Sorry about the error at the end of chapter one. There was supposed to be a dividing "" between the story and the end comments. And after I posted it I changed my name from SilverSaki to Little Shizuku. So, sorry. Here is the next installment.
Disclaimer: Some of the ideas, themes, and one of the characters are inspired by those of The Phantom of the Opera.
CHAPTER TWO:
Sir Ange
A cold moisture on her forehead finally stirred Lolita. Blearily, she opened her eyes. Her vision rapidly cleared up. There was a blob leaning over her, a blue blob, no, a person, a man. They were holding a cloth over her forehead. She heard other people murmuring things behind him, so he wasn't the only one present.
"Ah… What's happening?" Lolita mumbled, and suddenly her memory of the night before rushed back into her head. She jolted up, her eyes wide. "Where is he? Where did he go?" Now that she was alert, she took in her surroundings. The person who had held the cloth over her head was vested in a gilded blue suit, and he had golden hair that hung slightly over his face. His eyes were shining emeralds, like her own. He was crouched over her, and above him stood a small crowd of fancily dressed men and women.
"Madam Lolita? Are you feeling quite all right?" the blonde man asked, his eyes shining with concern. Feeling slightly embarrassed by her outburst, Lolita got to her feet. She bowed to the man, then, realizing women were meant to curtsy, she did that, too.
"I am quite all right, good sir. I was just curious as to if you or any other present would care to explain to me what is going on and what happened?" Lolita asked, unable to keep annoyance from her voice. She didn't much like being the center of attention, and she liked even less being crooned over by absolute strangers. She crossed her arms and proceeded to give each one of the people a nasty look.
"Ah, please Madam, do not take this the wrong way, for I, nor any of us, mean to insult. However, we knew that the new owner of this opera house had arrived in the night, but when we checked your quarters, you were not there. Worried, as any person would be, we searched and discovered you passed out on the floor here. We are all quite relieved you are well, Madam Lolita," the golden haired man said. Sweeping into a bow, he introduced himself. "I am the director of the operas that go on here, and these are my assistants and some of the singers. I am Sir Richard Brunswick." Lolita stifled the urge to snort, and instead said through a tight-lipped smile,
"My pleasure. Well, as should be evident, I am quite well, and if it is fine with all of you, I would be very happy if someone would escort me to my room, which I was unable to find." Lolita said. Perhaps the events of the night before had been but a fantasy in her head? An illusion created by fear and worry over this new home? Nervously, Lolita fumbled her fingers and realized she was holding something — a rose. Her blood went cold. It was not a dream.
So he was real. The strange one who everyone knew of and everyone feared existed after all. Lolita shivered at this thought, and her hand clenched down on the rose. A woman came through the crowd now and went right up to Lolita.
"Hello Madam. I am Clarissé Kemble, and I am pleased to make your acquaintance. I served your grandparents — may they rest in peace — when they lived here, and so I shall be your assistant as well. Please allow me to escort you to your room," the woman said, diving into a flowing curtsy. Lolita just nodded, and so Clarissé rose and began to weave her way through the crowd. Lolita figured she ought to say something to them, so as she began to make her leave, she called over her shoulder,
"Thank you all for your concern. I will do my best to keep the opera house as lively and successful as it was when it was the property of my grandparents." Hoping this was suitable, she hurried to catch up with Clarissé.
As she fell into stride with her, the woman glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone was following, and then smiled at Lolita.
"Well, they sure seemed quite interested in seeing you. They all heard about your parents… uh, 'situation' with the former owners of this place, and they wanted to see if you looked like you would be a good owner. Nosey bastards," Clarissé snorted. Realizing she had just swore, she quickly added, "Pardon me." Lolita laughed. She decided she already liked Clarissé.
"No, I don't care if you swear on one condition: you have to call me Lolita, and drop all formalities when it's just the two of us talking," Lolita grinned. Clarissé mirrored the gesture. The smile was very nice on her face, and it made the woman's blue eyes sparkle. Clarissé was, Lolita noticed, actually quite young. She had long blonde hair tied into a tight braid, and her figure was slender. Her face was still devoid of wrinkles.
