Chapter 10

There was a cloudy blue haze over the morning sky, making the day seem almost surreal and dreamlike. The mist of early morning lingered over the city below, and not a soul was in sight. In a tree nearby her window sat one vivid red cardinal, chirping its song for the world to hear. Elle smiled, stretching her arms and enjoying the simple entertainment of Mother Nature. The sun blazed in the sky, creating a pink horizon that mingled with the blue of the sky. White fluffy clouds passed by, covering the golden sun for a few minutes. It was a captivating sunset, and almost made Elle want to paint its beauty, although she was no painter.

Her light pink lips opened to a yawn, and Elle's hand rose up to cover her mouth. The skin of her eyelids fluttered, opening again to reveal her remarkably dark green eyes. The wings of the cardinal shuddered, and then tweeting the last notes to its song, flew off from the thin tree into the sky. Elle felt sorry to lose her songbird, but she eventually turned her pretty face from the window and wandered over to her wardrobe in order to pick out her outfit for that day. She settled upon a light blue dress that had sleeves which came down a little below her elbow. After dressing she pulled some of her wavy hair back and pinned it there to keep her locks out of her face.

Breakfast was light, some fruit and porridge, and her father was to head off to a meeting in the theatre. Elle decided to join him, while her mother would stay behind and catch up on some reading. Holding her father's solid arm, Elle walked by his side to the theatre. They were not the first ones there by any means; a number of the performers had already arrived. People were scattered all about the grand room, many immersed in separate conversations. Monsieur D'aubigne surveyed the room as they entered through the heavy door; the directors were not there yet.

Elle glanced Nadia standing with a group of the chorus girls, including Meg. She smiled a hello at her friend, and took a seat next to her father. Madame Giry made her way through a small crowd of stagehands and settled down near them. Everyone seemed to be waiting anxiously on the directors, who had called this meeting to order. They were not the only ones missing either; Elle noticed that the dominating Estelle was not present either.

Then, with one disturbing bang, the doors of the theatre slammed open. Everyone looked up from what they were doing or who they were talking to in order to see what caused such an immense racket. In strutted directors, laughing with enthusiasm and parading down the carpeted aisle in unison. Mister Tremaine held something under his left arm, and had his other hand in the pocket of his gray jacket. His metal spectacles sat on his thin bony nose; his usual gravity was swept away with elation. Mister Bolster's bald head shined under the light of the chandelier. They seemed about as excited as they had the previous night after the curtain fell.

They bound up to the stage and, ascending the set of stairs, stood up on it, silently demanding the attention of everyone present in the room. After a few minutes of standing there all eyes were on them, wondering what the directors had to say. Mister Tremaine held up what he had been holding under his arm, and waved it around so that all could see. It was a newspaper, that morning's newspaper to be exact. When he was satisfied he dropped his arm and opened the paper, turning it to a specific page.

"Great job last night everyone," Mister Bolster shouted out, praising them as the other director fumbled to find the spot that he wanted. The crinkle of the paper echoed throughout the auditorium as everyone patiently waited. Bolster ran a fleshy hand over his gleaming head, and then his arm rested at his side. Turning to look at his partner, he saw that he was ready to speak, and so he added some last words. "Tremaine will read you the review in this morning's paper."

Mister Tremaine cleared his throat unceremoniously, and held the paper up in the light in order to read it. With his right hand he adjusted his glasses so that he could read properly, his eyes focused on what he was holding. Many present were interested in hearing it, but Elle already knew that it had to be something good. Otherwise the directors would not want to speak of it. Tremaine's British voice boomed through the theatre as he read the review.

"Last night's opening of L'Opera Magnifique, which used to be L'Opera Populaire before it burnt down in the terrible tragedy, was nothing short of astounding. The excellent cast performed Carmen, an entrancing and heart-breaking tale of a woman who is eventually killed by her lover. Estelle La Rous had the lead role as Carmen, and her fantastic singing was worthy of being compared to that of the famous singer Carlotta, or even the famed Christine Daae, both of which at one time sang on that very stage. The opera house had never looked better…"

He was interrupted as the door of the theatre once again was thrown open. Looking up from the paper, he waited to see who it was who had the audacity to disrupt him. None other than Estelle La Rous came storming into the room, clenching something in her white fist. Her fire red curls hung at the sides of her face, making her look even angrier than she already was. Her normally rosy complexion was replaced by a bright red one, which was quite unladylike. The heels of her fancy shoes stomped on the carpet as she made her way down to the stage.

The crimson lips of her enraged face parted and the same voice that was praised by the papers let out a deafening shriek. She violently waved a white piece of parchment that was crumbled up under her fist, and blatantly ignored everyone else in the room as she yelled at the directors without any sense of propriety. "What is the meaning of this?"

"What is wrong, Mademoiselle?" Mister Tremaine asked, still in a pleasant mood. He did not seem upset at her, but even more delighted with the fact that their prima donna had arrived. When he calculated the extent of the infuriated expression on her brow he became confused. "Have you not seen the paper? There are rave reviews about your performance!"

"This!" she screamed, flashing them the paper in her hands and throwing it on the boards of the stage. Then she wildly looked around at everyone in the room, sneering at them like they were all the culprit. No one seemed to know what she was talking about. She was acting like a madwoman, and her cherry colored curls lashed about as she thrashed her head around. "Which one of you despicable wretches sent me this? Who is O.G.?"

