Third chapter. There's not much to say, I'm afraid. No changes in here, either. I want to write as fast as I could to get the story started and get Erik in and such things…

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Gaston Leroux, his relatives, Andrew Lloyd Webber and Susan Kay. Tayce, Miguel, Marie Dubois, and the characters around them are mine.

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Somewhere in the merchants' Paris, late summer 1882

Well, I thought, Here I am. I looked at the bustling street lined with fancy shops. Around me, I could see oily shopkeepers watching for potential customers , small thieves nicking apples and bread, fine gentlemen in black coats and hats… I looked carefully at all the faces, but none of them were familiar, thankfully. Not that I thought any they would be, all of my earlier acquaintances were asleep at this hour, after a long night of dinners, dance, and for the men, most likely some hay-tumbling. The aristocratic habitation of Paris were not available in he mornings, they were people of the night, just as much as the thieves and whores. Everyone knew what light-shy business that went on behind closed doors, but no one talked about it. Not even my own class did, even though the rumours concerned them. Or my former class. I hardly suspected them to count me among themselves anymore. May be it, that many of them were loathsome creatures, many were still my friends, I belonged with them. I did belong with them, before I met Miguel. I shuddered. I was happy that I didn't meet anyone, since I had heard what everyone thought of me, my only choice would be to disappear completely. With a deep sigh, I picked up my back and stepped out of the shadows, preparing myself for the task at hand. I had to find a job. I really didn't know where to start, I had never had to do this before. I searched my mind. Where in heaven's name was it possible for a girl my age to work? In a shop, perhaps, as a shop assistant. I smiled grimly, as a small grocery store caught mind my eye, and I decided that I would start there.

"Excuse me, monsieur… Monsieur? Could I… Talk to you for a second?"
A livid blush stained my usually pale cheeks. I felt ridiculous.

"GET a grip on yourself!", I mentally reprimanded myself. If I couldn't even ask for a job, how would I ever get one? I resumed my tries, nudging the shopkeeper slightly. He turned to me, and I inwardly sighed with relief; his face was open and kind, and a friendly smile lit it and make his eyes twinkle.

"G'day, young mademoiselle! What can I do for you today?" I felt somewhat comforted by his kind nature, and took a deep breath.

" I was wondering if you have any work for me, monsieur?" I nearly groaned with irritation, how pathetic it sounded! A compassionate look entered his eyes.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, mademoiselle, but there's no work for a young lady such as yourself in a shop like this. You might wanna try at ol' lady Marie's. She's looking for a new maid, she told me just yesterday. A fine girl like yourself would surely get the job." He smiled at me, as I thanked him and started to walk away. I could feel his eyes boring into my back, and I wondered if he knew who I was. I hoped not.

My thoughts went back to what he had told me. A maid. I couldn't possibly work as a maid! I swallowed. I could. Working as a maid would probably be relatively easy, and I would get somewhere to live. It was actually a perfect place. I smiled, a new courage rising in me, and I went down the street in search of the home of "Ol' lady Marie".

I walked quickly, a tune humming inside me at the prospect of getting a job, however insulting. To think that I should work as a maid, when one instead should assist me was hard for me to accept. I, who actually had blood in me from both French and English nobles, was forced to act on someone command, the mere thought made me blush with shame. And then I blushed even more when I realised how extremely foolish I was .I had to wipe all that snobbish manner from my soul, or I would have to bear the pain of my lost pride when someone found out how I had been and told the world, and Miguel about it. He would gloat if he saw me assisting a lady, of the lesser nobility I as sure this Marie was, with her dressing, hair and baths. Very bad idea. Suddenly, the work prospect didn't seem as bright anymore. I was beginning to question my sanity in this question, perhaps everything would be easier if I just jumped into the Seine, and became a sacrifice for young betrayed noble females?

I almost giggled. To become a sacrifice of this kind, one had to be beautiful or very charming. I studied my reflection in a window. With my shockingly red hair, a heritage from my part English father, I was neither beautiful nor charming. I was cute, if one should exaggerate. My hair did give me quite an original look, and my pale skin, which I couldn't expose to any kind of sunshine without getting burned, was almost flawless. But my eyes were a dull green, my body neither elegant nor tempting. I was short, with a natural plumpness that made most dresses that weren't expertly sewn ill-fitting. Needless to say, I wasn't very proud of myself. My somewhat decent fortune was the only thing potential husbands had been looking for; I was no reputed beauty that men drooled after. I was intelligent; most people said when they met me. "But sadly, a brain is no use for a lady.", was what they added after they'd made their first statement. I was brought up to attract suitors, and to look pretty and to run a household. Not to become a scholar. My education in the academic area came mostly from my father. He had taught me economy, English, literature, biology, religion. I loved the power the knowledge came me. With my natural curiosity, I had no trouble in finding the books he thought too hard for a girl to read. Even my father was subject to the discriminating views about women. But he did treat me like an equal, not a stupid little girl. Perhaps that was why I loved him so much and missed him the most when my parents died. I loved my mother too, of course, she was an intelligent woman, but she had learned how to hide it. I can't remember exactly how many times she told me to leave the important business to the men, and learn to how to converse at dinner parties instead. I didn't want to. I learned every lesson my mother taught me because I had to. The lessons didn't make me a more attractive woman, or made the dresses fit better. I never felt like a real lady. Until now, when I lost the opportunity to be one. It was interesting, how we don't realize how much certain things mean to us until we lose it. Ironic.

So an eternity long bath in the Seine wasn't a very good idea. Truth to tell, I didn't even want to, hadn't even really considered the possibility. I did not want to die. I wanted to live; I wanted to show the world and myself that Miguel hadn't totally ruined my life. And I bloody well would. Courage, I whispered to myself, digging in my pocket for a coin to pay a guide. A somewhat clean girl, perhaps thirteen or fourteen years old, with the pinched look of someone who hasn't been eating properly for a long time, caught my attention, and I hurried towards her.

"Excuse me, I was wondering if you could show me the way to a Lady Marie?"

She looked up at me. Somewhere deep inside of me, it felt good to be taller than someone; since such a thing was very unusual. She only looked at me, and nodded when I showed her my coin. The girl started to walk down the street, her feet, dressed in heavy shoes made of wood, clapping against the stone. She took to the left in to a small, dirty street, apparently a shortcut, and got out again on a big, fancy avenue. Obviously, I had been wrong in my assumption that Lady Marie was a poor woman. The girl I had hired as my guide stopped outside a big, grey stone house, curtsied a little, and ran away. I didn't even have time to thank her.

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