The trapped doors around the Opera creaked their annoyance at being used once again with frequency as their master stalked about the stage area for the first time in years. He was watching her again, the little gypsy. Her body moved with a passion he had never seen in a dancer before. Most of the girls moved shyly, demurely, even when dancing. Marie moved with grace and poise, but also with a sense of passionate abandon. It's like the music flows into her and through her. With a shake of his head, he angrily dismissed the thought, growling in his throat softly. Little gypsy witch, she must be casting a spell on me.
As the last rehearsal for the performance drew to a close, Marie found herself softly singing a few of the arias. She tried to avoid any shapes near her; for fear that Capucine would hear and berate her for butchering the true art of song. A nervous smile danced across her face as she realized this would be the first time she would perform for an audience after losing her sight.
Erik paced the lower basements through the afternoon. The slender body of the gypsy woman had entranced him past the point of concentration on anything else. Perhaps I should speak to her again, let her know that she is not wanted here. Perhaps I could cause an accident that would mar the performance and be blamed on her. Yes, that would be perfect. Soft footfalls entering the upper parts of his true domain caused his head to snap to attention and his body to blend into the shadows.
"Erik? Are you here? It is Meg."
A soft breath he did not realize he had been holding released itself as he saw it was only Meg. Meg looked fearlessly into his masked face, seeing the rage that had built up.
"Erik, why are you so enraged? Has something happened to upset you?" When she saw that he was waiting to see what she wanted, she continued on slowly. "I have a favor to ask of you. There is a girl I want you to coach. Her name is Marie and I think she could benefit from a voice coach such as you."
Erik made the noise that passed for a laugh, a rough noise that came from deep in his throat. "You are still little Meg Giry, aren't you? Why would I put myself through such torment yet again? Because you ask a favor of me?"
Meg smiled softly. "My dear Erik, I passed up a life of nobility because of my love for theatre and this Opera house. I have cared for you and been your liaison with the management since Mother retired. All I ask is that you help out a young girl who desperately needs it. And, she can not see, so I doubt she will cause you much torment."
Meg saw the uncovered half of his face furrow in concentration. A silent prayer formed in her head, hoping that she had found a way to both help her little Marie and to ease Erik's suffering.
"Only because it is you asking, dear Meg, will I agree to coach this…gypsy dancing girl. I will visit her tomorrow night and begin our lessons."
Meg headed back up to stage level, wondering at the hard look in Erik's eyes. A small shiver traveled up her spine as she realized he had looked almost predatory when he referred to Marie as a "gypsy dancing girl." I do hope my little Marie will be safe with him.
The room was lit by the flickering of gas lamps and candles as Marie changed out of her costume. She squinted tightly, peering into the mirror, hoping that she could make out some feature on herself. A gray shape was all that reflected back. A sigh escaped her as she finished pulling the last laces of her dress tight. At least they gave me my own room. She sank onto the bed, sighing softly, wondering if she even wanted to make the gray, lonely trek to where the other girls were eating. A soft stab of loneliness pierced her heart as she thought fondly back to eating in the dining area with all the other ballerinas, showing off the new trinket they or some admirer had bought them. A sharp knock at the door drew her attention away from fond memories of friends she could actually see, who didn't speak about her with tones of hushed pity.
"I'll be along in a minute!" she called out, assuming it was one of the other young women come to remind her to get dinner.
To her surprise, the door opened and she heard sure, even footfalls approaching her. She stood, angling head up to where she knew most people's faces were, a trick she had learned to help hide the fact she could not see what they looked like. "Excuse me, but, this is a private room."
"I have been asked by your mentor, Mmlle Giry, to give you voice lessons. If, however, you are too rude to accept them, then I can leave you." That voice washed over her, and she recognized it as having belonged to the man who rescued her from the basements.
"Oh, pardon me, Monsieur Angelline. I…I did not see it was you. I did not realize that Mademoiselle Giry had arranged for me to have a tutor."
"Well, I suppose you can be forgiven this once, girl. You are, indeed, Marie, the blind girl?"
She nodded shyly, not liking to be reminded of her handicap.
By the end of their lesson, Marie had tears running down her fine-boned cheeks. "I am sorry, Monsieur, I am trying, but I did not know what you meant when you…"
"You stupid little gypsy, how can you live in an Opera house and not know the proper pronunciation of an Italian word?"
She stammered out an answer, her lips moving without her brain helping them as she trembled in fear before her harsh instructor. She heard him leave without a goodbye as she sunk to her bed, sobbing softly. As she dried her eyes, she began to sing a song in the tongue of her mother's people to comfort her. She stood by her mirror, her sobs becoming quieter as the music comforted her.
He had only meant to watch her, to gloat over the pain he had caused her. He wanted her to feel the pain and humiliation her kind had visited upon him once, long ago. He ached to make her pay for living in his beloved's former quarters. What he had not meant was to be come enraptured by her voice. While the Italian and German words of some of the more famous opera pieces fell out of her mouth oddly, the flowing language of the gypsies poured out of her like waves of delicate silk. Something inside his chest quivered softly as he realized he had been the cause of this beauty's pain. Gloved fingertips pressed against his side of the mirror, aching to wipe the tears away from her face. He froze as she put her forehead against the mirror and began to speak.
"Why does he hate me so? I could barely sing with that feeling penetrating the room. Meg said he was a hard teacher, but…" her voice trailed off as she shook her head sadly and went behind her changing screen. The taunt of "gypsy" stung her to the heart, remembering how the others at the Opera had reacted to Meg bringing her here. The managers had scoffed at the idea of a gypsy dancing for their audiences. Only when they saw her did they change her mind. She did not have the deep brown skin of most of the gypsies, but instead, a much lighter skin tone, almost the color of native French people.
As her head nuzzled into the pillow, she tried to remember her family. Her mother had given birth to her after she had spent a week in Marseille, apparently after having met a lovely Frenchman. Marie bore the marks of her mixed heritage well, however, bringing the best of both cultures into her looks. Why must everyone taunt me so? Is it not bad enough that I have no family?
Erik slunk down the hall behind her mirror, silently cursing himself for the soft feeling growing inside him. "No! I will not be hurt or made a fool of by some silly woman again! Especially not one like her!"
As his footfalls brought him to closer to the boat, an idea was already half formed in his head. He would play at this enticing young woman's game, but this time, he would not be the loser. He would be the one to cause the heartache, the sorrow, the sharp stabbing pains that kept her up at night, the dull aches that never ceased during the day. Someone would know how he felt, and he would be the cause of it. His mouth formed a small half-curve as he savored the thought of finally having revenge for all the pain he had gone through. He turned with slow deliberation and made his way back to the mirror.
As his voice echoed down the secret halls of the Opera, Marie laid her head on her pillow and the sound of her tears lulled her to sleep. Her dreams brought her the sounds of heaven being sung down to her. She dreamt of a voice that called her name while she played between camped wagons and chased the mongrel dogs that followed the troupe she had lived with. That voice chased away the fires that the townspeople had set, scattering or killing her family and sending her fleeing into the city of Paris by herself.
For once, she dreamt of her family and did not wake in a cold sweat, crying out for her mother. Instead of whimpers, only the word "Angelline" escaped her soft red lips as she slumbered peacefully for the first time in weeks.