People began whispering to each other, about the new found insanity of the lead soprano and the mysterious initials she mentioned. Monsieur D'aubigne left his daughter's side and moved closer to Madame Giry. He murmured to her, so that the others would not hear him, yet it was unnecessary. Everyone's attention was focused on the prima donna and no one bothered to glance over at the owner as he spoke to the woman in an undertone. "I thought you said he wouldn't do anything if I paid him? And now look, he is causing a frenzy!"

"I am sure that he did not mean any harm Monsieur," Madame Giry whispered in reply, a serious expression taking over her weathered face. Her hands sat properly on her lap, her ankles crossed, as she watched the scene with wide eyes. She seemed to know much more than anyone else in the building about what was happening, and who this mysterious person was, yet she stayed quiet. Her eyes seemed to speak, not again…

Elle sat straight, a blank expression on her pale face. Inside she was amused at Estelle's outburst, and only wished that her fans could see her for who she truly was. Her eyes curiously eyed the crumpled up piece of paper that the woman threw on the ground, and she noticed the same red seal on it that she had on her letter from the Opera Ghost. Yes, he had written her, and it must not have been an agreeable note, for it had angered Estelle. She made a note in her mind to get the paper after the room cleared, and then she continued observing.

For a second she thought she heard something, something other than the loud and obnoxious squeals of Estelle and the gossiping whispers of the others. It faintly sounded like someone was… laughing, a soft laughter that only she seemed to notice. Her eyes searched for the mouth that it emanated from, but she was unsuccessful. No one around her was laughing, and the sound had appeared to come from above. Yet she could find nothing, and so all she could do was resign that she was hearing things. A silly though came to her mind, what if it was the ghost himself, watching on with amusement?

The directors somehow managed to calm Estelle down by reassuring her that she was wonderful. No longer angry, she left the theatre with her head high and entered the carriage that was waiting for her outside of the opera house, but before she did she managed to give Elle a look of scorn. At her return to ease the directors were relieved, and then left the newspaper that Mister Tremaine had been reading on the stage for others to look at if it so pleased them. They got off the stage and sauntered down the aisle, slightly less cheery then they were before. The two men were joined by Elle's father, and the three of them headed off to the office.

People were now free to leave, and so they slowly began going on their way. Elle sat by herself, waiting. They were still speaking in low voices to each other, all excitedly stuck on the topic of what had just occurred. Each gossiper seemed to have their own reasons for Estelle's strange behavior, but most omitted the contribution of O.G. Soon the room was empty of almost everyone except for Elle and a small group of girls. Among them was Nadia, who was waiting behind for her friend to join her. The girls began to leave, but she turned and looked at Elle.

Sensing that it was her moment of opportunity, Elle had gotten up from her seat and slowly walked over to the stage. She reached out and picked up the paper with her left hand, bringing it closer to her. Unaware of anyone watching her, she smoothed out the parchment in order to read it. The note contained a few lines that were written in red ink and a familiar handwriting. It looked like it was produced by dipping the ends of matches into the ink, and then stroked upon the paper. The letter that had enraged the redhead read as follows:

Mademoiselle La Rous,

Your performance last night was, to put it bluntly, lacking. Perhaps you should consider marriage rather than the opera, at least then you could make room for the real talent.

- O.G.

Elle had to cover her mouth in order to stifle her laughter. She was glad that at least someone could tell Estelle the truth, for everyone else spent their time sucking up to her. The woman needed to be put in her place, and he had done that through the letter. Although, she was not sure what he was trying to accomplish by enraging her like that. Nothing had really happened except for a scene that would be talked about by the opera rats for days. Perhaps it was simply for his own enjoyment, but it had entertained her as well. She felt better knowing that he was still around… somewhere. Her eyes looked up from the paper to the darkness of the boxes, and she felt another presence other than the girls that were awaiting her.

"Elle, what are you doing?" Nadia asked, pulling the young woman's attention to her and away from her thoughts. She stood on her toes, twirling a piece of her jet black hair between her thin fingers. "Aren't you going to come with us?"

She turned her gaze to her friend, gave her a sharp nod, and placed the letter back where she had found it. There was no sense it taking it with her. Besides, it did not belong to her and she would feel odd keeping it. The newspaper was nearby, carelessly abandoned. Looking back up in the shadows for a brief moment, Elle hoped to see something, but nothing was there except darkness. She then joined her friend, and left the theatre behind without taking another look.

No one noticed a shape move from the shadows behind them, but someone else had indeed been there. He was watching, always watching, and this time at least gotten a laugh out of it. Moving over to the stage, his eyes fell on the letter that he had written Estelle. She had deserved every word of it, yet that was not enough. A black glove picked up the ball of paper and held it over a lit candle, setting the parchment on fire. He let it burn to ashes before he set off into the opera house, his opera house, returning to the labyrinths in which he felt at home.

A/N: Same as always, thanks for taking the time to read and review. I actually wrote this yesterday, but got distracted and ended up posting it today. Hope you enjoyed it!

Anri- Thank you, actually I am starting to feel better.

Galasriniel- :-)

dilliedallie27- Yay, a new reader. Thanks, glad you like.