you of all of the requirements accompanying the position of ballet mistress at my opera house. If you will breech the subject with her at a time and place free of unnecessary ears, she has been given my permission to brief you on your new position, should you choose to accept it. I suggest, dear mademoiselle, that you do so, as there are secrets within these walls that will not leave with a woman who has not proven her trustworthiness.
Your Servant,
le Fantôme d'Opéra
O.G.
The parchment fell from my hands as I read the childish signature.
I had never been told that I was a sensible woman, and there was reason for this. No matter how persuasively I argued to myself that this could not possibly be any more than a rather creative prank, my imagination had leapt into gleeful flame at the spark.
I sighed, torn. If this was a prank, and I took it to Madame Giry, then she would surely be forced to reconsider my aptitude for a post that held such responsibility. However, if it was not a prank, I would be placing my self in what might be mortal danger. My mind rewarded this conclusion with an image of a ridiculously gruesome face leering over me, a toothy, bloodstained dagger catching light which came from no particular direction, to glare mercilessly at my corpse-white face.
I shook my head to clear it of the image – I was being silly.
Wasn't I?
Dear Lord – curse me for reading too much! I heaved another – slightly overdramatic, I admit – sigh, leaning down to pick up the paper. I scanned it again, for some sort of hint that this letter had not been written by a brilliant, insane man quite intent on killing me if I did not obey him.
I did not find anything. I had not expected to. I refolded the parchment and slipped it to the invisible, long slit in my deep grey traveling skirts, which led to a slender pocket in my petticoats. Biting my lip and shooting an anxious glance over my shoulder, I then turned and openly scanned the room before opening the door and slipping outside, near shivering from the strong sensation that I was being watched.
Eventually, I came into a main hall, from slinking down the corridor, in the opposite direction from which Meg had led me. A few polite requests for directions later and I found Madame Giry working with a dark-haired ballerina on the curtained stage.
"Madame?" I requested her attention rather shyly. The older woman gave me one questioning look, before hastily dismissing the girl and approaching me. "My apologize, Madame Giry, I only…"
"You look as if you've seen a ghost, girl – out with it." Her voice sounded oddly matter-of-fact at this – as if seeing a ghost was actually a possibility.
"No, Madame, but – I suppose that even L'Opéra Populaire has its share of pranksters?" I asked, feeling quite timid with such a question.
Her eyes were rather round – as surprised, I supposed, as such an unshakeable woman would ever let on. "Oh, Mademoiselle – none of your belongings have been damaged?"
I let out a heavy breath. "Nothing so serious, Madame," I assured her. "Only – a letter, which welcomed me in a fashion that was… not so polite." I suddenly realized my tone, and rushed to correct myself. "But, Madame, I assure you that I will not let some silly joke unnerve me to a point that I would not be able to fully…" I trailed off, noting the sudden whiteness of her face; the stillness of her person. "Madame, are you… well?" I began to hear my breathing thicken; my heart began thrumming wickedly. The iniquitous picture was resurfacing in my mind, and I subconsciously reached a hand out to steady myself on the frame of the stage.
"Yes, yes – I'm terribly sorry, Mademoiselle Decker – a letter, you said…?" She shook her head, again the steady, mature woman who had interviewed me for my current position.
"Oui, Madame," I replied politely, "A letter, speaking of-"
She cut me off smoothly. "Pardon me, Mademoiselle – if we could please continue discussion of this silliness in my quarters?" Her voice was a shade too loud, and my well-informed imagination identified this as a staged exit.
"Of course, Madame – wise of you. We shouldn't want to give these mere children any ideas, non?" I replied, voice equally casual, though my mind ached from being pounded against this puzzle.
Madame Giry's nod was distracted, and she grabbed my arm beneath the elbow to drag me behind her like I was but an errant apprentice ballerina. Luckily, it was not a long walk to her room – in fact, I was impressed by its nearness.
Madame Giry pulled me sharply inside, before flicking the lock on the door. The ominous click rendered silence in the room, and I locked my knees abruptly to keep from collapsing, trying to picture Madame Giry as the one bearing the ghastly knife.
The auburn-haired woman – how did she still have color in her hair and be of an age to retire? Was she paid enough to dye it? Ooooh… Anyhow, the auburn-haired woman had stepped to her desk, which was nicer than mine, with a silver and white granite top gleaming reluctantly. Her steps were slow, and weary, and her winter shoes – soft, feminine leather boots with wooden heels of a deeper brown than my own, which were sort of beige – echoed off of the hard floor, despite its certain stability. She stopped before the desk, and I followed her now long-held gaze to the yellowy parchment, which was folded and sealed with conspicuous red wax. I could not see so far, but I knew that the impression was the same joint mauvais de crâne qui a grimacé which I had seen only a moment ago.
Madame Giry had torn the seal and read the letter by the time I had registered her picking it up at all. With a sigh, she refolded it and thumbed the seal to fasten it once more, then replaced it, flat, on the desktop, pressing it into the granite with distracted fingers.
"He anticipates my retirement," she spoke aloud, but I near felt I was not being addressed.
I leaned against the doorframe, letting the words swirl delicately in my mind before thudding into reality. "Madame, it was a prank, though !"
Her smile was wry. "Not a prank, my dear. No, notre fantôme d'opéra is as real as he wishes to be."
My head swam, and I leaned my head back against the wood. "Well," I slowly said, as I attempted to adapt my sense of reality to fit this information. "I guess…"
But I didn't know what I guessed. With fingers that had once more begun to tremble, I withdrew the letter from my pocket, unfolding it to examine it once more.
"I suggest, dear mademoiselle, that you do so, as there are secrets within these walls that will not leave with a woman who has not proven her trustworthiness."
Oh, dear.
Translations:
Le Visage dans le Miroir – The Face in the Mirror
La Liberté n'est pas Libre – Freedom is not Free
Le joint mauvais de crâne qui a grimacé – (literally) the evil skull seal that grinned
Mon théatre de l'opéra – opera house
Le Fantôme d'Opéra – the Opera Ghost
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