Ok, the chapter title is a shameless self promotion on a duet I wrote a while ago. I'm just a terrible person like that. Any who, here's the excerpt:

…A moment in the arms I adore
We'll fly away to distant shores
To a world I never noticed

Now life's not such a chore
Each day is something to explore
The world is alive in brilliant color…

There's a lot more to it, but I'm not that shameless. Any who, since you were good readers and put up with that without breaking out the rotten vegetables, you get a longer chapter. Woot.

Chapter Twenty Nine: A Moment in Your Arms

Leah

"Now?"

"No! Keep them closed just a little longer. We're almost there." A faint smile shone through my voice.

Orpheus's final curtain had fallen just the night before. As I lead Christine up to the attic by Wednesday morning's light, I tried to put everything behind me and focus on the present.

Before I had the chance to think about anything else, we arrived at the dark stained door. It still gleamed slightly from the last time I had polished it, and I was thankful for all the effort I had employed to oil the monster. It swung open silently, much to my satisfaction.

The room itself seemed to hold its breath in anticipation. Light poured in from the circular windows, gentle and warm, tenderly stroking every surface. It was nearly ten o'clock, and the sun seemed to send its approval for my plan in every ray that played upon the ceiling.

Tensely, I removed my arm from around Christine's slim little shoulders before speaking.

"Alright, you can open them."

With the hasty excitement that only a child of seven could have mustered, her eyes fluttered open. I leaned forward, trying to discern her reaction.

For an instant, she simply stared at my gift, her face blank of any emotion. Only her eyelids gave any hint of movement, growing abnormally wide. If anything, she appeared a bit puzzled.

I could take no more. I sought to explain, lest she misunderstand it somehow.

"Tina, I wanted you to have something to remind you of your father …" I stammered, unsure of exactly what to say. "And you said that you missed going to church with him. It's a chapel just for us … do you like it?"

She attacked me with the force of a storm on the sea, squeezing my abdomen with a surprising strength. The wind was knocked out of me, making a curious counterpoint to the soft swish of her flying skirts, the only other sound in the room.

Well, for a moment at least.

She let out a toe-curling squeal of joy, and I immediately decided that she was a natural coloratura.

"Oh thank you Leah!" She began to bounce with unadulterated delight. "Thank-you-thank-you-thank-you-thank-you!"

Her exultations unexpectedly knocked both of us off balance, and we fell to the floor in a heap of skirts and petticoats and legs. Her arms were still wrapped around me, though with a less fearsome grip. My snood clung to my hair with only a handful of its numerous pins still attached.

With one look at the disarray of each other's faces, we both burst out into unquenchable laughter. The hilarity of the situation continued to evoke our hysterics for several minutes without ceasing. I began to double over as an acute pain began to throb in my side from the exertion. I attempted to calm myself, but was utterly foiled in the endeavor when Tina let out a monstrous snort.

After what seemed an eternity, we collapsed together, spent and happy. As I leaned against the cool, bumpy surface of the attic wall, I removed my snood. Free of their torturous prison, my tresses settled around us and pooled on the cheap pine floor like a muddy waterfall. Tina settled into my lap with a comfortable grunt, and I snuggled her closer in my arms. We sat there for nearly an hour, talking of many things in quiet voices.

I still look back on those days as some of my happiest, when we were young and carefree.

Eric

He refused to be still!

The damnable man was in a state of perpetual motion. I stalked him from inside the passages of his own creation, waiting for a moment to pounce. The man owed me a debt, and I intended to collect it before the night was full.

His travels took him from one end of the opera house to the other. He stopped every so often to put his head in a door and converse a moment, but for the most part he focused on his duties.

"At least I have one employee who does his job." I thought absently.

Having finished repairing a broken door knob in one of the many prop rooms while skillfully dodging the comings and goings of the other personnel, Bonar Giry was now leading me up a flight of stairs.

"What is he doing here?" I wondered, halting as my passage ended just outside of an unused attic space.

Bonar listened intently outside the door whilst my frustration increased. Not only did he refuse me the chance to contact him with his never ending momentum, now he ventured into an area that I could not! With a faint smile above his squarely trimmed beard, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Odd, I could have sworn that door hadn't been oiled for years.

Much to the relief of my ever curious nature, he did not shut it behind him. I had a poor view, but it would suffice for the moment. He turned to address the wall to his right, just beyond my line of sight.

