If you haven't already guessed, the OPERA POPULARIE is now known as THE PARIS OPERA HOUSE. Minor change to make the story seem more modern. Let's not think about it too much…
There may be some similarities between this story and my others. Settings, primarily. Whenever I think of Erik's mansion, I think of the same place…so I can't help the similar descriptions…hey…if it ain't broke, don't freaking fix it, right?
This chapter is going to throw you for a loop, particularly the introduction of this new character and her last name. Trust me. All will be explained.
Nico
Like clockwork, the thank-you letter from the managers of the Paris Opera House arrived in Erik's mailbox three days after he had signed over finances that would allow the lavish theater to continue for another month.
Erik took the white envelope containing the cordial note and placed it with hundreds more just like it in an enormous oak chest.
The only difference in the letters were the dates, which went as far back as 1905, the year Erik had made his first monetary contribution to the theater.
Erik had seen managers come and go since that night…there had been a particularly long dry spell following the performance of Don Juan Triumphant, but like most things that are truly worth existing, the Paris Opera House was once again rebuilt, glimmering in gold and marble, a testament to a time Erik which he could forget.
At first, his financial support was Erik's way of making reparations. After all, it was his fault the Opera had nearly been destroyed by fire that night so long ago. Originally, the money had been sent anonymously…but as time passed and people forgot of his existence, Erik felt comfortable attaching his name to the donation. Only once or twice had his continued patronage been questioned…each time he was able to pass himself off as a relative of himself…a younger, very similar looking man.
The only problem was his blasted mask.
Fifty years or so into his benefaction, he was forced to begin hiring accountants to handle his affairs, lest he be recognized as the eternally youthful patron of the Paris Opera House.
Edwin was his newest hire, and while Erik had no particular opinion of the man on a personal level, he could not ignore the twinge of regret that shot through him as he realized it was only a matter of time before he would have to be rid of him…before Edwin became suspicious of his lack of aging.
Erik walked over to the large stained glass windows that nearly prevented any light from entering his music room-the only room he allowed himself to enjoy.
Snow had fallen, creating the illusion of a foamy sea surrounding his home. With no neighbors for miles, Erik could see out into the rolling Paris countryside, appreciating the scenery for its seemingly unchanging presence.
He closed his eyes, hoping to catch a moment of serenity.
Hoping to still the pounding of his ever-beating heart.
Hoping to experience just a second of pleasure.
Instead, he felt the same sensations as always…the painfully ebbing of hope…the staggering pain of loss…the despair that seemed to exist under his very skin.
Erik raised heavy lids to the gray and pink skies above the peaceful hills.
For the first time since he was a child, he felt a quiet prayer tumble from his lips before he could prevent it.
"Please," he said in a voice he did not recognize. "Please…"
It was two days before opening night.
Two days before her career would explode or completely fizzle.
"Mirabelle De Changy!" An impatient male voice boomed into the backstage area where Mimi was struggling with the satin ribbon of her ballet shoe.
She poked her head out from behind the thick velvet curtains. "Yes, Monsieur?" Mimi asked, still scrambling to tie the laces up her stocking-clad leg.
"Is missing every one of your entrances something I should be prepared to deal with during the actual performances, or just something you save solely to aggravate me?" Bernard Maylier, the distinguished conductor of the Paris Opera Houses' impressive orchestra pushed his glasses up higher on his thin nose, his neck and face red with the annoyance of having to stop the music to address Mimi.
"I'm sorry Sir," Mimi said, hurrying onto stage after finally placing the last knot in her laces.
"This is most unacceptable, Miss De Changy," Bernard continued. "You cannot expect the rehearsal to pause each time you have a costume change."
"I apologize," repeated Mimi, taking her place downstage. "I'm ready now."
"Marvelous," Bernard said sarcastically, lifting his ivory conducting rod slowly, causing each of the musicians to simultaneously lift their instruments in preparation for playing. "Now that the star of our show is fully clothed, it appears we shall begin again from the beginning of scene three."
Mimi blanched as she received several hateful stares from the musicians, who apparently sided with Bernard when it came to her continually late entrances.
The lights came down once again; the music began to swell around Mimi's body. She tried to ignore her feelings of shame over Bernard's condescension. She tried to forget how nearly everyone within the Paris Opera House had treated her poorly, no matter how well she performed.
She tried to forget that she was completely alone in an unfamiliar country.
Mimi's voice lilted and swelled along with the chords of the smooth-flowing aria she was determined to leave her mark with.
She put her entire soul into the melody…she allowed her body to move, making the tune seem as if it was actually a part of her, rather than an extension.
As the chords calmed, marking the end of the aria, Mimi's face was streaked with tears…with the pain of loneliness, with the desperation she felt to become successful…to carry on her family's heritage.
Finally, the music ended, leaving the gigantic stage silent save Mimi's heavy breathing.
Mimi could actually feel the awe radiating from all who heard the remarkable performance.
"Miss De Changy," Bernard spoke softly, breaking the silence. "That, my dear, was perfect."
Mimi smiled despite her tears. "Thank you, Monsieur," she said earnestly.
"Yes, well," Bernard cleared his throat, replacing his common, unaffected intonation. "Don't let it go to your head."
Mimi nodded and returned backstage, unable to suppress giddy laughter…
It had been her first compliment since she had arrived at the Paris Opera House nearly three months ago.
