Many apologies for the unforgivable delay!

Stone me, mock me, tickle me! I deserve the headsman.

I know I hate it when an author doesn't post for ages.

The good news is that I am now a FREE WOMAN! (Dance of joy!) Graduation is this Wednesday, and I am stoked! I hope to be updating again more frequently now that school is (temporarily) over.

All shall now bow down before the greatness that is my beta fish, Allegratree, for she rules the universe. (Well, that may be taking it a touch too far, but she's still pretty neat!)

Chapter Twenty Seven: Humor

Leah

We had little time to tarry with our new acquaintance, for warm-ups loomed immanently.

Bidding M. Bouquet a pleasant farewell, I hurried to the dormitories with Christine in tow. Once inside our room, I threw one hasty glance in the general direction of the small, brass clock.

"Goodness gracious!" I exclaimed, vaguely proud of myself for having avoided profanity. There were only five minutes left until Madame's cane would fall with a crash on the stage floor to signal the start of stretches.

I flew to the squatty wardrobe, impatiently piling the necessary garments onto the bed next to me. Off came my blouse and skirt, my fingers unsteady on the invisible snaps of the closures. They were joined on the floor by my heavy chemise, as I would need a lighter one for practice. I now regretted having forgone my corset earlier that morning in favor of comfort.

Not only would its laces delay my efforts, I was cold as well. The air of nine o'clock in the morning was not much warmer than the air of six o'clock, when we had wakened. Wearing only my pantaloons and stockings, my chest was bare to the chill of the early spring morning. Goose pimples began to form on my naked flesh as I fumbled with the laces of my corset. Christine, sensing my hurry, deftly plucked the loosely ribbed garment from my hands.

"I'll help," she said simply, indicating that I was to attend to opening the fastenings of the light blue bodice that lay out on the bed.

A few moments of silence followed whilst we focused on our respective tasks. Christine's nimble fingers were first to finish, and she issued another short command.

"Arms up." She directed. Without thinking, I complied. It was only with my arms up in the air that I realized how foolish the scene was. We broke out into giggles simultaneously.

With the laces only loosened instead of completely removed, Christine was far too short to maneuver the article over my head.

Still laughing, I turned my back to her as she stood atop the bed. With a few short jerks on my laces and a few breaths lost, the vice was snug about my abdomen. It was followed by a light chemise, my bodice, and vibrant yellow tulle.

I swiftly gathered my hair into the net of an eggshell snood and gave the effect a hasty review before quitting the dormitories. Another fit of giggle ensued as I hoisted Christine onto my back and rushed out the door, nearly forgetting to lock it behind us. The foolish means of transportation would surely slow me down some, but I had grown used to our little ritual. With her lanky arms twisted around my neck and her chubby legs secured about my waist, Christine was feather light and gave my athletic legs very little trouble.

Her slight figure was a comfort to me, and even in our mad race downward my heart was thankful for her presence. I could never make up to her all that she had been for me. Or could I?

Throughout practice, my mind drifted back to her talk of angels.

Eric

I surveyed the snowfall that besieged me with utter despair.

Every surface in my home was blanketed in white. My cozy apartment had become a mockery of a wintry scene in my attempt to find the desired piece. Sheet music coated each surface like a plague of two toned frost.

I had left the irritation of the stables in favor of the comfort of my quarters. I found them to be much more conducive to thought, especially because of their lack of pungent stench. The last several hours had been consumed with pacing, growling, and gritting of teeth.

Had a stranger been present, they might have assumed me to be pondering a murder instead of considering a gift for a lonely child.

I had run through the normal packages one might send to a mourner. Letters of condolences, flowers, trinkets. None of them had the power to raise the spirits. I wanted to give her something to assuage the pain, not to remind her of her emptiness.

Frustrated, I acknowledged that I could only offer her one thing.

My music.

So few had ever heard it before, and my recent rejection did nothing to bolster my confidence. But she needed it. With a song, I could provide her with a precious illusion, a hope in the lie of a life beyond the present one. A falsehood, but it would give her some degree of peace. I knew in my heart (if indeed such an organ still resided in my mangled cadaver) that I had wanted that reassurance when I had been in her position.

To this day, I am still unsure as to just what possessed me to act as I did. Perhaps I was lonely. Perhaps I wanted an audience. Maybe I thought that it would ease my own pain to lessen the pain of another. It may have been that I was simply bored. Whatever my motivation, I refused to question it, pushing it into the back of my mind.

