Disclaimer: I do not own any rights whatsoever to The Phantom of the Opera, nor would I ever claim to. However, I do own the character rights to Lady Darcy Fichte and Miss Marissa Templeton. Any similarities to other characters or real people are purely coincidental. My friend Yasuo also owns the title to the fabricated shop where Marissa is employed. I thank him for his continuing support.
Hide Your Face
By:
Starlie
A petite, golden sign swung outside its equality miniature shop as a cool breeze rushed through Forrester Lane. It acted as temptation, Velvet Masquerade carved artfully within its wooden facade. Two large windows faced the streets, allowing curious on-lookers the opportunity to peek inside at the merchandise. Rows of ancient texts lined the walls of its parlor, lending the bright room a woodsy scent. These priceless articles, however, were not for sale. Instead, assortments of charming, handcrafted masks were displayed in expensive, velvet cases at the room's center. Two young women stood staring into its cabinets, voices hushed as they conversed.
"He actually fired her because she was singing?" Lady Darcy Fichte questioned incredulously, one delicate, pale eyebrow arched in suspicion.
Her companion shrugged lightly, voice a soft murmur, "That was what Lady Andersen told me while purchasing a mask last week… But then again, it could have simply been gossip. You know how the matrons enjoy spreading false rumors." She leaned her hip against the display cabinet, long, pale fingers dancing over the glass case nervously before fussing with her starched, white apron and the heavy skirts of her dress. She could never seem to keep still whenever she was feeling upset, Darcy noted with a smile. Even as she thought this, the girl's foot began tapping unconsciously against the wooden floors to some imaginary tune.
"Honestly, Marissa Templeton," Darcy teased, sapphire eyes drinking in the sight of her restless friend, "you haven't fidgeted this terribly since we were green girls in the classroom. You can be such a goose!" A lock of her luxurious, wavy blonde hair decided then to fall from her chignon into her face, tickling her nose. She attempted to blow the single curl away but it merely remained suspended in the air for a moment before falling back into place. Full, painted lips pursed in frustration as she swept it behind her tiny, shell-like ear in one careless motion. This knocked several other curls of hair loose, all of which fell to the front of her face. She practically growled.
Marissa stifled a giggle behind her hand, green eyes bright and dancing with humor. At the vicious glare she received, she raised her hands in surrender. "I won't say it, no worries. It would be too easy." The glare only seemed to intensify. As a peace offering, she reached inside the case and brought out a lovely, delicate rendition of a bird. "Since you were originally here to purchase a half-mask, perhaps you would like to look at this one? It should suit the dress you will be wearing to the masquerade ball this evening. You know, the one you are attending with," she cleared her throat lightly, eyes still alight, "Viscount Damaris." A blush stained her friend's cheeks, warming Marissa as she handed the carved, wooden piece over reverently.
It was a peacock mask; visage the exact color of a robin's egg, with ornamental silver feathers rising gracefully from its top and shiny flecks sparkling on its cheeks. It also swayed precariously on its white ribbon, balanced only on Darcy's fingertips as she raised it to the light. Her companion watched it fearfully, hands clenching as she fought not to snatch it back. Despite their long lasting friendship, Miss Templeton could act like nothing else except the humble salesperson. Servants to their consumers, a salesperson certainly did not snatch items away; even if she knew that the hands that held the mask were clumsy, having witness them drop many an expensive vase in the past.
Darcy hummed softly in the back of her throat, clearly pleased as she took in the simplicity and yet the devastating beauty of the disguise.
"I will take it. Now that I have held it in my hands, I could not possibly purchase anything else," she declared dramatically, pressing the back of her hand against her brow.
Marissa covered her sigh of relief with laughter, gently taking the mask from her friend while taking care not to smudge the glossy finish. She then slipped it back into its velvet case and crossed the room to the register, ducking behind its counter for the wrapping paper. It was a perfect match for Darcy, she thought with a smile. The Lady had already described the dress she would be wearing to the masquerade tonight. It was to be a pale blue gown, simple yet elegant, with white lace spilling from the modest bodice and ruffles decorating its sleeves and sweeping, layered skirt. It was something the sales clerk could only dream of owning.
