Prologue

Mlle. Jeanette Ninon's Perfectly Dull Observations

"To fear death is nothing other than to think oneself wise when one is not. For it is to think one knows what one does not know. No one knows whether death may not even turn out to be the greatest blessings of human beings. And yet people fear it as if they knew for certain it is the greatest evil."

– Socrates

♪ ♪ ♪

If there was one thing Jeanette Ninon had learned in all her years as a servant, it was not to question her orders, no matter how bizarre they may be. Luckily, Jeanette's curiosity was rarely piqued. She was prompt, obedient, and polite, theoretically the quintessential maid. Some might have called her dull, possibly even boring. However, to Jeanette, being unwed and without a job was far worse than being considered boring. And so, she carried out her tasks, never once having to think twice about any of them.

The work was rather easy for a woman like Jeanette. At age thirty-two she had quite outgrown her imagination – not that she had had much of one to begin with. Growing up in a little gray house in a dreary neighborhood had rendered her quite bromidic.

Thus, Jeanette had obtained a position in the Castellaire household with little effort. At first there hadn't been a single problem. She had worked as a parlor maid, keeping the large manor almost frighteningly pristine. The tasks had been wearisome, but the pay was practically inspired. Jeanette couldn't possibly complain. Besides, any rational human being would chose to maintain a house rather than take up residence in the streets.

As a wealthy lawyer,M. Jacques Castellaire must have found an easy job in keeping his family, as well as his servants, clothed and fed. He was an excellent attorney, the father of two darling children, a faithful husband, and an active member of the church. And although he seemed somewhat unsure of himself at times, Jeanette had always thought him a good man.

When Jeanette had been introduced to Mme. Marfa Castellaire, she had wondered if the older woman had recently recovered from an illness. With her pale eyes watering and her pallor sickly, Mme. Castellaire – 'Madame' as Jeanette dutifully called her – looked terribly fragile. However, despite her wilted appearance, Madame was quite the matriarchal. Though never cruel to her servants, the woman gave imperious orders. Jeanette openly agreed with Madame, however. One had to be demanding when it came to running the Castellaire household, as many of the servants were not nearly as devoted to cleaning as Jeanette was.

However, Jeanette had to raise an eyebrow when Madame decided she was in need of a new lady's maid and was convinced that only a Russian would do. The former maid, a French woman by the name of Mme. Anouk Belmont, apparently had been rather disagreeable, according to Madame. Being of Russian decent, Madame had cursed herself for not hiring a maid from her homeland. Jeanette would have liked to have questioned this, but, being the dull human being that she was, the notion never occurred to her. Jeanette respected her employers' decisions and strictly forbid herself to question them, not even when Madame had hired her new maid – a young woman whose surname hardly seemed Russian to Jeanette. In truth, the only thing remotely Russian about the girl was the fact that her mother had been born and raised in the country.

From the snippets of gossip Jeanette had obtained from the rest of the staff, Sofiya Newton had been born to an English father and a Russian mother. The parents, however, had met in England and adored the country enough to want to raise a family there. Mlle. Newton had since then grown up, never once visiting her mother's homeland, and then traveled onward to France. Apparently, being of Russian decent was enough to satisfy Madame. Still, Jeanette could not conceal her astonishment when made the young woman's acquaintance.

With her blonde hair, fair skin, and glassy gray eyes, Sofiya Newton looked like an overgrown child's plaything. Oddly still, her voice was soft and tinkly like a small bell, exactly, Jeanette remarked, how one would expect a doll to sound, said toy was given a voice, of course, which was completely preposterous. In truth, Jeanette couldn't help but think Sofiya Newton something of an idiot. With that face and that voice it was only natural to assume that the child – Jeanette found difficulty in thinking of Sofiya as a woman – had a head as empty as a flowerpot, but Jeanette could not hold that against her. After all, being a maid required more obedience than intelligence.

Madame must have seen something in Sofiya, for the next thing Jeanette knew the child was doing the older woman's bidding, from styling hair to lacing up corsets. Sofiya tended to all of Mme. Castellaire's needs with allegiance that rivaled Jeanette. After Sofiya had lived under the Castellaire's roof for a month, Jeanette felt that there wasn't a task the girl would refuse.

