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.

Chapter Title: un Plaisir Inégalé

Acknowledgements: DragonRyder7514 and Wildpixiechild16, thanks for reading! I love new faces. Er… pennames. TheSiriusSparrow – whew! Thanks so much for restoring my confidence! Laura Kay, let it simply be known that, from what I know of French, Mireille has a rather dirty mouth.

If anyone here knows any especially rancid French curses that I haven't used yet, please drop me an email – preferably not a review, in this singular case. I've only been to France once, and I'm getting most of my expanded vocabulary from the internet. I'd much rather have live help, if it's offered. Oh, and Laura, sorry I'm keeping you from your work! I'm keeping myself from my work, as well, if it helps, and… I can only hope my grades don't suffer too much!

Shirl, thanks for the compliment. I wrote something moving! bounces I'll try and incorporate a little more French, if the opportunity arises. I find it especially helpful as an alternative for otherwise awkward phrasing. Lotrfreak007… um, thanks for all the reviews? And as to her being immature for 27… yes, she is. Sorry, if that's a problem, but I see her as a flighty ballerina with a flair for drama, who's aged past her prime, and is now sort of… disconnected. Moving on: I update every few days, don't worry. UNSEENxGENIUS, thanks! I did look at your phanfic – it was good! Please update it! Collins, thanks for the nice review! Doodilydoo, it's okay if you're bad at threatening: I don't need threats. Erik takes care of that, if I don't update quickly enough. And lastly, to LostSchizophrenic, thanks for your loyalty! I love all of my reviewers! Yaaaaaay!

In this exciting installment, there are… interesting things! Read and enjoy!

Also, are there any betas out there? I beta, myself, but I can't beta my own work – any volunteers? I need a real Grammar-Nazi, s'il-vous plait.


"La-dee-da-daaa..." I sang cheerfully to myself as I splashed in the bathtub, the bulles chaux-parfumées wafting across the water.

Mind you, I do not sing well. 'Well' and 'loudly,' I have found, are very different things, when referring to singing.

And lots of other things.

But I won't go into that.

Anyway, I had been bathing myself for over twenty minutes, though I had taken a bath yesterday… the maid had looked quite sour at the waste of time and water, as I was already clean.

Well, I planned to bathe every day, assuming I had the time. Which I probably would not. C'est sans importance. I loved feeling clean.

However, once I had washed my hair twice, anointed myself with lime-scented soap, and popped every last bubble in the bath, I had sliced up my legs with this horrible abomination that Meg had given me, called a rasoir, which was to be used to remove the fine blonde hairs from my legs. It looked remarkably like what men used to shave their faces. Meg had told me that hairless legs were très attrayant aux yeux des hommes. Blood or no, I had vowed my legs would be as hairless as a lizard's for the rest of my days.

So now I was up to my chin in water, shivering, with my feet propped on the brim of the tub, lifting my legs from out of the bath as the soap that had already invaded my wounds burned to the point that tears rose in my eyes to remain unshed.

Ok… I got the feeling I would be here for a while.

My mind wandered amiably… and kept returning to its new-found favorite topic. Drat my luck.

That beautiful face… a beauty so perfect to one side, and so horrible on the other, and yet… a work of art. Those brilliant eyes, windows into his soul, but sometimes barred with that thoughtful expression that I could not quite interpret.

Those broad, masculine shoulders… mmmmm...

Okay, enough of that.

…..

The sculpted cheekbone, the smooth jaw, those sinful lips that roved across my neck in my dreams…

Ahem!

I wasn't being dramatic, there… Erik had haunted my dreams, last night. Well, I don't exactly remember it, but several details of the novel I had just finished surfaced in the course of it… Oh, dear.

Not to say that it wasn't a lovely dream

Wait, no, I do say that it wasn't a lovely dream!

Ok, fine. It was a very… nice… dream.

"This is really bothersome," I informed myself, shifting my weight to the heels of my feet and wincing as a fearsome gash on my ankle complained vociferously. "In the general sense."

He really was being cruel, plaguing even my disillusioned fantasies. Of course, it was more my own fault than his… but he had to go and… exist!

What on Earth did I think about before I knew him?

Wincing terribly, I pushed myself out of the water with my arms, sliding my legs to the ground before standing shakily, then snatching my serviette from the end of the screen. I wrapped it around me, bunching the extra material to above mid-thigh to avoid contact with my cuts. I stepped around the screen, and went to the pitcher of water I had intended to use to wash my face that night. I took a white cloth from my table de nuit and dipped it in the tepid water, before marring the pristine linen with the residue of blood that I wiped from my legs.

I hissed as the cloth crossed one of the not-so-shallow wounds, then bit my lip and waited for the burning to cease before leaning down again…

…and finding my hand caught in a familiar leather glove. I looked sharply into over-bright grey-green eyes.

"Excuse me, Monsieur, but I'm hardly in a state in which your presence is acceptable!" I snatched my wrist from his grip.

"Mademoiselle, I only wished to offer you a clean cloth and cool water to cleanse your… interesting injuries." He replied innocently, eyes flicking to my slightly mangled calves.

"Yes, well…" Thinking quickly, I grabbed a quilt from the end of my bed and threw it over his head. "Don't even think about moving."

His chuckle was muffled, but I was not listening. Wincing as I dashed to my dresser, I withdrew and donned my unmentionables and a modestly cut nightshift. I then sighed in slight exasperation, wrapped the slightly bloodstained towel around my shoulders, and returned to relieve Erik of his improvised blindfold.

A smirk played at his gorgeous mouth, and I gave him my best disapproving glare – I'd been practicing it, after all, on the corps de ballet. He dropped it obediently, but the amusement only intensified in his eyes.

Have I mentioned that he has extraordinary eyes?

Oh, yes, I suppose I have.

"Now," I said sharply, feeling my cheeks redden, "Thank you for your assistance, but I'm certain you have other things to do, and I'd really prefer you saw to them, instead."

An incontrovertible lie. Could he tell?

Whether or not he possessed telepathy, he raised an eyebrow at me and said, "Mademoiselle, you'll not be able to stand applying the disinfecting emulsion yourself." He waved a bottle of the familiarly evil liquid at me mockingly.

He had a point. And… I had been lying.

I sat on the bed with a heavy sigh and thrust my ankle towards him, crossing my arms over my chest to achieve maximum pouting effectiveness.

He only laughed quietly and shook his head, before coating the linen with alcohol and pressing it to my leg.

I screamed.


Translations:

Le Visage dans le Miroir – The Face in the Mirror

Un Plaisir Inégalé – An Unparalleled Delight

Bulles chaux-parfumées – lime-scented bubbles

C'est sans importance – It is of no importance.

Rasoir razor

Très attrayant aux yeux des homes – very attractive to the eyes of the menfolk

Serviette towel