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: Imposition Mentale

Props to Laura Kay, Countess Alana, Goddess of the Neon Rose, and Atheshar for reviewing! You guys are the best! And Atheshar: I shall try my hardest to keep my muse active! I don't think I'll have much trouble, though: Erik and Mireille are not the most patient of characters.


"I guess… I should certainly like to know what this is about," I finished finally, fixing one of my best unreadable stares on Madame Giry.

The older woman clasped her hands together, and for a near unperceivable moment her eyes darted around the room beforesettling on me. "It is not such a horrible task, nor even a demanding one. Le fantôme simply needs someone to fetch things for him, and to remind the managers of his demands…"

"His demands?" I blinked, gnawing the inside of my cheek as I tried to absorb this.

"Oui, mademoiselle," Madame Giry replied, "Every month, Ehr - le fantôme – is to be paid a sum of twenty thousand francs, and Box Five in the theatre is to always be left empty, so that he may watch with privacy."

I only subconsciously registered the second phrase, as I had been rendered immobile at the first. "Twenty… thousand?" I squeaked.

Honestly, what would one do with twenty thousand francs? And in a single month?

"Yes," she nodded, "And 'fetching things' would include food, clothing, paper, ink-"

"Wax," I suggested. Pausing, she raised an eyebrow at me, and nodded.

"Precisely. Now, you lose a generous amount of privacy when dealing with notre fantôme. You will want to know that – it would be most uncomfortable to realize such a thing at a later date. You must make yourself available; you must not argue or refuse his bidding. Beware of his temper. Watch behind you."

"I – okay," I said in a strangled voice, beginning to imagine that dreadful knife again. Curse my imagination… curse the situations my imagination was given to exaggerate!

"You will probably be broken in slowly – a sheaf of lined paper here, a feather there… but you will accustom yourself to the extra errands. L'Opéra Populaire is worth it."

I paused, discomfited. "You speak as if I have already decided to accept this task."

She raised her arched eyebrows at me. "You speak as if there is a decision to be made."

She had a point.

After a short, tense silence, Madame Giry reached for a notebook on her desk. "Now," she said, "I must return to la Sorelli – she is the ballerine principale pour Acis et Galatea. We have begun her solo routine early. Tomorrow, if you will, listen to the morning orchestra rehearsal, so that we may meet for the afternoon overview and discuss the second song."

"Certainly, Madame," I nodded slowly, the gears in my mind beginning to crankily function once more. "Tonight, however, I believe I shall retire early."

The thin woman nodded, "Will you be wanting a meal sent up to you, Mireille?"

"That's alright," I declined, "I need sleep more than anything else, at the moment."

She smiled softly. "I understand. Rêves plaisants, mademoiselle."

I managed to blunder about halfway in the direction of my room before becoming lost, and asking a stage hand - or some other sort of insignificant, younger boy, I certainly wouldn't have known – for aid.

Once safely in my room, I removed by boots, then methodically unfastened the small, black, beadlike buttons – exactly one hundred of them – on my faded, nondescript grey travel dress – with only a touch of white, sporadic embroidery around the hem. I could not possibly sew or make clothing to save my life, but embroidery soothes me in its simple mindlessness, only occasionally requiring a smidge of imagination, of which I have plenty.

I stepped out of my dress, feeling my bare feet arch routinely. Balancing on the ball of each foot in turn, I meticulously unbound my corset, loosening it enough to slip it over my shoulders until I stood in my sous la robe and undergarments. Carefully folding my dress over the rack outside my door, to be taken by the maid, I relocked my door, turning to lean against it as my eyes roved the room warily.

It was me contre le fantôme de l'opéra.

Assuming, of course, that he had as much time on his hands as I would suppose. Certainly he spent his time spying on young girls, hoping for a glimpse of cela qu'une dame cache.

Oh, dear. I supposed that was uncalled for.

How he spends his time is his own business, after all.

However, I would certainly try to commandeer an écran before completely unclothing myself. His business way his own – unless it conflicted with mine.


Translations:

Le Visage dans le Miroir – The Face in the Mirror

Imposition Mentale – Mental Taxation

Ballerine principale pour Acis et Galatea – the prima ballerina for Acis and Galatea

Rêves plaisants – pleasant dreams

Sous la robe – under-dress (shift)

Contre – against; versus

Cela qu'une dame cache – that which a lady hides

Écran - screen

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