I rented a small room at a boarding house for the night. I settled in and though I tried to avert my thoughts to something more constructive, I began sobbing uncontrollably at the Hell that was my life. When I had finished weeping, finished pitying myself, I resolved to let this be a new beginning. I realized that my funds were not going to be able to support me for long. Could I begin my own brothel? No, I could never force that pain upon other women. I would never again enter another man's bed unwillingly, I silently promised myself this. I sighed and walked over to the small mirror that the tiny room possessed. I glanced at my reflection, I barely recognized this woman anymore! My eyes, once bright and full of life were now dark and sinister. My complexion paled, color drained from my face. I hesitated, but then continued to enhance my appearances with make up. I smiled, remembering my fascination with aesthetics when I was younger. Perhaps, this was a potential career choice for me. I could find a theatre troupe and apply for costuming and makeup. I slept with these thoughts, and an inkling of hope running through my mind.
In the morning, I left the boarding house and hit the streets of Paris. Walking through the crowds, I had noticed more than one familiar face, and ducked out of site when they turned around for a second look. I did not need one of my former clients recognizing me.
I had applied to many theatres that day, all of them thanking me for my interest, but were sorry to say the position had already been filled. It was late, nearly sunset when I first laid eyes on the Opera Populaire. Intricate and colossal, the building loomed over the avenue, casting a sinister looking shadow among the crowds. I hesitantly entered and was instantly plunged into chaos. Apparently, the cast was preparing for a production that was to be put on later this evening. My supplies tucked away in my bag, I straightened my back, straining under the heavy load.
Suddenly, a tall man strode toward me. His voice was frantic, "Mademoiselle Rounieux? We have been looking for you everywhere! You are needed in the costuming department. La Carlotta has had an adverse reaction to the stage makeup, her face has swelled up like a giant boil! Please do hurry!" He seized my arm, and before I had any time to protest he led me into the depths of the Opera House.
"Argh! This is a complete-a disasta! Look at my face! Look!" the woman glared at me. "Ah, no, no no! Andre this is all wrong! This is not-a the woman who did this to meh!"
"You are not Mademoiselle Rounieux?" the man blinked, "You an actor then, no? Perhaps a dancer?"
"No, monsieur. My name is Alessandra deCapriana. I came to the Opera Populaire to inquire about a position here. I am trained well in the area of aesthetics, I see that you obviously need help in that area if I am not too bold in saying so." I gestured toward the woman who was nearly screaming in fury.
Andre sighed, looking helplessly at La Carlotta. He turned back to me, "You're hired. Welcome to the Opera Populaire, mademoiselle deCapriana," and with that he clicked his heels and strutted out of the room, leaving me with the hysterical woman.
So began my career at the Opera Populaire.
I easily settled into my new life here. My days were occupied researching the looks of various characters for the Opera's latest production and critiquing them. The performers were pleased with my work, or rather if they were displeased, they did not mention it to me. My room belonged to the former makeup artist, who mysteriously disappeared. Rumors stirred that she became possessed by the notorious Opera Ghost and fled the theatre, fearing for her life. I laughed at the stories the tiny ballerinas shared with me as I arranged their hair for performances. "So, there is a ghost here at L'Opera Populaire?" I laughed.
"Yes, Alessandra. They call him the Phantom of the Opera. He stalks the catacombs and the rafters. It is not a joke, nor is it to be taken lightly. There have been too many…accidents," a young ballerina shrugged. I persisted the subject further, and she indulged me into the history of this phantom. What a dark history it was! Hangings, stalkings, and of course, the infamous fall of the chandelier that nearly destroyed the Opera House. I had overheard this from Audric who was a regular at the Opera. He explained with great excitement to his brother of the accident, of the kidnapping of the young Christine Daae, whom was now married to the Vicomte deChagny, good family friends of the deAldridge's. "Well, I certainly hope that this Opera Ghost can apply rouge because if you do not sit still he will be forced to overtake my position seeing as I will be fired!" I sighed at the girls, hurrying them onto the stage, and retreated to my room.