I held the simple lullaby in trembling fingers, anxious to see its effect on the little girl. Would she see through my disguise? Would she be frightened? Or merely laugh at the absurdity of it all?

I soon busied myself with setting the room to rights in an attempt to ignore the lingering doubts. Carefully, respectfully, I replaced the sheets of lined paper in their respective portfolios, inspecting each for any signs of damage due to my hurried search. One by one, the slim leather binders were returned to their proper shelves. After another few hours of labor, I stood back to admire the results of my effort.

The polished bookcases were once again filled with my work, each piece in its place. The sofa and the divan were free of clutter, their pillows once again plumped and inviting. The lamps were trimmed and glowing, reflecting off of the shiny surface of my new armchair, resplendent in its coal black leather. I eased my tired frame into its embrace, setting the pages of my composition on top of the dark mahogany end table at its side.

Unable to continue to consider the folly of my plan any longer, I stared into the crackling depths of the shale fireplace. My thoughts ambled through the various disjointed regions of my mind: painful memories, present sensations, and future plans.

Finaly, I perched upon an important scheme that had remained in its protective chrysalis for far too long. I had been plotting my little coup upon the management ever since that fateful night in the box. My box, I reminded myself, savoring the sweet flavor of ownership that I had missed for so long.

But despite my best attempts, I was still at a loss as to how I might go about such an endeavor. I couldn't very well just stroll into their office and demand that they turn over the keys to the theater, though the thought had crossed my mind. It would be rather simple.

I would merely discard my mask in their presence and they would think Beelzebub himself had descended upon them!

I chuckled morosely at the scene painted inside my mind. "The expressions on their faces would be priceless!" I thought drolly. I shook my head at my own ridiculousness. What would I do with out my sense of humor?

And slowly, ever so agonizingly slowly, it dawned upon me.

"Why not?" I asked myself aloud.

I had been called "Devil's Child" more than once. Demon spawn, diseased filth, damnation of God … Satan himself was little different.

Well, perhaps not that title. That was a little too strong, and brought with it a host of childhood memories that were much better left forgotten. But something sinister.

An inane grin began to materialize on my blessedly bare face, the imprisoning mask having been set aside long ago. What had Giry's twit called me? A ghost?

Besides, Polygany was a superstitious little bastard.

Author's notes:

I'm not sure about the speed at which I will be updating in the near future. Here's the thing. I've got two issues. (Well, I have quite a few mental issues, but I doubt you will find my insanities half as interesting my story's issues.) So here it is. Firstly, I'm just kind of having motivational issues. I have the basic plot of the first three fourths of the story mapped out, but I'm just feeling uninspired lately. I keep looking back over what I've written so far, and I am rather disgusted by it. I find new things wrong with it every time I read it. Perhaps that's all of my recent papers for school talking. I'm hoping that my laziness will go away once the trial of finals and graduation has ceased. We'll just have to wait and see.

The second problem isn't necessarily a problem per say, but it may hinder the progression of this story. I recently got a burst of inspiration for another story, one with a more original plot and characters. I have a lot of research to do, but I think it may be much better than this pitiful excuse for a story. I'm tentatively considering titling it "The Linen Road". Let's just say that it is EC and EOW, but at the same time, and definitely NOT the way you might think.

If anyone out there has some wise insight into the French language, I could use a little help with a small amount of translations for the new piece. Also, I am in need of someone who is knowledgeable when it comes to the Catholic religion. I am a Christian, but not a Catholic, and one of my main characters is Catholic, so I may need some pointers here and there.

I have discovered the word 'whilst'. Now that is an awesome word. Expect it to appear in my common vocabulary.

Yes, snaps on clothing are period. I checked. They weren't that different than metal snaps today.

Yes, corsets are period (worn more loosely that during the day I would hope!) under a ballerina's dancing outfit. Just how they managed it is quite beyond me though.

Responses:

Allegratree-I shall apply those as soon as I have a chance. The Tinita thing sounds MUCH better, thank you. I will head your wise advice and re-read that section of the book. I have been meaning to re-read the entire thing for a while now, because I want to go through it with my ink pen and my highlighter to read it criticaly and take notes. Your sugestion has motivated me. Thanks for everything! Much love. How did you fare in the hectic-ness of the move?

ALC-Thank you dearly for reviewing again. And I shall review that for you the first chance I get.

JPT- are you alright dear? This is the first time you haven't reviewed and I must say I'm a bit worried! Please tell me you are not in the hospital.