I realize that I forgot to make a break in between POV's (again…)… I'M SORRY! GAH! THIS IS ABOUT THE FOUR BAZILLITH TIME I'VE DONE THAT!
Thanks for bring that to my attention, Queen of Perfectionism. It shall be fixed.
Also, in response to your question MoonLiz, Carlotta's ethnicity depends on what version of the story you refer to. In Leroux's story, she clearly stated to be from Spain. ALW, for some reason or another, decided to make her Italian (probably so she can have a silly accent). In this phic, I'm trying my best to be true to keep faithful to Leroux, thus the ex-prima donna is Spanish. I knew this question was going to come up... just after I typed it, I paused and went "You know… someone's going to notice…" Way to be observant!
Pax
The ball was set to begin in exactly one hour. I sat on my bed, running my fingers through my hair in an attempt to tame it. Meg had insisted that I allow her to increase the amount of coil, and had then used a hot, metal iron to create finer ringlets. The result, I admit, looked wonderful and very fashionable, but had also made my head appear outsized, what with the many layers of burnished curls. She had dashed off to find something (a ribbon, perhaps) that I might use to hold them down.
I moved to the small table-top mirror, and gazed at the reflection, hands tugging in a futile attempt to flatten the mane. No luck. With a sigh, I sank into a chair. Where was Meg?
There came a knock at the door. I glanced over, surprised; Meg never knocked.
"Yes?" I said, rising to reply to the appeal. Upon turning the knob, I was shocked to find Adèle and her friend Lucille standing before me.
"Hello, Marie!" it was the first who spoke, "Are you ready for the Masque? I hear you were personally invited by the managers."
"I-…Not quite yet." I touched my hair uncomfortably. Adèle had not uttered a word to me since the events preceding Le Lac de Cygne. Perhaps she wished to be friends?
"Well then, let me help you prepare!" she said with a smile, stepping across the threshold, Lucille following. I paused. What about Meg? But I do not want to anger them…
"Very well…"
I shut the door and turned. Adèle came forward, giving a strand of my hair a small jerk.
"And what, pray tell, do you plan to so with this?"
"Oh, well, Meg went to get something for it."
She paused, her smile seeming oddly tense.
"Giry?" I did not miss the subtle look that past between the two, but could understand its meaning. "When shall she be back?"
"I… I don't know." I honestly replied, "Soon, I should think."
No more was said on the topic; she released my curl and picked my dress of the sofa.
"And this, I presume, is your dress?" without waiting for an answer, she continued, "How lovely! Let me help you get it on!"
I tried to appear friendly.
"Alright!"
"But first," she looked me up and down, "We must tie your corset properly!"
I followed her gaze to my middle.
"Properly?" I was confused, "What is wrong with it?"
Adèle clucked her tongue, Lucille looking at me with a sigh pity.
"Poor thing," the ladder said, "Giry didn't tell her…"
"Jealous, I'd guess." To me, "It hardly flatters your figure as such, my dear. Let me set it right."
I nodded, feeling perplexed. Meg, lie to me? Jealous? Undoing the knot at my lower back, Adèle gave the string a harsh wretch. I gasped.
"Isn't that too tight?..." I asked, grapping the back of a chair for support.
"Not at all! This is how a corset is meant to be worn!"
I smiled weakly, and nodded, an indication to carry on. Well, if it were supposed to be worn like this…
The lacing was painful, and when she finished I felt starved for air. My hand slid to my stomach, and I winced.
"There! Doesn't that look handsome, Lucille?"
"Oh yes!" Was the eager reply, "Absolutely breathtaking!"
Again, I tried to smile, but could not.
"Thank you."
"Oh! Not at all!" Adèle waved her hand, and held out my gown as I stepped into it. The pair did up the back, and stood to survey their work.
"Perfectly charming! You'll be the most popular lady at the ball!"
"Girl, Lucille." Adèle corrected, giving me a sweet look, "Marie is not yet a lady. You are but seventeen are you not? That is what I've heard."
"Yes." I wheezed. Did women truly were their corsets so tight? How did they breathe?
Her smile became wider, and she flipped her curls over her shoulder.
"But year or so younger than we two!" this was said to Lucille, "Well," now to me, "We really ought to go get ready, ourselves!" They went to the door and, with a wave and a grin, they were gone.
I sat heavily. My abdomen ached from the strict restraint. Footsteps came down the hall, the door swung open to reveal Meg.
"Look! These will be perfect-" She halted, surprised, "Oh! You're dressed!"
I looked up, tried to read her face. I did not want to believe she had deceived me. Meg Giry was the dearest person in the world to me. Maybe she forgot to mention it. That seemed to make sense. Or perhaps she didn't want to hurt me, for this certainly hurt. That made even more sense.
I suddenly noticed what she held: two bands, thin and silvery, lined with shining, clear jewels (Diamonds? I was not sure; I'd have to learn more about finery…). She followed my eyes, and grinned broadly.
"Look what I found!" She said in a singsong tone, holding them against my head with a flourish. I sought my likeness in the mirror; they were magnificent.