"Hello girls!" He exclaimed with an almost fatherly affection.

"Papa Giry!" Came a childish squeak of warm surprise.

I was a bit surprised myself. Not by the affection of a young girl, who embraced him despite the fact that she was obviously not one of his own. That sort of thing would have solicited absolutely no reaction at all from anyone who had spent five minutes in the man's company. His wife's position as head ballet mistress seemed to grant him a guaranteed familial bond with everything that pranced about in toe shoes. Indeed, 'Papa Giry', as his moniker suggested, was a paternal figure to all in the Populaire.

My surprise was for the little body that propelled itself into his open arms.

Christine. 'The weeping girl', as I had mentally christened her.

I still felt lingering traces of attachment to the child, remnants of her first night here. I felt a twinge of irritation slide up next to my sympathy. It had been so long since I had indulged in such deep emotions towards another human being. Why did she affect me so?

I hurriedly buried the thought. I did not care to probe it any deeper, lest it provide an answer to my question. It would be best to cleanly sever all such sentiments for her as quickly as I could. Life had taught me that I was treading in dangerous water by allowing my sympathy to run rampant. I would give her a song, as I had resolved earlier in the week. That would give her some measure of comfort and free me of this irrational need to console her.

"Tonight," I decided firmly. "I will go to her tonight."

I drummed my fingers on the rough wool of my trousers as I waited for the two girls to leave. Bonar exchanged the usual greetings with them both and remarked on the ceiling. I strained to see what he found so unique.

A mural of angels now adorned the chalky plaster. The shading was shoddy at best, and the perspective clearly lacked skill, but some of the detail was quite exquisite. It vaguely reminded me of the angels of the Italian renaissance, but mixed with another influence that I couldn't quite put my finger on. Spanish perhaps?

It mattered little, as the children had finally left us alone. Bonar stood still, an unusual occurrence for the head of the matinence staff, and examined the painting with an air of near parental pride.

Perhaps today I would finally manage to startle the man today.

Leah

After Tio Giry (I could never quite bring myself to call any man father) had said goodbye, Tina and I sought out the dormitories in the empty quiet of the theater during break. Most of the girls had left the night before, bound for home and the welcoming arms of their families.

None of them would ever truly grasp the magnitude of that blessing.

Even Christine would soon be gone, leaving tomorrow morning for her guardian's flat. Tina often spoke fondly of this Mama Valerius. Her husband, a minor nobility of some sort, had given Gustave Daae his patronage and had given Tina professional voice lessons. His wife had indulged her with an excellent ballet tutor, doting on the girl as if Tina were the daughter she never had.

I closed the door of our little room behind me before I asked her, "Tina, why did you join the corps?"

"What?"

"I mean, why didn't you audition for the chorus? I've heard you sing, and your voice is further along than your feet. Why didn't you keep singing?"

"Well that's not fair! You have heard me sing, but I've never heard you!"

I smiled at her silly attempt to avoid the question.

"I will sing you to sleep sometime. But I don't think you'll ask me to do it more than once."

"I don't think so."

"Nos Verrons, Tinita. But you still haven't answered my question. Why did you stop singing?"

She gave me a sad little smile, and a soft sigh accompanied her answer. "My music was Papa's. And his music was mine. Oh, that didn't come out right. Do you understand?" She gazed up hopefully at me.

"I think so, hermana. I think so." Jealousy once again streaked through my body. How often I had wished that my family would share my passion!

True, Abuela had taught me to sing. She tried to teach me at least. A faint warmth ghosted across my aching breast at the humorous memory.

But no one, not even Henry, enjoyed dance. It had been the one thing that none of them understood. Ironically, it was the very thing that separated me from them.

Just then, Beth and Meg burst into the room.

"Leah! What are you doing?" Cried Beth with a tone of utter dismay, holding a small bouquet of white daisies.

"What do you mean 'what am I doing'?" I asked, completely mystified. She set the daisies in the cracked pitcher on my washstand.

"Don't you know what time it is?" Piped little Meg, her clothing disheveled from their apparent haste to reach me.

"Of course I know what time it is. I can tell time you know." I glanced over at our brass clock. "Its two forty-six in the afternoon. Is that the reason you came running in here? To make sure that I can still tell time?"

Christine giggled.

Meg goggled at me in a manner normally reserved for those possessing a fifth limb in the middle of their forehead.

