A/N: Wow! Tons of reviews in my mailbox this morning…I'm stunned! Thank you all so much for reviewing you have really made my day!
So this chapter is dedicated to you!
From now on the story will be told from Carolina's point of view!
Also, this is my first attempt at ever writing 'Phantom' characters and my first time ever using one of my creations, a girl, as a main character. If Carolina seems to be a Mary-Sue please tell me! If I wrote some of the characters wrong, please tell me also!
The Phantom will be appearing in later chapters…I will not rush him in…so you just have to be patient!
Chapter 1:
The Opera Populaire
All I saw was blackness, an unending void consuming me second by second. For a moment I thought I had died…I assumed that this was how death would feel. The unending floating sensation, though I had always thought that heaven was white. I guess that my soul must have been sent to hell, no, I knew that my soul had been sent to hell for all the sins I had made in my lifetime.
Though just when I thought that it was over; that I would see Lucifer himself standing over me telling me that I was damned, I suddenly woke up from my dream. I blinked my eyes in rapid succesion, the bright light stinging my eyes. I heard voices, voices all around me, talking softly. I tried to move, but a sharp pain flared up in my arm.
"I think she's coming about," a male voice near my head observed.
"Whaaa..?" I attempted to say, my voice coming out hoarse and coarse.
Eventually my eyes adjusted to the brightness of the room and I looked around. Two men were standing by my head, each one well dressed, one sporting a finely tailored blue suit while the other was wearing a black suit. They both were looking very concerned down at me. There was a rather stern looking woman down at the end of the bed and next to her was a young girl with long, flowing, blonde hair.
"Miss?" One of the men standing beside me spoke. "Are you ailing anywhere?" He asked.
I tried to tell him no, yet trying to form the word on my mouth caused my body to ache with pain. So I shook my head once, my teeth gritted in pain from doing such a simple gesture.
"You had quite a nasty spill," The other man said, this one with rather eccentric looking grey hair. "It was lucky that one of our stagehands found you," he said, his hand motioning towards the door where a large bearded man stood.
I recoiled upon setting my eyes on this man, I immediately knew who he was…he was the man who was to take me that night! Then suddenly I remembered, running from the tavern, through the empty streets of Paris in the dead of night. I remembered being cornered by…the man…that man standing by the door! I remembered the sickening crunch of my wrist snapping…then nothing.
"I remember," I admitted plainly, my voice still hoarse. My eyes looked down the bed at my wrist, which was wrapped in a hard cast.
"Yes indeed," The man said, standing up. "Well, Andre, it appears that she had been roused and there is no more need of our attention!" He exclaimed to his companion. The two men then began making their way towards the door.
"Monsieur?" I called after them. "Where am I?" I asked.
"You are at the Opera Populaire," The man called Andre said as he turned sharply back to me, before walking out of the room.
Now I was only left with the rather stern looking woman and the girl. The woman stood up and walked down towards my end of the bed, before softly sitting down beside me. The girl followed suit, and now I could see that she was dressed in a tutu and other ballet clothes. She must be a dancer!
"That was quite a nasty break you had there, Miss Dane," The woman said, nodding towards my wrist. "Though the doctor says that it will heal, you just have to be easy on it for a while, mademoiselle." The woman said, a smile softening her hard features.
"How did I get here?" The question had been lingering on the back of my tongue since I had woken up.
"You do not remember?" The woman questioned one dark eyebrow lifting skeptically. "But of course, you were probably not in your mind at the time. One of our stagehands here at the Opera, Charles Christof, found you lying in the gutter. You were deathly pale and your wrist bone was poking out of your skin. The lad brought you here, where we have attended to you," She explained.
My eyes opened in shock and I fought back the urge to tell this woman that the story she had heard was false. That the stagehand, Charles, had not brought me back because of the goodness of his heart. Though I couldn't tell these kind people what kind of life I was used to living. Not now, at least. Who knows what they would do to me?
Probably toss me back out onto the streets and leave me to die.
"Thank you, Madame," I choked out, looking at the woman. "May I ask your name…?"
"Madame Giry," The woman said with another smile. "Dance instructor here at the Opera Populaire. This," she said, gesturing towards the petite girl who had stood silently, "Is my daughter, Meg Giry, studying to become a prima ballerina."
Though before I could ask any other questions or even think about any other questions Madame Giry stood up, leaning heavily on a cane that had gone unnoticed until now. "You shall stay here until you are well enough to continue on…and perhaps you could even become an aid to us here at the Opera," she said. "Come, Meg," she said to the girl and walked out of the door, which she closed shut behind them.
Being left alone, I sunk back into the bed, welcoming the warm white sheets about me. I looked around the room, unfurnished, except for a rather large mirror against the adjacent wall. It was tall, enough so that one could see the whole length of their body in it. There were intricate carvings of roses embroidered into the gold frame…it was simply stunning.
Though it seemed to mock me with my pitiful reflection. My hollow face, the sunken eyes, the dark circles lining my eyes, my small and thin body. With a nose much too large for such a small face. There was nothing appealing about myself at all, my ratty hair, thin and stringy, hanging limply near my shoulders. Or perhaps my arms and legs, thin, bone wide, without an ounce of fat, hanging like tree limbs on too short of a tree.
I narrowed my eyes at the mirror; daring it to change my reflection or perhaps make my reflection disappear. Though I knew that those two thoughts were absurd, as a mirror only was one sided!
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