"You're late, Madame Giry will not be happy" said the gray eyes which up till now she had discovered they belonged to Markus.
"And if I am? What importance is it to you?" she asked raising an eyebrow. He led her out of the car and walked her to the door, grabbing her wrist tightly. "Do not ever talk to me like that again child! You may have status but that doesn't mean you can get your way around here." Said Markus…eyes flaming…yet his face expressed no feeling.
"I do as I wish, not as commanded!" shouted Elizabeth, "especially not commanded by you" she said to herself mostly.
"You're late! Tardiness is not favorable in my students." Stated Madame Giry.
"I'm sorry Madame Giry." Was all Elizabeth muttered. Head hung in shame, eyes looking at the floor.
"Don't just stay there, you came her to glide on the floor…not to look at it!" said Madame Giry with a twinkle in her eyes.
From behind a curtain he watched, thinking to himself "I thought you did as you wished…not as commanded'. He laughed to himself, something quite rare. He watched her indeed glide on the floor; her moves were graceful…with some imperfections. For she had been taking lessons for a short time.
"Elizabeth" started M. Giry "I've told you time and time again, don't make your pirouette so fast!" scolded M. Giry "It will only mess up the rest of your routine, and possibly get your fellow ballerina's mixed up. Now then try it once more" said Madame Giry, regaining her patience.
Marie Giry, daughter of Meg Giry, had followed in both her mother and her grandmothers' footsteps at being the dance instructor of the Opera Populaire. She was in her mid thirties. And as both her mother and grandmother…had very little patience.
Within 45 minutes the class was over and Elizabeth was getting ready to leave. What an arduous lesson it had been!
"Mademoiselle" said those gray eyes with a bit of doubt in them "forgive me for the way I treated you earlier…it was wrong of me to do so." Said Markus forcing a small smile.
Elizabeth, raised an eyebrow, bit her lip, and decided to not keep the young man in front of her with an awaiting apology.
"I think I can find it in my heart to forgive you…" she said with a seductive smile. He was about to answer, but she walked away.
He shrugged. At least he was forgiven. Now, down once again he was to go to his dungeon of despair.
You see years ago when Markus was the mere stable boy he had wandered into the cellars of the opera house, in search of something unknown.
What he found was something not quite unknown, but feared.
He, had taught him the art of music, architecture, magic, composition, and seduction.
He had showed him every nook of the opera house. But he had also taught him hate.
Markus walked down the stairway on the garnier side of the opera house, but instead of going through the iron gate took a left and right behind a piece of advertisement for Faust he crawled through the space looked for the right block and pushed it so that he could get inside the dungeon. Then he jumped to the floor listened to make sure the block replaced itself and unlocked the door to his secret domain. He had left him all of his mother's belongings, even the organ; he had given Christine Daae's papers to Daroga, as a present for having saved his life that one time…many years before.
Markus walked toward the small table on the left of the organ and opened the drawer and lifted the cover of it, beneath it lay his work of art, his soul, his all. There lay the score to Don Juan Triumphant; Markus took it with trembling hands.
He would someday compose a piece that wonderful, that passionate.
…But who would he take as his muse…?
He must think and observe, so he decided to go behind the mirror in the ballet dormitories, and watch for who he would take as muse.
He stared long and hard at the young ladies and their unimportant gossip, but try as he might he couldn't even begin to choose. Yes, the girls were beautiful, but not head strong, or free willed, they were not what he was looking for.
Disappointed he walked back into his world.