"Did you forget what today is?" Exclaimed Beth.

Today … Wednesday … I had shown Christine the paintings, was there something else? A vague memory tickled the back of my consciousness, irritating me to no end. There was something, I knew there was som-

"The gala!" Meg nearly shrieked in impatience.

I gasped audibly. I had entirely forgotten about that! There was so little time to ready myself!

Beth, being the beautiful creature that she was, seemed to hear my unspoken alarm.

"Don't worry dear, we'll help you. You'll be a charming Señora when I'm through!" Her tongue clumsily tripped over the foreign title.

Beth had been attempting to learn a little of my native tongue in an effort to make me more at home. She had told me that she wanted to learn for academic reasons as well. At first I didn't believe that she, or anyone else for that matter, would truly wish to study the dialect. Hadn't my mother said that it was uncivilized and rude?

In the end, she had been forced to exhibit her collection of second hand books. Several were in Italian and English, she proudly pointed out to me. I had been surprised to learn that she was a great lover of languages, as well as books. She maintained that she was eager to add another language to her repertoire.

Could my mother have been mistaken? Or had she lied to me? But why? What ever her strange motivation had been, Beth was with me now. I had flushed with embarrassment and stammered something about my atrocious abilities with conjugation. And as she had seemed to be so earnest, I apologized and promised to try.

Apparently, I was not much of a teacher.

Despite her rush to disrobe me, I found myself amused by the mistake. "No Beth, I am not a Señora! I am not married yet."

All four of us shared a little laugh, even Beth, who was unbuttoning my lightly striped house dress. As the blue fabric began to loosen about my chest, I informed her that I was perfectly capable of undressing by myself.

Beth simply continued her attentions to the back of my dress.

"But you must admit, Señor, its much easier with a little help!" She bantered gaily.

I chortled in the back of my throat.

"You may be right, but I am most definitely not a man. It's Señorita, Beth. Señorita."

"Oh dear."

Later that evening…

The massive house loomed above us sternly.

Its windows were gaping, empty eyes. The harsh light poured out of them seemed to reproach me for daring to bare my lie to the world.

"Leah Iglesias is not a lie." I instructed myself firmly. "She is the only Leah that exists now. Leah de Castillo is dead. Just enjoy the life you are living and stop thinking about the past!"

My train of thought was broken when my delicate slipper began to slip on the long ascent to the mansion du Lulasa. The count's strong arm steadied my balance, and I smiled up at his considerate chivalry. He was quite handsome in his crisp suit and white gloves.

His cool, gentle eyes were an eggshell blue that shone out against the darkness of the night sky. The lamplight that streamed out of the imposing home illuminated his corn silk hair, which was pulled back into an elegant tail.

The sight was not hard on the eyes.

I kept reminding myself that this man was escorting me to my first dance. I, Leah, would attend a dance tonight! I vaguely wished that mama could see me, but immediately dismissed the thought. I would not allow the past to haunt the here and now. I was walking on air, my pale cream glove resting delicately atop his dark sleeve. The gesture was for decorum's sake as well as for support on the slippery granite steps that led up to the main house.

The slick state of the stone was due to a light rainstorm that had watered Paris late into the afternoon. It had begun only minutes after Beth had disrobed me, continuing until just an hour before the De Chaney carriage had arrived at the entrance to the Garnier. Beth had been right about one thing, I felt like a beautiful Señorita.

It had taken several hours of intense labor, quite a bit of lost breathing room, and a singed curl, but Beth was a sorceress. I could feel my partner's eyes lightly appraising me. For the first time, it felt like there was something to appraise.

My hair had been painstakingly curled with Beth's hot iron, which was routinely heated in the minute stove that occupied our room. Every strand was carefully arranged to perch atop my head in a deep chocolate sculpture. Some of Beth's daisies graced the intricate creation.

I was so glad that Abuela had an impeccable taste in clothing. She had sent something for every occasion in those hulking leather trunks, and this was no exception. The pale blue silk caressed my torso snugly, hugging my hips before flaring out for a full skirt. The fancy undergarments that brushed against my legs were hidden by a sea of fragile lace that swished faintly with every step. The neck line was rather low, a surprise when considering abuela's generally prim and proper attitude towards such things. My shoulders were barely covered by the ruffled sleeves. To finish the brilliant creation, the rest of Beth's flowers adorned my arms in woven ribbons and draped down my left hip.

