All That Matters

Ok, this chapter will have quite a few mistakes in it because it is late an I am in a rush. Please be paitent and just take the story for what it is! Thank you!

All who have reviewed, thank you so much!

Chapter 2

I looked at the reflection that I used to call my face as it stared back at me dumfounded. There was no reaction in the left side of my face. A mixture of deep red, white and small patches of black etched over my features, or what was left of them. It was twice the size it should have been, or at least the outline of it was. Any part which wasn't severely burnt was pink and swollen, and very sore. It had a waxy, wet look to it, wrinkled yet felt like it was pulled too tight over the skin. My fingers rose to touch it gently, almost to make sure it was real, tracing the surface lightly, feeling blisters, and the dead pieces of matter that I used to call my flesh. I dared not touch the black and white parts at first, but I soon did, and much to my surprise, felt nothing. The whole time I touched that thing I never once felt pain on what looked like the worst parts. As I followed the pattern of Mother Nature's twisted idea of art I began to notice the more finer details. No eyebrows. No eye lashes. No nostril. Skin over the cheekbone and my eyelid so burnt they were barely open. Swollen pink lips that were too shiny to look real, with no definition to them at all. A black and deformed ear, the lobe and outlines charred, as it was touched it nearly fell off into my hand. I could only just blink. No expression. I hadn't tried to open my mouth and didn't know if I could or not. My neck, a bright pink which was just threatening me not to touch it. Half of me was normal, a few pink areas, yet the other side… I was hideous Bloodcurdling. Unrecognisable.

I was a monster.

It was late. The only reason I know that was because it was dark. Yet there were many people. In and out of the nearby hospital, trying to find relatives and friends. I placed my hand over my face, my palm sensing the heat that was still penetrating the underlying layers of flesh and muscle. I stumbled back to the hospital; they couldn't leave me like this, so ugly and deformed…

I fell on the steps, and instantly put both hands forward to break my fall. It was then that I noticed the rest of my injuries. The back of my hand, the same bright pink as my face, and although I had a long sleeved gown on, you could see the burns that promised that they had already travelled up my arm, the tail end of them already showing on my neck. I wanted to cry, I was in so much pain, although my ear had dulled since my new discovery. I couldn't hear much. But I did hear someone speaking to me.

"Please, Mademoiselle, have you seen my son, Marius Thierry? He was at the Opera, please, have you seen him…" I turned to face her, to tell her that I hadn't seen her son, to beg her for help. She saw my face. "Oh mon Dieu! Get back, leave me!" And with that she ran from me. Ran away from me. Not looking back. I wish that I could say that I felt really sorry for myself, but the pain was so unimaginable… I could think of nothing else. Before I knew it, there was a small crowd, each peering over the person in front's shoulder to catch a glimpse of my face and when they did, they would jump back in shock.

"What has happened to her?"

"What is it?"

"Is it a monster?"

"Look at her face…"

I sat there on those steps, listening to people talk about me, silently mouthing for someone to help me, trying to open my mouth to speak but not being able to. But suddenly, a new leash of desperation as the pain raced through my body, and I cried out,

"Somebody please, help me!" Barely able to hold myself up with my arms I watched as they leapt back in fear.

Then, after what seemed like a lifetime, an angel. A saint. Sent from Jesus himself. Bringing a white healing light with him.

SNAP!

The flash of the camera hurt my already sore eyes and flashed over my sensitive skin, feeling every ray of light that hit it. I couldn't bear to lift my head anymore, my neck was burnt at the back and causing me more pain than it was worth. I looked at my angel disguised as a man and asked again.

"Please, help me…"

Then I collapsed.

The next few days were a blur. I would wake up to see people crowded around my hospital bed, I recognised none of them but they claimed to recognise me. I slipped in and out of consciousness over the few days that past, waking now and again for a few moments. They would later tell me that I was suffering from shock; my heart had quickened and slowed down until it had stopped, fever, little blood circulation. All over the period of a few days.

I finally awoke fully, well, when I say fully I mean I didn't fall straight back into unconsciousness, on the fourth day after the 'accident' at the opera house. I opened my eyes groggily, as much as they would, and looked around my new surroundings. I was in a hospital. That's all I knew. And that the pain was still bad.

A door gently opened, and an older woman walked in, carrying bandages, tongs and a spray can.

"Oh, you're awake! You gave us all a scare, Miss Bouchard; you thought we'd lost you!" The nurse had a thick English accent which was easy on the ears. "I expect that you have a few questions?"

