Ok, I really have an excuse! I had finals for a week, and then I got really sick. Like, mofoing sick. Like flippin' bedridden sick. Like "no fun at all" sick.

Anyway, I'm pretty much better now, and I'm trying desperately to catch up! Don't hate meeeeeeeee!

BTW, the song, Vois sur ton chemin (Look to your path), is from the "Les Choristes" soundtrack (lovely movie... I reccomend it...) . I altered it in some places so that works better... just little things like "give them a hand" to "give her a hand", so that it fit in better with the story...

Smoochie-poos por vous!

Pax

Marie de Voisins. That is what she was called. Her name. I followed her with my eyes as she trotted down the hall Before she had left the stage, Mme. Giry, the dear old crone had uttered the words that now rang in my mind. Marie de Voisins. It suited her perfectly. Letting it escape my mouth in a whisper no ears aside from my own could hear, I delighted in how it rolled off my tongue. It was a delicate, graceful forename, ideal for such a creature as she was. Marie de Voisins.

Anticipation began to churn inside me as she opened the door. I stood a hair's distance away from the mirror… What would she think? The turn of her countenance when she first saw my gifts I shall never forget. A kind of dazed bewilderment, softened by the daintiness of her features; her gaze had appeared hesitant and perplexed. My heart stood still. Did she dislike my offerings? Breath tore from my lungs. It had been a foolish idea…

But then she sat heavily. And she smiled. Her eyes sparkled with delight.

I could make those eye shine with joy…

And I had. I had made her happy. I, Erik, had brought cheerfulness to the soul Marie de Voisins. I, Erik, had made her smile. How had I ever, for one moment, thought this unwise? Tears blurred my vision, and they fell unheeded over cold cheeks. I watched as she held up the nightdress, crying silently even as she smiled. What would her tears taste like? I yearned to know. Like salt, of course, but what else? Would they be sweet, as well as brackish? How would they feel as they were captured on my tongue?

A shudder ran through my body. I must not think of her as such. I must not think of Marie as such. She was too pure, too young, to become an object of fixation to a hideous, old beast. Yet as I beheld her as she crossed the room, curls (lately tied with a broad ribbon) falling in sharp divergence to the cream of her skin, the tarlatan bodice hugging her slim body, her face and its smooth, feminine visage…

No. No! I will not let myself see her through such wanton eyes. Turning from the mirror, I took a moment and collected my scattered thoughts. I would be her Angel. That is all I would be.

She disappeared behind the changing screen (God, it seemed, had taken some pity on my labored nerves) and reemerged in my gift. I sank to my knees, one trembling hand reaching to touch the glass. She looked like an angel; a perfect, bright eyed, little angel. More tears sprang forth as she observed herself almost shyly in the mirror.

Do you approve, Erik? I imagined her say to me, in a voice eager and bashful.

You are exquisite, my child, I silently replied.

Bringing the candle to her bedside, Marie, after pressing the blanket to her nose once more (she was fond of the scent of lavender… I shall remember that), settled herself deeply within the nest of fine material, blowing out the flame with a short puff of breath.

But she did not sleep. I sat and watched as she gazed forward into the dying embers of the fireplace for near an hour. What could the little thing be thinking of? She needs sleep; there will be training in the morning.

She rolled onto her back, then returned to her side, but sleep never took her. My eyes, quite accustomed to the dark, flickered now and then to the time piece. Ten thirty, eleven o'clock, eleven fifteen… Marie, who also seemed to know she ought to be asleep, fretted and sighed, closing her eyes only to open them again soon after.

I frowned and wondered what I might do to help the sweet creature. Then I suddenly recollected where I was, where she was. A smile, both serene and grim crossed my lips. I gazed at Marie for a short moment, and then I began to sing.

Vois sur ton chemin. Enfant oubliés égarés…

She looked up, startled by the sudden entrance of my voice. Her pale brow became worried as she looked about, seeking the source of the song.

Donne elle la main, pour la mener vers d'autres lendemains…

Marie, having discovered no one, shrank into the safety of her little bed, the large, grey eyes raised in silently question to the heavens.

Sens au cœur de la nuit…

She rested her darling head back upon the pillows. Her eyelids looked heavy. I added a further degree of melodiousness to my tone.

L'onde d'espoir, ardeur de la vie…

I watched affectionately as my dear Marie began to doze, mollified by my song.

Sentier de gloire…

I stood. Her breath was soft and steady. There was nothing quite so beautiful, I thought, then Marie de Voisins as she slept. Becoming bold, I silently opened the mirror and stole through to her bedside. Long, dark eyelashes brushed her cheek. How I longed to be one of their company, to be with her all the day long, to graze her skin with each blink.

I remembered first seeing her through the mirror; raising my hand to touch hers through the glass. My gaze dropped to the coveted item, resting upon the pillow beside her head. I had made it this far… Very, very carefully, I reached forward and stroked the length of her outer palm, from knuckles to wrist, with a finger. I smiled, feeling deliriously happy, then darted away. She would never know.