The months dragged by, and Sofiya Newton stayed on in the Castellaire house, continuing to prove her worth at every chance she received. Jeanette still found herself pondering over the child from time to time. Not only were her doll-like face and questionable intelligence topics of interest; the girl's personality was intriguing as well. Sofiya was given to extreme bouts of garrulity when the conversation happened to sway in the direction of a subject she was well educated in – and, as ill fitting as it might seem, Sofiya proved to be erudite in many areas. Oddly, however, as talkative as she would be one moment, the next thing Jeanette knew, Sofiya would grow so quiet it was if she were a mute. The behavior was quite peculiar, but Jeanette didn't dwell on it least it should interfere with her work.

Before Jeanette knew it, two years had passed, and Mme. Marfa Castellaire passed with them. Despite the delicate condition of the woman, her death came as a shock. She had suffered through various illnesses during her lifetime. From the measles to diphtheria, Madame had overcome them all. In truth, Jeanette was quite certain that her employer had undergone every type of remedy known to man. Mme. Castellaire had several series of scars along her arms from where the physician's scarificator had scraped against her skin during phlebotomy treatments, her skin had become ashen from bloodletting procedures, and she looked much older than her thirty-six years. But despite surviving so many deadly sicknesses (and their equally deadly treatments) Madame had at last been taken from her family by a bout of pneumonia.

M. Castellaire had been devastated by the loss of his wife. At first Jeanette feared that he would turn to the bottle as a source of comfort, but she was consoled, albeit very slightly, when M. Castellaire took to hiding away in his office and speaking to no one. No one, Jeanette noted, except for Sofiya Newton. But M. Castellaire had loved his wife dearly, she told herself. He was merely seeking solace in Sofiya, thinking that the lady's maid had been closest with her mistress. Yes, Jeanette convinced herself, by speaking with Sofiya Newton for hours at a time, M. Castellaire was simply expressing his grief in the only way he knew how.

But if this was true, then why had the house suddenly fallen victim to hideous rumors that spoke of a relationship between M. Jacques Castellaire and Mlle. Sofiya Newton?

♪ ♪ ♪

Was that boring? Good! That means that Jeanette has been kept in character, which is quite a relief for me. Chapters should be longer (not to mention more interesting) in the future, this one was simply written so several of the main characters could be introduced and a bit of back-story could be told all in the one setting. Trust me, it's best to get this stuff out now instead of trying to make it known throughout the real story.

Notes

Marfa – it's a Russian name that literally means "mistress of the house." Rather fitting, I think.

Mme. Anouk Belmont – I didn't chose her first name because of the movie Chocolat, just so you know, though it would be perfectly understandable to think that, considering how much I enjoyed the film.

Scarificator – used during the Victorian era, this was basically a box containing small, sharp blades, and it was used to scratch a person's skin, causing them to bleed. Dunno about you guys, but I've always pictured it as looking like a miniature cheese grater.

Disclaimer: The novel, The Phantom of the Opera,and all of its characters and the like are property of Gaston Leroux. Any interesting and/or historical facts that may take place in this story are true, despite how implausible some of them may seem. All historical events, clothing, jargon, etc. are as accurate as they can be (because, as odd as it sounds, research is fun!).

A Simple Request from the Author

I would not like to have to take this story down and rewrite it again. Therefore, I am asking all of my readers to alert me at once if anything is historically inaccurate, anyone is out of character, words are improperly spelled, grammar isn't up to par, or if anything seems Mary-Sue-is, even in the slightest. Remember kids, praise may be nice and make the author feel good about him or herself, but constructive criticism is more helpful in the long run. Politeness is preferred, though you may be harsh if you like – sometimes a little severity is the only way to get the message across. But also take note that by merely writing "Dear God, you suck big time. You suck. Your characters suck. Your story sucks. My eyes are bleeding from how much it sucks. Don't write anymore, I beg you" you aren't helping me anymore than people who say "OMG! U rool i wanna marree u!11 erik n sofiya r teh ulteemate OTP!1one1!" are. So please, help me out, but be kind about it if you can.