Miss Templeton was quick and efficient as she wrapped the parcel up for her friend, using melted, red wax to seal it with the shop's emblem – a blossoming rose tied with a bowed ribbon.
Suddenly, a chill trickled down her spine and she was very aware of a difference in the atmosphere. She paused in her task, listening intently. Only moments later, the back door slammed shut and footsteps echoed on the storage room stairway; they finally stopped in the room above the shop and everything was once again plunged into silence. She did not even realize she had been holding her breath until it left her lungs in a whoosh. With a cheerful smile then pasted on her face, she took the wrapped package over to a curious Lady Fichte. "Was that… him?" she inquired softly, eyes flickering towards the ceiling for a moment.
"Monsieur D'Aubigne? Well, he is the only one who has the key to the back entryway," Marissa said, tone light yet reasonable. Time for a change in subject, she thought. "Now, do you want me to charge your purchase to your father's credit here or do you want to pay with what remains of your allowance?"
Just as she knew Darcy would, the lady wrinkled her nose and muttered, "Credit. He can afford it, whatever it may cost." She took up her pink parasol in her left hand; leaving it to hang over her shoulder, unopened. "I will visit you tomorrow evening then, same time. Don't work too hard," she exclaimed, turning around to leave the shop while clasping the parcel to her chest with her right hand. Yet she stopped only a few steps from doorway, turning her head to look at Marissa with compassion shining in her eyes.
"My dear, why not come with me? I can procure you an invitation by tonight! As for your apparel, I can lend you one of my ball gowns and old masks. No one would dare speak of the fall-out you had with your father or your current living situation," she said in a rush, a pout accompanying her plea.
Her friend shook her head, an expression of amusement twisting her lips into a wry smile. "It is true that they would not speak of it to my face. Behind my back is another matter entirely. For this reason, I will not attend." Marissa raised a hand as Darcy began to protest, tone teasing, "Nevertheless, I do not want you to worry about me, especially in the company of your beau. I will enjoy my night as I always do; curled up in bed with a good book and a nice glass of warm milk. I absolutely refuse to spend it having my feet stepped on by pompous dandies while trading carefully veiled insults with the protective mothers marrying off their young girls." She raised her chin like the lady of breeding she was brought up to be, sniffing delicately. "I am afraid you will have to brave that menagerie alone, my Lady."
Lady Fichte chuckled softly, willing to admit defeat as she said, "Fine, but only for now! I will introduce you to society once more. Mark my words!" With that last threat, she made her grand exit, only pausing at the window to wave good-bye.
Marissa ran a hand through her hair, grinning, and tilted her head to the side in consideration. She adored Darcy but sometimes the chit needed to realize she could not right every wrong! You would think I was living the life of a ladybird instead of earning my wages at a costume shop, she thought while rolling her eyes. She was knocked out of her reflections as the familiar sound of boots scraping across the floor above echoed in the silent parlor. Back to work!
With a sigh, she turned on her heel and began walking back towards what was the storage room and workshop. Though she wished she could practice singing for her auditions next week while no customers were present, she remained as silent as a mouse. She even took care to walk softly across the wooden floors in her slippers, avoiding the loose boards she was aware of. She needed this job desperately and – if any bit of that rumor about the previous girl were true – could survive in silence while working at the Velvet Masquerade.
She slipped through the back doorway, standing still in the dim light to allow her eyes to adjust to the shadows. Candles weren't even allowed in the back, a rule she assumed was made for fear that one of the masks would be destroyed. She approached the neat worktable, admiring the condition in which the ancient tools were kept. Lying out upon the workbench – as the new creations always were – were two beautiful half-masks: a cat and a mouse with sly, empty eyes stared up at the ceiling as the floorboards continued to creak.
For some reason, the combination of the wicked, yet alluring masks with the clicking of boots upstairs frightened her as much as enchanted her.