I don't claim ownership to the Phantom of the Opera, it's characters, ect. The only thing that is mine is Michelle who is a product of my imagination.
Chapter One:
(Michelle's POV)
I had come to the Opera Populaire as a last resort. My parents had died in an epidemic along with my younger brother Michael. I was rewarded some funding from the family estate, but it was a meager amount due to the large doctors bills that came flooding in through out my families demise. I had myself almost succumbed to the illness but it was, be it by fortune or not, caught early and my life was spared.
Mother was a talented singer and in her younger years would take jobs singing in local operas as a back up when the leads would fall ill or leave. I remember the first time that an actual role was offered to her, instead of the usual offer of being a backup. She was quite excited, and seeing her happiness I begged her to teach me to sing as she did. I wanted the same joy and passion that my mother had found in singing. My father, a wealthy business man in his early forties had agreed to allow me music lessons as well as a private tutor. Mother could teach some of what she knew, but teaching was never her strong point. Sometimes I would go to the opera with her on rehearsals, where I was taught by the kinder members of the chorus girls to dance. Now, as luck would have it, I was relying on my voice and my dancing abilities to secure myself a job, a roof over my head, and food in my stomach.
All of these thoughts were washing over me as I held a newspaper clipping in my hand and stood outside of the grandeur that was the Opera Populaire. I looked down at the newspaper clip once more, as if I were afraid that the words would fade and that the chance of a job would be lost. They apparently were in need of chorus girls and leads. I had no hope of securing a lead part, but if I could catch a job as a chorus girl then it was more than enough for me. Weary from days of travel I made my way up the steps. The dark rain clouds in the sky seemed to descend out of nowhere, as did the torrential rains that set in with them.
By the time I had run up to the top of the steps, my carpet bag in tow, I had been soaked through. I cautiously opened the door to the magnificent building and made my way in. It was practically deserted I noticed as I sighed in frustration. I looked at the newspaper clipping again. The only help it offered was the address of the opera house, there were no other instructions. I walked around for a few more moments and decided to go into the auditorium, hoping that there were perhaps people in there rehearsing or that could direct me where to go.
I walked up the steps, increasingly aware of the beauty that this building held. Golden statues were perched, magnificent and mighty, watching over people who would come in and out of the building. The ceiling had magnificent paintings on it, and a beautiful chandelier lit the large room. After what seemed to be hours of walking up the marble stair case I had finally reached the door. I quietly opened it up and was relieved to see the ballet troupe practicing their steps, watched by the careful eye of their mistress. I walked up to the woman, becoming increasingly shy around her and her stern demeanor.
"Madame…?" I asked timidly. The woman turned her gaze from the dancing girls and gave me half a smile.
"Yes, Mademoiselle, how may I help you?" there was a warmth in her voice that made me relax slightly.
"I am looking for the manager's office, Madame. I have heard news that new chorus girls were needed." The woman nodded and asked a pretty girl, Meg her name was, to continue having the others practice. Without another word I was silently following the woman to my destination. She looked at me out of the corner of her eye and I made a quick attempt to tame my wet blonde curls into place.
"We require our chorus members to know how to dance. Have you any knowledge of dancing, Mademoiselle…" she left room for me to announce my name.
"Michelle Blanc, Madame. And yes, I was taught to dance when I was a little girl, though I am afraid that I may need to get in some extra practice to get my muscles used to it again." The woman nodded and stopped in front of a door with the label "Managers" and knocked.
"Come in." came a tired voice from inside. The woman opened the door and the man immediately stood up after seeing us.
"Ahh, Madame Giry. What may I help you with?" he asked eying me as if I were some strange creature from a foreign land.
"Monsieur Firmin. It seems that we have a request from Mademoiselle Blanc to join our chorus." She gave my shoulder a slight squeeze of reassurance when she spoke my name. I watched as the man came out from behind his desk and looked me up and down.
"She is rather thin, sickly if you will forgive me for saying so." I looked at him trying to hide the hurt the statement had caused. I knew that I had not been properly nourished as I only ate when my body cried for food after I had been left alone, but I wasn't aware that I had grown to look sickly. I looked down when his gaze met my eyes.
"You do know how to dance as well as sing I hope." He asked.
"Yes, Monsieur, I do." I looked back up and saw him sigh and look at Madame Giry.