I felt like a real Donna. No, tonight I was the queen herself.

It's hard to remember specific details of the night. The hours flew past me in a rush of color and light and sound. Only one sliver of the evening was clear.

I had been terrified when I heard the band take up a waltz tempo. I had no idea how to do this! I couldn't bear to humiliate Philippe by stepping on his toes. I had attempted to feign weariness, but the dear man had seen right through my falsehood. After discreetly prying the secret out of me, he had a tiny laugh at my expense. The look on my face stilled him at once, and he had offered me his arm despite my protests, promising to teach me. Mortified, I shuffled out onto the brilliantly lit dance floor behind him. I wanted to sink into the earth.

But Philippe soon stilled my foolish fears. After a few awkward revolutions, I began to catch on. Debonair as ever, he pulled me into the rhythm and closer to his body.

In that moment, time gave us a fraction of a pause. Everything simply ceased. There was no music, no laughter, no lights, no one else in the room. For that spit second, there was only the warm strength of his arm around me and his smiling face.

Time snapped back, and the night continued in the same joyous blur. It was very late when Philippe returned me to the Opera house, and lightly kissed my cheek before departing to his dark carriage. I felt like I could fly, tired, tongue tied, and happy.

I couldn't wait to tell the girls.

Eric

I felt strangely nervous.

It shouldn't have concerned me so. It was one little lullaby, one little spell for a child who still wanted badly to believe in magic and angels. The twittering of my inner organs was a sure sign that I had already allowed these emotions to continue for far too long. My feelings for the girl had only increased, and I had to end it before I put my self in danger.

Creeping quietly up to my newly devised hole, carefully peered out of Christine's bedroom wall. God had seen fit to favor me for once. She was alone, reading one of her roommate's leather bound books under the blankets of their bed.

It was now or never.

As softly as I was able, I began to hum the melody of the quiet tune. It took her a little while to perceive my gift, but at first she seemed nearly unfazed. A look of confusion was next, quickly replaced by one of suspicion, and followed by a bright glow of living hope. Her eyes grew wide with wonder as I finally painted the background of my melody with the colors of words.

All the winds are sleeping,
O're the sea at rest.

I had chosen this song for its slow, soothing tempo and swelling dynamics. Each line's crescendo and decrescendo was like the rippling waves of the sea. Little Christine stood like a statue as a grin eased its way into her sweet dimples. She was testing the waters of the music, touching her toes around the edges of my calming sea.

Cooling shadows of evening,
Fall from the soft gray west.

She took the first step into the salt water. Each held note swayed in the air like a gently rocking boat.

Luna hangs half hidden,
While above her head,

This song had originally been a duet, so I took the silky high note at the end of the phrase, stretching it and enjoying its flavor as I drew it out. It had been so long, years in fact, since I had had an audience. She was ankle deep now, obviously pleased and poised for an appearance of the divine in the mundane dormitories of the Garnier Opera House. I was savoring the sensation of holding an audience completely captive, having forgotten just how empowering it could be. I tenderly wrapped her naive mind in the deep comforting arms of the song. It was as if I was truly holding her, and not merely deluding her mind with my bittersweet gift.

Sails a cloud, a dreaming,
Over the watery bed.

Hanging the last note out in the air, I quieted gradually until no human ear could perceive my voice. Little Christine blinked endearingly, as if waking from a pleasant dream. She looked about expectantly. I should have left then and there.

"Angel? Is that you?" She barely whispered, her lips quivering with hope.

"Hello?" She seemed to reach on tiptoes for a hint of my voice.

I knew that I would regret this someday.

Leah

My exhausted legs were like wood stumps as they carried me up the narrow stairway.

The glorious gown was hiked up above my knees in a most unladylike fashion, but I was not about to ruin the heavenly thing. I arrived in the dormitories at long last and scanned under the doors for signs of light. I noiselessly passed Beth and Meg's room which was dark and silent, save the light snores of one young Giry sister. I paused at the threshold of my bedroom.

"That's odd." I thought to myself upon seeing the orange glow around the doorframe.

Perhaps Tina had stayed up to see me come back. That would be like her, the sweet child. I retrieved my key and unlocked the heavy door. Stepping in, I found my hermana standing in the middle of the small room. She was staring blankly at the ceiling with a look of abject elation.

Very strange.

"Tinita? What are you doing?"