"I was hoping I could call you Lolita," Clarissé said. "Madam is so stuffy. Your grandparents — or your grandsire, at any rate — didn't like all the formality either. Your grandmother, well, she was her own person. I was a little worried when I first saw you, because you look so like her. I've seen pictures of her when she was younger. She was actually very beautiful. It was the same kind of dark beauty you have. It's little wonder she was such a respected woman." Lolita grimaced. Again, a focus on looks. Her father had been plain — actually, he had had a rather awkwardly large nose — but he was the kindest man Lolita had known.
"I think society should look deeper than peoples' faces," Lolita muttered as Clarissé turned a corner. Clarissé abruptly froze, so quickly that Lolita walked right into her.
"What did you say?" Clarissé asked, her voice flat and cold. Lolita creased her brow, feeling slightly upset. Here she was, thinking Clarissé was a wonderful person, and now, with even the slightest mention of something that went against beauty, Clarissé was harsh. She sighed, and opened her mouth.
"I said, 'I think society should look deeper than peoples' faces.' I'm very sorry if you don't agree, but that is my personal opinion." Lolita kept her voice level, but she sensed some of her disappointment came out regardless. To her surprise, however, Clarissé laughed. It wasn't an honest, cheerful laugh, like Lolita's father's had been, or sinister, like the Phantom's laugh. It was melancholy, almost nostalgic.
"I'm sorry. It's just… I heard that before from someone else. The person who said it… Well, never mind. It's all in the past now." Clarissé's voice was so small and mourning that Lolita suddenly felt she might cry. What could possibly be so painful? Feeling guilty for upsetting Clarissé, Lolita put a comforting hand on her shoulder. Clarissé turned, and quickly smiled, but it wasn't as sincere as it had been earlier.
"Sorry. That has nothing to do with you," Clarissé said, her voice now a bit stronger. She turned around and continued down the hall. Lolita, feeling thoroughly awkward, stared at the candles as she walked in silence. The flames wiggled back and forth, their shadows jumping up and down the wall. They no longer seemed ominous as they had the night before; now, they merely seemed old fashioned.
"Tell me, Clarissé, why candles? Even in the slums, everyone has basic electricity. In the richer neighborhoods, I think most people have virtual reality, holographic projections, and solar lighting backed up by electricity." Lolita said, looking at the dripping wax from one candle. It was making a small puddle on the scarlet carpets. That would be a nightmare to get out.
"There are lots of reasons why we still use candles. One is that it's a tradition. Another is that…" Clarissé cast a shifty look around her, then leaned towards Lolita. "…the Phantom will have it no other way." Lolita shivered as she remembered him. He had had quite a presence, with his swirling black cape, and his shining eyes… She did not wish to find out what it would be like if those eyes shone with fury. Clarissé leaned back now, and brightened.
"Anyway, the reason that everyone excepts as most likely is that Sir Brunswick loves the drama. He's such a hopeless romantic," Clarissé snorted. Lolita looked up at her, raising an eyebrow.
"Brunswick? That blond man?" Lolita asked, as they turned a corner. They were now in a much shorter hallway, at the end of which was another staircase. Clarissé paused again.
"Your room is up those stairs. I'd prefer we discuss this all there, lest someone else hear us," Clarissé mumbled, motioning with her head to the doors that lined the hallway. Lolita looked down them. Probably, other people — maybe even Sir Brunswick himself —lived in those rooms. It would be bad for Clarissé and Lolita if those people heard them talking about them behind their backs. Lolita nodded.
Now that they weren't speaking, they went down the hallway much faster. The stairs spiraled upwards, and on every turn was a solitary flickering candle in a twisted iron holder. Lolita grimaced. What a pleasant sight to be greeted with every single morning, Lolita thought grimly. Clarissé paid them no heed, and when they got to the top of the stairs, she whipped out a huge metal key with a thick tassel hanging off the end. She slipped it in the keyhole, turned it, and opened the huge wood door.
"Madam Lolita," Clarissé said, a dramatic grin playing over her features, "welcome to your new home!"