"Places! Everyone get in your place! Adèle! Lucille! Get in your places now!"

The said girls squeaked and scampered into position.

"Now, if you please, M. Bonnaire?"

The threads of music began, and the corps de ballet followed suit. I felt a surge of excitement flare inside me; this would be my very first real show at L'Opera, and although I had not been cast in a singing role (much, I think, to Mme. and Meg Giry's irritation) I was nonetheless overjoyed. They had taught me a great deal of ballet in the past two months since my arrival; I had recently been promoted to third in my row.

I ceased my thoughts and concentrated solely on my dancing. This was the dry run, after all, and I needed to concentrate.

The dance ended with the musical finale, and Mme. Giry appeared from the left wing.

"Very good, girls. Adèle, you do not follow the rest of the group! You must learn to dance correctly or I'll see to your expulsion from the corps! Meg, demonstrate how one ought to move. Marie, you as well."

I nodded, anxious over the crowd of eyes that watched as I came forward to the younger Giry's side. Adèle looked shamefaced and irritated. Mme. Giry flipped her long braid over he shoulder, pointing to Meg and I with her cane.

"On the count."

I glanced up at Meg; she stood straight backed and confident (as she should, leader of the row as she was!). She met my gaze quickly, and smiled. I felt better; she thought I would do well.

"One, two, and three!"

We leapt into action. I forgot the eyes, forgot Adèle, forgot Mme. Giry. All I thought of was Meg and myself, focused as I had never been. Time raced and suddenly were reached the finish, a grande jetè, an arabesque… please, legs, don't tip!... and it was over.

There was a smattering of light applause.

"Well done! Very well done!"

It was a man's voice who spoke, not Mme. Giry. I turned, panting, and recognized M. Amaud. A flush broke over my face; I curtsied, remembering my manners.

"Mme. Giry, that was perfectly executed! My sincerest compliments."

He received a curt nod in response, nothing more. Still smiling broadly, Amaud turned back to Meg and I.

"You are Mlle. Giry, am I right? You live up to your position, my dear." His bright eyes fell on me, and I blushed harder; he would not know who I am, of course, "Ah, and the young Mlle. de Voisins, our late applicant!"

I had no idea how to respond. What should I say?

"Indeed, monsieur." Meg spoke now. I watched her inquiringly, "She has flourished in these past months."

"So I see!"

"You may also recall, if I may monsieur," she continued, in a tone of complete casualness, "that Mlle. de Voisins is also a fine soloist."

Amaud's eyes lit up.

"Do you know, I had quite forgotten!" He laughed, "But as you say, my dear, the recollection returns to me! I shall have to see to her appointment to a soloist's singing part, if she has anywhere near as fine a voice as how she dances! Good day, ladies!"

I stood, shocked. A soloist's singing part? Mme. Giry took center stage.

"We shall continue rehearsal after mealtime. I expect everyone back here by three in the afternoon! Is that understood?"

The corps dispersed, many chattering and laughing over the prospect of food. However, I did not miss the scowls sent in my direction by Adèle and her companions. I lowered my head; I had not meant to upset anyone.

Mme. Giry glided to my side.

"A fortunate encounter with M. Amaud, no?"

Her eyes were twinkling. Suddenly, I realized why she had asked me to dance. I smiled.

"Thank you Mme. Giry." I said, my voice break off. She patted my shoulder.

"Come now, let us get something to eat." I followed at her side, "I hear that the show after next shall be Les Troyens. Perhaps you will be cast as Cassandra."

I laughed at the fancifulness of the idea. Suddenly, something white fluttered down from the flies. It landed before us: a letter, sealed with red wax. I bent to pick it up, shifting uncomfortably when I notice the insignia was in the shape of a human skull. I looked up; there was no one to be seen. Glancing at Mme. Giry, I said,

"Shall I open it?"

But was taken aback by her face. She had paled, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes fixed on the envelope.

"Mme. Giry? Are you alright?"

She did not answer. Meg, meanwhile, had caught up with the pair of us. She was smiled, but then betook her mother's face.

"Mama? What's wrong?"

Mme. Giry exhaled, a deep frown etched into her face. Meg looked at me in question, then down at what I held in my hand. If the elder Giry had lost color it was nothing to the younger. Meg went so white her dancing outfit looked quite beige; her eyes sought Mme. Giry's, than landed on me. She looked positively horrified; I feared she would faint. I didn't understand their alarm. I flipped the letter over; it was addressed to me.

Mme. Giry gasped, and placed a hand on Meg's shoulder for support. I became fearful for the Girys. What had upset them so?

"Mme. Giry, Meg," I said, pleading, "What is wrong?"

Meg said nothing. Mme. Giry closed her eyes for a moment, then looked at me.

"Open it, child."

I did so, pulling out the letter. The paper was lined with black, and in ink red as the cachet these words were written:

"Great ability develops and reveals itself increasingly with every new assignment."

-Gracian

Hohoho! Reviews!