She gave a little jump at the sound of my voice, obviously having been oblivious to the opened door.

"Leah! Ooh, you frightened me!" Her face was flushed, and her eyes were far, far away from the dormitories.

"I'm sorry hermana, I didn't mean to startle you so. What were you doing there?"

She glanced about, as though she was hiding a special secret. "It was the angel of music." She whispered in a tone of awe.

She must have been sleepwalking again, I decided. Relieved at finding her strange state to be no more than a dream, I began to undress. We idly chatted about the angel of music as I reluctantly replaced the gown in the armoire. She passionately denied having fallen asleep, and I let the topic fall whilst removing the wilting daisies from their various roosts. My hair begged to be free of the pins that dotted my tired head. I obliged eagerly.

At long last, I was free of my sadistic corset, and flopped unceremoniously on the bed. Wiggling over next to the wall, I motioned for the little insomniac to come and curl up with me. She came drowsily, puffing several times before managing to blow out the lamp before joining me. She fell against me like a limp sack. She huddled up against me with her back curved into the line of my stomach as I wedged my body inbetween the wall and an upright pillow. I supported my back with another pillow, and settled into a half sitting position. I cradled her tired head in the embrace of my arms, and she wrapped her little arms around one of mine.

Several minutes of warm silence passed before Tina spoke up in a small, sleepy voice.

"Leah, sing me to sleep?" You promised."

"I suppose I did." I resigned myself to do as she asked. I was not proud of my voice and I disliked singing for anyone but myself. "Let me think a moment."

"I think you'll like this Tina. Its something my grandmother used to sing for me."

I drew in a breath and began quietly, several steps lower than Abuela had used to sing it.

Pregúntale á las estrellas,
Si no de noche me ven llorar Tina's breathing began to grow more even.

Pregúntales si no busco,
Para adorarte la soledad

Her nodding head leaned deeper into my arm as I slowly rubbed her back.

Pregúntale al manso rio,
Si el llanto mio no vé correr,

I felt my own eyes grow heavy with the late hour and the earlier excitement.

Pregúntale á todo el mundo
Si no es profundo mi padecer.

I pulled the covers up over us both, and gave into my exauhsted body's desire for sleep.

Had I known who was watching, I might have been less eager to close my eyes.

Author's Notes:

Heads up guys! Next chapter is the big first meeting between Leah and a certain someone… I wonder who? I wanted to find an original way of introducing them, and I think I've succeeded. I guess you'll have to wait and tell me what you think. Tonight I'm feeling really generous, so I'll even hint at chapter thirty one. It's a big turning point, and Leah's whole world is going to be turned on its head in a way that NO ONE is going to figure out! Muah ha ha! The ants, they returneth!

According to my voice teacher (who studied opera professionally) coloratura is the formal name for the voice part of a first soprano. Some people have been confusing it with other musical terms, and I thought I oughta explain why Leah remarks that Christine is a coloratura.

The song 'Pregúntale a Las Estrellas' is a really beautiful Spanish song. Translated, it is called 'Go Ask It of the Stars'. This song will probably show up in several other chapters. I have only used the first part of it in this chapter, and here's the translation:

Go ask of the high stars gleaming,
If my tears fall not throughout the night.
Go ask if I seek not dreaming,
For thee till the dawn burns bright.
Go ask of the murmuring streamlet,
If my pale shadowy form goes by.
Go ask it of all creation,
If thou art not, love, my soul's one cry.

As for M Giry's name, Bonar is a French name that means 'the gentle one'. As a general rule, the names of characters in anything I write tend to have meanings that are important to the story. For instance, several people have asked me why 'my' Eric is spelled with a 'c' instead of a 'k'. There are two reasons, but one of them is the meaning behind each of the names. (I research these things WAY too thoroughly. :D) Erik means 'Ruler of the people', whereas Eric means 'ever powerful'. I thought the second one was more appropriate, and I hope you'll understand why by the end of the story.

Oh, and the song Eric sang is a really beautiful piece that a friend and I did as a duet this year.

Responses:

Fish: How is the puppy? I hope your computer heals. Much love as ever.

Avid: Yay, you're back. It must be my cooking… (she wanders off in the vague direction of the kitchen)

JPT: Well, I hope you enjoyed more of Eric's little coup. I hope the 'date' came off decently. And I agree about guessing, that's half the fun of any story. Don't worry, you'll be guessing till the very end.