Lolita walked through the doorway, and her jaw fell down. She meant to pick it back up, but her mind was pre-occupied taking in the room. It was enormous. A ceiling went flying upwards, so high that there was a balcony above looking down. Lolita made out a door — to the roof, perhaps? A chandelier with little bits of glass and gems of all colors hug from the top of the ceiling, casting faint shafts of light in all colors. Two windows as big as Lolita herself displayed a view of the city, and Lolita was once again reminded that she was in the modern world. Black curtains were tied to the edges of the windows, so she had no concerns about privacy. A ladder led up to the balcony, and beside it was a small writing desk and a plain wood chair. A huge wardrobe was in one corner of the room, and in the other was a canopy bed. Lolita ran over and examined the fine sheets. They were crisp and clean. She wanted to cry tears of joy. She had never realized how very wealthy her grandparents had been. With her newfound joy, she could not help but feel a pang of resentment as she thought of the abject poverty she had lived through when she was young. She was happy when she had food. Her grandparents were sleeping on silk when she was sleeping on trash. The tear that landed on the sheet was a mixture of emotions spilling out.
"Do you like it?" Clarissé's cut into Lolita's thoughts. She quickly wiped away the remainders of tears and turned to Clarissé.
"I love it. Absolutely love it." Lolita smiled wide. She sat down on the bed, crossing her legs under her. Clarissé stood there in the doorway.
"Oh! Please, sit. You may sit whenever you like with me…" Lolita added, as Clarissé gratefully sat beside her.
"Now, you were asking about Sir Richard Brunswick, were you not?" Clarissé asked, and with Lolita's encouraging nod, continued. "Well, he's the one responsible for the candles. Anyway, he's only twenty-two, but he's the one who directs all the operas. He's quite good. All his operas are a success. I was in a few. I want to be a great singer one day, but currently I only have minor roles, so I work as a maid to get more money." Clarissé's face was slightly melancholy and dreamy as she said this, but it went away when she went back to the subject of Brunswick.
"Sir Richard Brunswick. He's very popular with young ladies — little surprise, considering the way he looks. Not my type, really, but, ah well, to each his own, or in this case, her own. Although, I think Sir Brunswick would really go either way himself." Clarissé grinned wryly. Lolita turned her head to one side.
"What do you mean?" she asked. Clarissé chuckled.
"Nothing, nothing… Anyway, Brunswick is so popular that some have taken to calling him Sir Ange. I guess he looks kind of like the old paintings of angels, and when he wants to, he acts like one. Mind you, I think you deserve a warning. In formal meetings, or around women he may be interested in, he acts completely gentle, and calm, and all together loving. In those cases, I guess he fits the bill for a 'Sir Ange.' However, in practices for operas, he gets easily annoyed and is very strict. And he's a merciless ladies' man." Clarissé concluded, crossing her arms over her chest and nodding in agreement with herself. Lolita laughed.
"Oh dear. Well, I assure you, you have nothing to worry about with me. I shall be completely careful. Now, I am actually rather tired, and as it is getting late, I would like to go to sleep." Lolita said, gesturing to the window. Indeed, it was already dark out. She must have come too late in the day. How hard had she hit her head? She shrugged. Clarissé got up, stretching.
"I'll leave the key in the lock. You'll find nightclothes in that wardrobe. Good night." Clarissé said. She drew the curtains, curtsied, and left, shutting the door with a click behind her. Lolita rolled off the bed and hurried to the wardrobe. She flung the door open and her stomach reeled. Did she have to wear clothes this fancy everyday? Sighing, she fumbled through them until she found a green silk nightgown. This'll do. Lolita decided. She flung off her old clothes and slipped the nightgown on. She left the clothes in a heap on the floor. She could pick them up in the morning. As she through them, she noticed she was still clutching the rose. Slowly, she walked to the writing desk and placed it down. Satisfied, she strode to her bed. Every limb in her body ached with fatigue as Lolita though herself down, and within minutes she was far away in the land of dreams that only she could visit.
This one was longer, but it was still short. I'm still introducing characters and stuff, that's why… Anyway, Chapter three should be up soon. Until then, I remain —
—Little Shizuku
