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: Laissez le Rêve Commencer

Acknowledgements: Thanks for reviews by LostSchizophrenic, Laura Kay, MooMoo-Sama, and Countess Alana. You guys are the best! And to Laura Kay: I'll try to keep them a bit longer from now on!

In this chapter, dear Mireille learns the joys of boating! And Erik learns… nothing! But he's in here. I hope he didn't go too OOC here – I just had to wing his reaction, as I've nothing to compare such an occurrence to in order to estimate his responses. I did my best. Enjoy! Oh, and this one's long. 36kb, as opposed to last chapter's 29.5kb.


I did not see le Fantôme d'Opéra for several weeks.

I ran his errands, of course. I purchased foodstuffs twice a week, and left them in la deuxième salle d'entreposage de costume as instructed. I returned the following morning to retrieve an estimated reimbursement. After a fortnight, I even graduated to shopping for writing materials, candles, and shoe polish – though why a recluse would need such a vanity was beyond me.

My work with the corps de ballet progressed delightfully. Madame Giry and I each made notes on the numbers in the mornings, then compared them and combined them for the optimal choreographic effect. The ballerinas them selves were a pleasure to work with, as well. True, they did not show me the respect I wished to be owed – I was not so imposing as Madame Giry – and their mindless chatter seemed indefatigable. But they were not at L'Opéra Populaire for no reason: I had never witnessed such a concentration of sheer talent.

Life seemed to be a waking dream. I remember falling asleep one night while chiding myself that such contentment could not possibly last.

I was right, of course.


I stepped into la deuxième salle d'entreposage de costume early on my free day. I hoped to get an early start on my shopping: Meg had told me that there was a lovely bookshop on the other side of the city, and I was nearly drooling with anticipation of a fresh selection of reading material.

The basket was still full when I opened it. Astonished, I peered inside.

The stale air of the unwindowed room, with the dust and reek of mildewy clothes, had not done any good for the contents. The fruit was soft, the bread was stiff, and the slices of cheese had become crusty.

He had not come.

The sensible side of me instructed me to get on with my shopping – Horse and I had a long trip ahead of us.

The sensible side of me was not a very sturdy one.

I knew there had to be some sort of secret passage to and from this room. I had never seen him enter or leave it, even that first night, when I'd deliberately waited for him.

For at least four hours.

So I searched for it.

It took a while. Actually, it took a bloody long while. It must have been years.

I deduced later that it had, in fact, been an hour and a half or so. But still.

I found a mechanism that was set off by the slightest pressure, and felt beyond triumphant as I stepped through.

Luckily, I found no forks in the passage until I came to a more open area in the floor below the auditorium, where all of the private chambers were located.

Oh, dear. It was awfully dark…

I found a door nearby after floundering around for a bit, and pushed at it – but no,drat, it was one of those secret door things, again. I poked at the sides until they gave way.

I felt rather faint when I walked into my own room.

So. My mirror was a door. And, I saw, as I inspected it, it was like glass on the other side – he could spy on me!

After I got over my shock,it occured to methat that was actually rather kinky.

Oh, dear. What was wrong with me?

Anyway, I got a lantern from the corner of my room, and then took another one out of the emergency storage beneath the floorboards as well – just in case. Then I exited back out the mirror, closing it gently behind me.

Well, this wasquite exciting, actually. On an adventure, walking through secret passageways…

Or swimming?

Water gathered at the foot of the flight of stairs down which I was walking. I stared, thoroughly flabbergasted.

Oh, right. There was a boat.

How convenient! I stepped into it carefully, emitting a quick shriek as it swayed. My voice echoed through the cavern, and I shivered.

Now. How does one work a boat? Paddles. Right.

I hooked one of my lanterns to the tall part on the front of the boat – there's a name for that, isn't there? I've forgotten, assuming I ever knew. I set the other lantern on the bench in the back of the boat. Then, feeling very brave and rather like one of those pirate women in my novels, I grabbed the single, long oar and pushed away from the dock-

And toppled promptly into the water.

"Va te faire enculer," I addressed the boat resentfully after spitting out a mouthful of slimy, freezing water.

Mind, the water reached only about to the middle of my thigh. That had not stopped me from becoming soaked from head to toe.