"Yes," I mumbled as the left side of my mouth wouldn't open, "Where am I, how did I get here, who are you…"

"Ssh Mademoiselle, please, calm yourself. You're in l'hôpital royal de Paris. A man, Jean Voisin was his name, a journalist. He found you on the steps of the hospital, and he brought you in. He's paid for all you're treatment, so please don't worry over the cost. My name is Rosemarie Warden, and I've have been appointed to look after you. You've been here for 4 days now." There was a pause.

"What does my face look like?" Rosemarie's face softened as she looked away from me. "Please tell me it was a dream. A horrible nightmare. Please…"

"Mademoiselle, I don't think that you are strong enough for so many questions. You must keep your strengths up." That's when I knew it was bad. I wanted to cry but I couldn't.

"The man, Jean, he had paid for everything? Why?" Rosemarie sighed heavily.

"He took pity on you. And also, his newspaper was failing. Everyone is interested in you, my dear, and he is telling the world about you."

"Because of my face."

"Pardon?"

"Because of my face. That's why they are interested. Isn't that so? Because I am so ugly…"

"Please, no more questions. I must change your bandages." So that's what I had on my face! "My dear, your wounds were slightly septic. Do you know what that means?"

"Yes. I do."

"Oh, alright. As a result, we have to change the bandages more than normal. With the burns been so… deep, a lot of liquid is produced, to try to help them heal. As a result, the bandages can… stick. This might hurt."

"It can't possibly cause anymore pain than what I'm in already."

How wrong was I.

The next few days passed. I was still in a great deal of pain. I found out that Armand was dead, and that Carolina still hadn't been found. The Opera Populaire had practically burnt to the ground that fateful night. A large number of people had been killed and many more injured, although they didn't have an exact amount, they estimated it at around 55 dead and more than 150 injured. But the amount of people, well, they couldn't even guess.

The next day I had a visit from the journalist, Jean Voisin. He wanted to know my story and all. I agreed, and the next day my face and story was headlined on every newspaper from Paris to Notre Dame. There were mixed reactions to my… injuries. So people were sorry for me, other's thought I was an abnormal and should have died that night. Some thought that it was a miracle from God, others that it was a punishment for all the sins I had committed. But it was the reaction from my parents that mattered to me most. Sat by my hospital bed, my mother could barely look at me as she told me that she's always love me. My father wouldn't look at me, than left the room, followed by my mother. They shouted a little too loud as they argued in the corridors, I couldn't help but overhear my father shout that I was a freak who he couldn't deal with anymore as he stormed out. He hasn't seen me since. My mother visits me when she can, but it isn't often. She loves my father more than me and will not give him up for anyone.

A few more days passed, more pain, more anguish. I lost the will to live. Until, a young doctor visited me one day, promising me a new face, the ability to hear again. I accepted, of course.

He made me a mask to cover my face on the way to the surgery. There were children around, and he didn't want me to scare them. The only thing was that it couldn't be plastic because of the risk it might stick to my face, even though it wasn't hot anymore. I don't know what it was made out of, but it didn't fully cover my face. My neck still showed slightly, which I found people staring at... and wondering what was behind the mask.

Which brings me to where I am now. Laid here, on this bed, dreaming of all that has happened before. Yet, someone's calling me… I can hear them…

"Mirabella? Can you hear me? Mirabella? Ah yes, here she is. She's awake everybody."

I felt weak and feeble after the chloroform. Horrible. I can hear people, whispering things. Someone says it too loudly…

"I can't see a difference."

"Neither can I…"

"Mirabella, Mirabella? I have repaired you're eardrum, you should be able to heard soon although it will be swollen. Your burns however…"

Oh no.

"…They are deeper than I first thought. The burn has gone right down to the subcutaneous tissue and in some places has touched the muscle, which is why you can't move some of the muscles in your face. When we first met, you told me that it didn't hurt to touch? That was because the burn was so severe; the heat had destroyed your nerve endings. They will come back, eventually, and when they do, it will hurt. A lot. The burns will leave scars. They will never heal."

Silence. A dull silence in my mind tries to put something together that I can say in my mind. But there's nothing.

"Mirabella? Do you understand what I am saying?"

I understand. I understand exactly. I am going to be a monster for the rest of my life. I will be the topic of everyone's jokes. The one who will be laughed and jeered at. Children will cry and women will hide their young eyes, hissing and cursing at me. Men will laugh and tell me how they would never marry me, not if I was the last object on earth. I will never find love. I will never have children. My own parents won't even look at me. I've lost my sister and my lover. I will hate myself until the day I die. I have been thrown into a life of loneliness and solitude. All because of a selfish man.

Opera Ghost, you will pay.

Ok, sinister I know. Let me know what you think!