ONE REVIEW! I have never been happier. I hope it's not my last! Ok, I just found out that Phantom has been pulled from all theaters around me. How utterly depressing life is. So to help with my sadness I'm going to write a lot! Anyway, if anyone reading this is thinking "Claire is too perfect" SHE'S NOT. She's far from perfect as you will find out in a later chapter. She's dear to my heart so be nice! 333
During Dinner all Claire could think about was the note which was tucked in the hem of her skirt. She felt it against her warm skin, an icy reminder of who lurked in the shadows. As Meg trilled over the latest gossip Claire smiled politely and added her own bits here and there. She didn't want anyone asking what was wrong. She knew the moment someone asked her that the truth would spill from her lips. Claire didn't want anyone to know about the letter since the sender wasn't quite loved around the Opera house. On occasion Claire would overhear someone talking about the notes he occasionally sent to the mangers of the theater. As far as she was concerned he had only ever sent messages to them. Now he had bestowed upon her a heavy burden.
Later that night while all the other girls slept in their beds, Claire was still up. She had given everyone the illusion that she was prepared to sleep. She wore her night slip and had tucked herself deep under the covers. After she was sure everyone around her had fallen into heavy sleep she sat up. Bringing her knees up to her chin she sighed. A window, directly above her bed, let the pale light of the moon in. This was the only light besides a dim candle that sat on her bedside table. She thought of home and wondered if her parents missed her. Did they even think of her as she did now? Once again she longed to hear her mother's soft voice whisper reassurances and praise in her ear. Have her father beam with pride at her politeness towards possibly suitors. More than anything, she just wanted to feel their warm embrace once again, too know that they were still a family. Tears collected in the brim of her eyes but she blinked them back. She had wasted too many on them already. She needed some time to herself.
Claire slipped out of her warm bed and onto the cold floor. She shivered and picked up the candle. Slowly and silently she slipped from the room and into the darkened corridor. The only light in this long hall was her candle; the only sound was her own breathing and light steps. She traveled quickly now, passing dark rooms and eerie corridors. At night the theater seemed dead and forgotten. It was the complete counterpart to daytime at the Opera Populaire.
She arrived at the entrance to the Chapel without any interruptions and moved down the steps that would lead her into the main area. It wasn't a large place of worship. Mainly it was a room for people to go when they wanted to pray or be alone with their lord. Claire found it a perfect spot to read or just be one with her own thoughts. The room was chilled and Claire shook, chills racing through her body. She placed her candle down on the large sill of a stained glass window and also took a seat there. Cold air seeped from cracks in the window but she didn't seem to notice. She was lost in her own thoughts.
What would her life have been like if she hadn't run from home? Would she be married to a young, handsome Noble man, bearing his child? Would she be still living at home with her parents in perfect harmony? All these notions raced through her head as she rested her head against the stone wall. The jagged texture of the stones cut into the back of her head. She ignored it and shut her eyes. Claire took in a deep breath and then began to quietly sing the words to one of the songs from Hannibal.
"Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye," she sung, letting the melody caress and quiet her nerves. She by no means had an amazing singing voice but she had often entertained her parent's friends by singing short pieces from Opera's they frequently attended. It was a warm and soft spoken voice that could awaken a cold mans heart. Claire had slipped into a musical coma, her voice becoming stronger with each line. Her eyes remained closed as she envisioned a woman of unimaginable beauty and grace singing the song on stage, the audience taking in every word and movement. Claire smiled at this thought.
Then she heard a voice. Low at first, it joined in with her. It seemed distant and unsure of itself. It was a man's, his song consuming her own. Claire felt the melody die on her lips as the singing began to draw closer to her. It was a hypotonic and beautiful voice that dug deep within her and awoken an unseen feeling. Her eyes stayed closed and she brought her hands to her breasts. She could feel her heart beat wildly in her chest.
"We never said our love was evergreen," the voice was now mere feet from her. The tiny chapel was filled with his singing. She knew who it was but she couldn't bring herself to look.
That was when she felt a gloved hand on her bare arm. She melted beneath his touch. The hand ran up the length of her until she felt it graze the nape of her neck. A strand of loose hair that had fallen across her face was now gently pushed behind her ear. The singing had stopped and now and Claire felt the heat from his body. If she had wanted too she could have reached out and touched him but she didn't dare. She felt a single finger run from her temple down to her chin. Lips brushed past her ear making her gasp. Then she heard a voice in her ear, low and silky,
"Do not open your eyes Claire, for your eyes will only tell the truth." It was these simple words that bore deep into Claire's soul. So elegant and well versed they were.
As she took in his words she felt him draw away from her and recede into darkness. When she finally had enough courage to open her eyes he was already gone.
