He watched the dancers twirl and move about the stage from his perch in box five. They danced to an unheard music, Antoinette directing and guiding. The opera they practiced for was Hannibal, one of his favorites. As they danced he heard the swell of music in his head. It took over his senses and made his abandon all reason. He closed his eyes and envisioned the audience filled the production in its peak and the whole cast come together in one last crescendo. His thoughts were interrupted by Antoinette scolding a girl for over exaggerating her moves. Eyes snapping open, he looked down at the stage as Giry had pulled a dancer to the side and was talking to her.
This particular dancer had caught his attention on several occasions, standing apart from the others as exceptional. As she stood beside Antoinette her sharp and flawless beauty sparkled brightly. Her hair was like rivers of silk cascading down her back, its blackness all the more radiant against her porcelain skin. Bright green eyes blazed, passion and love set deep in her irises. She had a fragile body and full round breasts that looked out of place on her small frame. Her face was full of quite innocence, which was complimented by her shy and reclusive personality. He'd taken an instant liking to her for this reason. Many a night while he prowled the theater he'd find her in the small chapel reading a book, delighting in the warm glow of an oil lamp. He enjoyed watching her read book upon book, her brow furrowing as she scanned each page with silent intensity. His heart fluttered at the sound of each page turn and tiny gasp of delight that passed her lips
A life on knowing nothing but the sound of his own voice and sad, sorrowful music had taken a toll on his ability to connect with other humans. The world had shown him no compassion during his life so in return he showed no compassion. Most of his life had been spent beneath the Opera house in the catacombs, his own private hell. He looked at himself as a monster, not a man. Why would a man have to hide his face? He knew he could have been a handsome man, the left side of his face a testament to this. A mask hid his left side from the world but more importantly, from himself. It was his only barrier between a dream world and the reality that stared him in the face when he dared look into a mirror. No one would ever know what it was like to look through these haunted eyes.
When he spotted this young woman for the first time he didn't expect an attachment to grow. His heart belonged to music, not a woman. He felt a pull toward this beauty that he had never felt before. It wasn't so much her looks but her grace and poise, the way she carried herself day to day. Yet, while he felt all these feelings of love he also hated the way she made him feel. Curse anyone who stole him away from his craft for even a moment. But now, as he stared down at her taken her position once more, he felt that quiet and distant warmth that consumed his entire being. He also realized something else, her beauty made him want to sing. So as he continued to watch her move about the stage he felt a name slip from his lips,
"Claire."