"It is up to you, Madame. You are the one that will be in charge of her while she is here, so it is your decision." I looked over at the woman as she looked me up and down and then gave a small smile.
"I believe, sir, that we have room for one more member in the chorus."
(Erik's POV)
Apparently four years after the happenings of my Don Juan Triumphant had not helped to keep the tongues of the young ballet rats from flying out of their infernal mouths. It was still as much the talk of the corps as it was when the theatre had reopened two years after the fire. During that time I had come to terms for the loss in which I had received. It was still painful, but I now knew that I could never have kept her in my world when it would have made her so unhappy. It was a year ago that I had found out about her death. She had died giving birth to a little boy; the next heir in line for the De Chagny fortune. I was of course angry at the news, of the birth, and of her death. I was angry at her for leaving me for that pretty boy noble who eventually led her to her own despicable death. This anger has still not left me, but I take comfort in knowing that in some way, I was revenged. I hated her for who she was, and what she did to me. The anger, hatred, and pain all seemed to combine into one emotion. One of which not even I could explain.
I was and am a monster; cursed to spend my days in lonely solitude and without the hope of ever being loved. The only pleasure I got out of my life now was scaring witless girls, and being a complete nuisance to the two fools that had the nerve to call themselves managers. I remember with glory the day when I had made myself known, once again the fearsome opera ghost. Monsieur's Firmin and Andre had sent several police men back down into the labyrinth that would lead to my home. They did not know, however, that as they had workers rebuilding the outer lair of the opera house; I also had begun to rebuild my kingdom. The labyrinth was now much harder to navigate, not that it wasn't before. There were more traps set and tunnels that would lead investigators to no where, leaving them lost and at the mercy of my hand should I find them. I was the only one who knew how to get through this maze alive, and that was how it was going to stay. The men were never seen or heard of again, spurring up new rumors of the chance that perhaps I was still alive. Even though many believed me to now be an actual spirit, having been killed those many years ago.
I reflected on these thoughts as I watched Madame Giry instructing the ballet rats as to what movements to make and where to go across the stage. Madame Giry was the only one to know of my mortal existence, though sometimes I had thought that perhaps I was immortal as death never would place its sweet hands on me and free me of this horror some call life. Some of the girls, it seemed, refused to do the right movements. I watched with humor as Madame Giry's face became contorted with frustration.
It was then that I saw her; a skinny little thing with blonde hair. She was obviously soaked through from the torrential rain that was made apparent from the beating on the roof of the building and the water dripping from her cloak and golden curls. I watched her with interest as she approached Madame Giry. Her words were just above a whisper, as if she were afraid that speaking any louder would bring down some sort of punishment from God. Some of the ballet tarts toward the back took interest in the girl and started snickering at her outfit. It was black and becoming very worn and tattered, as if this girl had been mourning for quite some time and it was the only bit of clothing that she owned. Her carpet bag was in no better shape, having gathered dirt and grim from a long hard travel.
I followed Madame Giry and the young girl as they made their way to the manager's office. I did not know my reasons for doing such, and blamed it on her voice. Though very soft and quiet, it still had the sweet ring of pure innocence. I had not heard her sing yet, but was finding myself become transfixed to her. Silently urging her to open up her mouth and let the voice come flowing back out.
"Have you any knowledge of dancing, Mademoiselle…" Madam Giry asked casting a weary glance at the girl. Then the girl offered her name, Michelle Blanc. The name I noticed did not quite suit her. Michelle which means "who is like God" did not suit this tired looking creature at all; though I had to admit that her surname, Blanc, seemed to suit her quite well. Her hair was a very light blonde, almost white as was suggested from the name. Her skin was also very pale, a smooth crème color that many women seemed to work rather hard on keeping. I watched as she and Madame Giry entered the manager's office. This girl was quite shy, if not a little scared. She stood there silent for the most part as Antoinette and the bloody manager began deciding her future.
For a moment I had thought that Madame Giry and Monsieur Firmin were going to have the child sing. I had braced myself wanting to hear what her singing voice was like when the voice used for normal speaking was so sweet. When they offered her the job without allowing her to sing I had found it very difficult to keep myself from screaming out in frustration. I wanted to hear her sing, then and now. It was no matter, however, for I decided that I would hear her sing at some point.
