Chapter One – Whose is That Voice?
"No, no, absolutely not! NEXT!" A young woman in tears fled past M. Andre as he dismissed her. The search for a new "prima donna" had gone frustratingly slow, even to the point that it was almost maddening. "Does no one here have an ounce of talent to spare? And where is the next girl I called for?" Andre threw his hands up in frustration as he walked backstage. Meg Giry quickly made her way to his side and laid a gentle hand on his arm.
"Please, sir, there are no more auditioning women," she stated in that thin voice of hers.
"Well, good, then – perhaps tomorrow will bring some talent." Meg cringed as she prepared to give him the bad news.
"Sir, that's all there is on the roster. May I remind you, half of them ran away when a stagehand accidentally dropped a set of cymbals. Perhaps we should try auditioning in a different city?" Andre turned and took hold of Meg's shoulders.
"My dear, you are a genius! What a perfectly splendid idea! Tomorrow, we begin auditioning in neighboring cities. For now, everyone should get some sleep. Rehearsal begins tomorrow, only without the leading lady. You may live here, as is traditional, or you may go home." Immediately, everyone began gathering their things and moving toward the door – no one dared sleep in the Opera House when the Opera Ghost may still be lurking in its shadows.
Just as the mass reached the door, a high soprano voice was heard coming from outside.
No thoughts within her head
But thoughts of joy,
No dreams within her heart
But dreams of night…
The entire cast held their breath as a young, redheaded chorus girl approached Andre, who was oblivious to the singing which sounded so much like that familiar voice of Christine Daae's…
Monsieur, perhaps we do not need to audition in other cities," implored the young woman, her hands folded. Andre looked up at her, confused. "sir, someone's singing outside…" Meg Giry ran down the aisle to Andre.
"She sounds like Christine…" Andre bolted out of his chair and quickly walked to the double doors of the entrance in the foyer. With his hands on the large ornate handles of the doors, he listened as the high soprano voice continued to sing, now in a deeper, richer tone.
Past all thought
Of right or wrong -
One final question :
How long should we two wait
Before we're one?
When will the blood begin to race,
The sleeping bud
Burst into bloom?
When will the flames at last
Consume us?
Andre could not simply stand and listen any longer. With a great heave, he threw the massive doors open to reveal to whom the voice belonged…
A/N: Umm… read and review! Please pretty please with a cherry and anchovies on top!