The next days passed without incident. My nighttime fright, pushed back into the recesses of my mind. Never looming over my actions, but still there, stirring under the surface.

Time at L'Opera Populaire, began to pass quickly. It had now been over a month since I first came to the theater. I submerged myself in my work, making it the sole focus of my time. I had managed to convince myself that if I was too busy to think, I would soon begin to heal. Every so often when a male actor or one of the managers glanced at me, I felt a pang of remembrance. A reminder of my past. I wondered what they thought of me, if they were interested in having me. I scolded myself for thinking such things, old habits die hard.

Eventually, they would all catch on. "What is such a beautiful, talented woman doing wasting her youth at an Opera House? Certainly she must have suitors," the cast would mutter. If only they knew the truth…

I had, more frequently began to hear whispers, rumors of my past circulating throughout the theater, and I began to feel outcasted. A good amount of the stronger sex had proposed relations, hinted at me, stared at me. I could feel their eyes burning through my skin, and for a brief moment I would feel empowered. In control as I had been with my clients. But this was not what I wanted! I never wanted to employ myself in such a way again! Disgusted with my thoughts, I decided that something must be done. From then on, I did as much as I could to alter my appearance. I no longer wore flattering couture, I tucked my jewels away in my bureau. My hair mashed into a crude chignon at the nape of my neck, my cheeks un-rouged, and my once bright eyes concealed by rings of darkness. Now, perhaps, I could focus on the task at hand, making others attractive. My job was to create beauty, illusions. That's all that beauty really was, anyway. An illusion. Under the surface, under everyone's looks, lie secrets. Lie imperfections.

I was surrounded by beautiful little ballerinas, with perfect pointed feet, and naïve little minds. I pitied them in a way. How much they rely on their beauty! Would they have as much attention if they were unattractive? Did the world care for homely people?

Not everyone at the theater was completely shallow, however. I eventually got to know a delightful soprano named Charlotte. She had recently become an understudy for La Carlotta, which I was told was now absolutely necessary after an unfortunate incident during one of last year's performances. Although she was not the brightest of the bunch, she was pleasant to converse with. Over my days there, we had become rather good acquaintances. Were we friends? No, to be honest, I had never had a friend before. My parents didn't send me to receive an education, so I had no peers in which to associate with. My days of my youth were spent with cousins, aunts, and uncles, but I had never any one to call my 'friend'. Still, I enjoyed Charlotte. She was not snobby and conceited like much of the cast, she loved to talk, and I always had a willing ear.

We chatted, in complete randomness while I arranged her hair. She would tell me stories of her childhood, where she grew up, how she came to the Opera House. I smiled, she reminded me of myself when I was younger. So vibrant, so full of life. So full of hope.

"Alessandra, what is your…status with…men? I mean, do you have a suitor?" she asked hesitantly. I sighed, I knew this would topic would come up eventually. There was no doubt that she too had heard the whisperings of the scandal-loving ballerinas.

"Well, to be quite honest, no. No, there is no one to whom I belong to," I stated simply. It was the truth, after all. My hands began to fumble while combing through her tawny waves.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Alessandra! I did not mean to pry, it's just that…well, you know, there have been rumors going around."

"I'm quite aware of that. I don't see how my past is of anyone's business here at L'Opera Populaire," I scoffed, my face becoming flushed as the heat rose through my body.

"Of course, I completely agree," she paused, looking dumbfounded. Then, her eyes went wide, and asked, rather enthusiastically, "So, have you heard of the Opera Ghost?" It was obvious Charlotte was trying to change the subject. But why did it have to be about Him?

"Yes," I sighed, "such a miserable tale. I really do feel quite bad for him," discussing the Phantom was a lot less complicated than explaining my past. Charlotte had offered me a way out, and I gladly accepted it.

"How can you feel sympathy for a murderer, Alessandra?"

"I don't know," I said honestly, "I think, it is not really his fault. I can not blame him for his actions after having been treated so horribly. Perhaps he is just lonely…" my voice trailed off.

"Well, in my opinion, he is a monster! They say he has the face like that of a corpse and reeks of death. What horrendous things he has done! Marie says she saw him just the other day upon the rafters, swinging a noose around, pacing back and forth like a madman. I tell you, he is a monster!"

"Perhaps, Charlotte, it is not best to believe everything you hear," I said, giving her a slight pat on her head and shooing her away to rehearsals. She turned back and smiled at me, cocking her head to the side slightly.

"You know, you are a kind woman, Mademoiselle deCapriana. To see the potential for good in a man like that after what you have been through, your experiences I mean. A kind woman indeed!"

She skirted off, her elaborate costume trailing behind her. I frowned, my brow furrowed with thought. No one had ever complemented me on my character before. My looks, yes. My manners, maybe. But never my character. Perhaps my life at the bordello had not destroyed me after all. I still had my soul, my spirit, I still have 'me'. And with that, a faint glimmer of hope rose through my chest that I could revive the woman I once was. That I could have a normal life, a house to call my own, a garden blossoming with hundreds of flowers, a husband… Maybe I was not as scarred as I made myself believe. Yes, there was potential in me, and I was determined to coax it out.