"Sit down, let me fasten them."
I obeyed, cringing as my waist protested.
"What's wrong?"
"Oh! Nothing!"
"It looked like something was."
I urgently tried to think of an excuse. I didn't want to hurt her feelings by telling her about Adèle.
"I stubbed my toes on the sofa… while you were gone." I added quickly, seeing her eyebrow begin to rise. Meg watched me for a moment, then shrugged, excepting my explanation.
The rest of my preparation went without dilemma, as did hers (a lovely gown of pale blue). I helped her clasp a fine silver chain, with a deep colored stone hanging from the end, about her neck, and then we were ready. Mme. Giry was waiting in the hall, in black, but appearing just as regal as she would have any other way. She smiled when we exited.
"You look lovely, my dears."
Meg kissed her cheek and I blushed. Then, the three of us proceeded down the corridor.
I knew something was amiss the very instant that scheming wench was revealed behind the door. What could such a shrew want with my precious Marie? My eyes had narrowed into angry slits when she'd commented upon the corset (By God, it was tight enough! Any more and she shouldn't breath properly!), and rage filled me when she mended the issue. I hardly knew the particulars of female dress, but it was obvious a cruel trap was being set.
Then they left, the villains! Left the poor thing, helpless as a kitten with her tiny paw trapped beneath a stone! My blood burned with hate. They would pay for their malice, for their vindictiveness towards one younger, more innocent, and certainly more talented than the pair combined! When her little hand went to her middle, when I heard the gasps for air, it took all I had within me to control myself. I must not! Giry will relieve her! She must not know of me! A smirk twisted its way across my face. Indeed, the Girys where quite aware that I was alive and well.
It had happened just before the performance of Le Lac de Cygne; the pair had been whispering fervently to one another (although I heard every word…) upon the great stage when the Opera Ghost had made himself known. I had wanted to laugh at their bewildered faces, to scoff. Had they thought me gone forever? I? The Phantom of the Opera? The Trap-Door Lover? Bah! Indeed!
I had bowed, most formally, sweeping back my cloak as a gentleman would do, then rose and smiled darkly at the fear in each face. Silence had reigned; then Mme. Giry, the stately, old spinster had whispered.
"Erik?..."
I had nodded, mocking and gleeful. Little Meg had gone so white she had begun to revel me for color. Taking a step towards her, my smile curled into a grin.
"Boo."
She trembled, but the elder seemed to have regained herself.
"What is your meaning, sir, of hounding young ballet girls? Have you not learnt your lesson?"
I froze, then chuckled.
"And what is your meaning, my dear woman," I countered, flouting her address, "of placing young ballet girls within my grasp?"
Her lips tightened into a firm line, but I saw the fright flickering within her gaze. At that moment, pattering footsteps had sounded from the hall. Only one other person could be trotting about at such hours of morning.
"Meg?"
My heart had fluttered. It was her! All eyes slide to the door, then two pairs fell on my person. I turned my head slowly from the entry, leering at the Girys.
"Leave her be, Erik!" Mme. Giry hissed, nostrils whitening.
I had chortled with sinister delight, then with a flick of my cape and a wink, I was gone, escaping through a hatch on which I had carefully placed myself.
(A/N So Erik DID show up on the stage! I GOT YOU TWICE! )
I snarled in frustration. How could that simpleton, Meg Giry, not have noticed her companion's distress! Was it not evident! I was nearly tearing out my hair (precious, though it was to my scalp)! What a block! A stone! A less than worthless thing! As they quit they room, I scuttled away from my spot behind the mirror and sought out a passageway that followed the corridor to the ball room. It seemed I would have to be her Angel tonight.Though my irritation was hardy that night, I could not deny that the Masquerade was, artistically, very well assembled. Gold and silver lined every niche of the great ballroom and in the center stood a tall, majestic Arbre de Noël. This was very much the focus of the crowd; it was beautifully (even I must admit) ornamented with hundreds of red and blue candles, apples and walnuts dyed gold especially for the occasion, nets made of colored paper, and, perhaps best of all, little dolls that looked exactly like people. At the summit was fixed a tinsel star which quite completed the sight.
This was nothing, however, to the look of enchantment upon the darling visage of one young ballet girl as her fine grey eyes took in the tree. Despite the fact that I was positive she could hardly draw breath, a wide, delighted smile grew upon her lips. Sighing, I reclined against a nearby pillar. I should never forget that face.
The evening past rather well, I thought, with only two factors which piqued me. The first was that no one, not either Giry, nor M. Amaud, who paraded about the room merrily (perhaps due to the large goblet of spirits that he held in his hand), nor anyone else noticed Marie's discomfort which clearly plagued her. The second, which only just overwhelmed the first, was that the dance card of my little love was never vacant. I suspected Meg had taught her the art of ballroom dancing, for she had quite mastered the skill I noticed cantankerously as she waltzed within the arms of several anonymous men. That hussy, Lucille, had been quite right. She was the most popular lady at the ball.