I clambered back into the boat, steeling myself for a long trip.


I was not as happy as I ought to have been, when I saw a light at the end of the tunnel. I was irritated, exhausted, and soggy, and good spirits seemed quite beyond my capabilities.

This did not keep me from being impressed with the sight that greeted me.

Firstly, there were candles everywhere. Secondly, there was lots of bronze, and a bit of gold, and an abundance of shiny, elaborate, carved things. My eyes rather smarted, actually, after all of that darkness.

It was a sort of lake – a pond, really, if you considered the size. Platforms rose from it, of wood, or metal, or perhaps stone – it was near impossible to tell, as they were so concealed by a plethora of different colors – rich colors: purples and reds and golds… and ornate carvings of… well, who knew what? I didn't recognize any of the scenes.

Lots of candles. The bronze holders rose and entwined to form a short wall, which seemed to threaten the gauzy hangings that separated what looked to be individual chambers.

And as the centerpiece of the entire work of art, there was an amazing piano – no, I suppose they call the ones with the pipes organs, don't they? Anyway, there was this gigantic organ, and it was… really big. And shiny. A very dark wood, polished until the reflected candle light made it look as if it was, itself, glowing.

The man of the hour, le Fantôme d'Opéra himself, was seated before this organ, his head bent over the keys. But he wasn't playing.

How odd.

I decided to make my presence known. And my strife. "Do you know how long it took me to find this putain de endroit? I swear, I have fallen from le bateau mauvais de sort malheureux at leasta million times, and I am filthy, and did you-"

His soft voice was clearly audible, even over my steadily rising shrill, and he silenced me immediately. "What," he demanded dangerously, "Are you doing here?"

"Monsieur, your food…" I began, but my reason vanished when I saw his drawn, exhausted expression. "Monsieur," I breathed again, "vous avez... défectuosité!" I stepped out of the boat, wading towards the shore. My dress was ruined, I noticed, feeling a pang of remorse.

"I am fine." His voice was low, and I should have heard the warning within it. "Return to your quarters. You are not welcome here."

"But you-"

"Leave!" he roared, and I took an involuntary step back. Must he speak so loudly when I am a mere yard or two away?

I felt tears spring to my eyes, and thought better of wiping them, letting them trickle sullenly down my cheek as I looked at him with my very best pitiful expression.

Was it working? Reaction? No. Change tactics.

I sniffed and ignored my damp face, taking a deep breath to allow myself to be consumed by 'righteous fury.'

"No keeper of mine shall walk about in a state of ill health!" I snarled, and lunged at him.

He was either very ill, or very surprised, for I knew he could have throttled me in an instant if he had so wished. I have been constantly reminded of my lack of common sense throughout my life. It has made no impact on me whatsoever.

"Now," I said, once I had pulled him for a few steps, "Where is your bed?"

With a look that was still rather dazed, he pointed. In the direction opposite that in which I had been walking. I blinked.

It was an interesting thing. Shaped like… a bird. What were those things? Geese? No, it was a swan. With crushed velvet sheets and coverlet, no less, of a brilliant wine color. "Ooooh," I cooed, before pushing him onto it.

I was then faced with the temptation to jump on him. I decided that now was certainly not the time, and pursed my lips, surveying him speculatively. He slowly came out of his shock, and glared at me. I considered giggling at the fact that he looked like a pouting four year old – though a rather attractive, mysterious one – but decided against it when I remembered, again, that he did do that thing with the kidnapping and the murder and… yeah.

"Okay," I said, "Now I'll…"

What exactly did one do with a sick person?


Translations:

Le Visage dans le Miroir – The Face in the Mirror

Laissez le Rêve Commencer – Let the Dream Begin

La deuxième salle d'entreposage de costume – the second costume storage room

Putain de endroit – censored place

Va te faire enculer – censored

Le bateau mauvais de sort malheureux – the evil boat of doom

Vous avez...défectuosité – you are… ill

I'm worried that I might have had a bit too much fun with that. If you thought it was unrealistic, please don't stop reading – just tell me, and I won't let it happen again. However, if you did like it, please tell me, and I'll make sure it happens again! And if opinions vary, the majority will rule.

So don't waste your vote! Review!