I slipped away and returned with a decanter of wine and a cup, to mute my displeasure. Most of the partners I had no quarrel with; they were either silly young men or thoughtless old ones. But one caused my apocryphal hackles to rise. A handsome gentleman (a Vicomte, as it turned out) with pale coloration. Throughout the evening, I watched sullenly as he pursued her, seeking her hand on numerous instances. At one point, at about ten o'clock, he had the audacity to lean forward and press his cheek against Marie's. My grip on my thankfully empty glass became so unyielding that soon I felt it shatter between my fingers. Scowling at the broken shards, I seized the neck of the bottle and took a deep swing, trembling with anger. She was mine. Mine to protect, mine to spoil, mine to covet. Mine to love. My only solace was the expression of shock and the blush the crept across her cheeks. She did not desire such affection. Not from him, anyway.
It was now late at night; Marie had escaped from her small herd of admirers and stood presently near where I sat, concealed. I watched closely as she let out a shuttering breath and clutched her slight waist. Her eyes closed as she quivered; I set down my carafe, brows drawing together as I studied her with concern. She suddenly reopened her eyes and looked about, found a door, and quickly hurried from the room. I scurried after her.
Her trek ended behind the stage, where she stopped, and leaned against the wall, panting. I noticed anxiously that sweat was beaded upon her face; she was dreadfully pale. My heart ached as she let out a soft whimper, pressing a hand to her middle and used the other to fan herself. Beginning to recognize her symptoms, I slowly prepared myself for the worst, locating the nearest trapdoor into the hall and poising myself behind it.
Marie turned and propped her body on the side of the passage; her eyes fluttered, fingers scrabbled for the fastenings. Then she collapsed. I darted out, but not quickly enough to impede her fall. I placed a hand before her mouth; no breath. I began to panic, but common sense told me quite clearly what I must do. I swiftly but carefully turned her body over, and fumbled with the buttons. My fingers shook. I swore darkly and steadied them, unfastening the material down her back. I found her corset beneath and began at the labored restraint. Those wretched ballet tarts would pay…
As the laces came undone, I heard her cough and gasp for breath. I propped her dear head upon my lap as she trembled, my hands touching her curls. So soft… Those large eyes blinked wearily, a single drop, induced from the pain, falling from one, and rose, beholding the masked man who held her. She gasped quietly, appearing frightened. Glancing down, she noticed her dress with astonishment, again looking to me in question. Had a mysterious specter come to save her? Marie clearly wondered something of the sort by the way she gazed at me.
Carefully, as not to frighten her, I raised a finger and captured the tear. She watched, fascinated, as I brought the digit to my mouth and placed it upon my tongue.
"Marie? MARIE?"
Simultaneously, we both looked to the source of the noise; it came from the throat of Young Giry, but she was not yet in this corridor. I cupped her cheek for a moment, savoring the feeling of her skin against mine. Her sweet lips parted, as though she meant to say something, but I stood quickly whisked away. She sat up, bewildered by my sudden disappearance.
Meg skidded around the corner, skirts clutched in her hands.
"Marie! Oh, Marie!"
Scampering to the side of the beauty on the floor, Giry scanned her for sign of injury. Mme. Giry glided to her side soon after, appearing concerned.
"What on earth are you doing on the ground in such a manner?"
"Maman!"
Meg cradled her little friend, who responded shakily.
"I- I must have fainted."
"Fainted?"
The elder seemed alarmed, and lowered to a knee, examining Marie's face and eyes for indication of illness, while the younger went into hysterics.
"My corset must have been too tight…" was the quiet explanation.
"Why did you not tell me!" shrilled Meg.
"I thought it was supposed to be tight. She told me-" She started, realizing her mistake.
"Who told you?" Mme. Giry demanded. Marie looked down, ashamed.
"Adèle." Was the soft reply.
"Adèle did up your corset?"
"Yes, Madame."
I smirked. My vengeance was sure to be completed, what if the expression on Mme. Giry's face was evidence enough.
"And you undid it yourself, after you fainted?"
"No…no…" My heart pounded. Her mind was on me, "He saved me."
"He?" The word was spoken with a degree of apprehension tingeing the edges.
"Yes. I awoke, and," Her exquisite eyes seemed far away, "he was there. He saved me."
There was a long silence, in which both Girys looked at one another fearfully.
"Who is he, Marie?"
"I don't know…"
With only a slight glance in each other direction, Meg hurried the wobbly girl away. Mme. Giry stood and looked about the hall.
"Erik." She whispered harshly, but I did not miss the quiver in her tone, "Stay away from her."
A smiled formed on my lips as I sauntered leisurely back to my place beside the dressing room. I had never been on to follow the rules of others. Bringing my hand to my face, I inhaled the scent her hair had left upon my hand, and shuddered with delight. Why ought I start now?
I stole the description of the "Arbre de Noël" (which means Christmas tree, for those who didn't figure it out... couldn't help it. Had to put it in French. I'm such a loser.) from the genius of Hans Christian Andersen. ( I love him!) Reviews!