Black Roses for Sorrow, Red Roses for Passion

Chapter 1 Julia Paine

Could the sky be any more the opposite of my mood?

A brilliant crystal blue was the sky, and hardly a cloud could be found gracing its pearly presence. Yet the soul of the debutante, one Julia Paine, skulking along the bustling streets of Paris, her feet shuffling to a rhythm of melodramatic sadness, was far from being as jovial as that of the blue celestial sphere that draped like a blanket above her. How ironic it is, she thought quietly as she shuffled, that the sky's color is blue signifying happiness, yet the feeling within her heart would be considered blue as well, signifying sorrow.

But now this feeling was too common within her moods that it was barely acknowledged anymore. In fact, the only feeling that constantly pressed into her mind was that of lack of feeling. Meaning, that inside she felt a part of her missing, or perhaps even, disappeared, leaving behind its empty, hollow multitude to consume her. She had to let this go, the need to move on from the endless wanderings and pursue a much more eminent, or maybe a standard life even, was pushing fiercely against her mind. She was simply tired of trying to fix all the things in her life that she couldn't avoid or attempt to change. There just wasn't enough time in a lifetime to squeeze that much in. No, that morning she had gotten out of her 20 franc bed that could barely fit a small child, opened the cracked and rusted window pane, breathed in the fresh crisp winter air of France, and decided that today would be the day she changed...the day she started her life over, and she hoped that this metamorphism would take her away from the horrors that, which now, haunted her to no end.

Staring at the empyrean of the crystalline blueness above her she noticed far off in the distance a slight movement. Misjudging it as a bird, she glanced away, but at a double take she noticed it took a much larger shape than a normal bird, and squinting against the harsh rays of the sun she pursued a closer look. But alas, as she preyed, it had vanished. Shaking her head and simply believing her mind was finally playing tricks on her in punishment for lack of nourishment, her gaze fell upon a breath taking building.

No...breath taking could not possibly do justice for the magnitude of gravity that weighted upon the right word. Thousands sprang into her mind such as picturesque, sensational, elating, glamorous even startling enough...romantic.

Taking on examples of Greek and Roman architecture, the grand columns that lined the forepart of the building loomed over her and gave the impression of great power and presence while being accommodated by the immense spacing of the marble steps that encompassed the entire entrance. The archways that lined the entire building were angled symmetrically and were identical on both sides which contained intricate stone patterns and arch angels either holding trumpets or horns, which to her seemed to signify victory. Symbols were pivotal when it came to art. For those were the secrets the painters, architects, musicians, etc, held out for their admirers and patrons. If one was truly clever or perhaps dedicated enough, one could pick up on these little 'secrets'. And that was what Julia devoted her life to: the arts and its many secrets. Walking slowly toward the edifice she noted the ribbon extremes and the sculptured gargoyles preserving a facade that seemed to say that only the worthy were considered of high enough esteem to enter the depths of mystery and the building's silence.

Catching a movement in her perephrial, she turned sharply to find a woman in a conspicuous and, well, interesting fashion. Catching the feeling of her throat once again, she spoke suddenly to her.

"Excusez moi madame?" (Excuse me, madame?)

"Oui, mademoiselle?" the woman stared in slight scorn but quickly hid it as she stared in mock interest at the stumbling young lady's fortune.

"Pardon, mais, quel est cela(Pardon, but, what is that?)

"C'est la opera populaire, mademoiselle." (That is the opera populaire miss)

And with that she turned on her extravagant heels and proceeded with her original musings.

Turning back toward the building, she looked at it with new found interest.

Opera huh? How much more art could you ask for?

Roof

Peering down from his usual perch on top of the opera roof, he watched as the usual scenes of life in his beloved France passed without a second thought as he hid deep within the shadows of the blanket of his opera. He was a phantom of the essence of art that breathed through the elder cracks and channels that left through the pores of the sorcerous palace and it was his domain to reign. He was deprived of the sweet wonders of life during the day due to his position, so he reveled it in the shadows away from wandering eyes and suspicious. His friends were the stationary gargoyles and angels that laced their way in the discipline of the products of human creativity. His life was the passion of art, its mingled eccentrics and endless wonders of awe and amazement.

Just then, settling out of his reverie, his gaze caught upon those of another. Not being able to judge appearance due to his altitude, he was merely able to determine a female and kept glancing slightly as she turned in confusion, but just as she turned back, he vanished as he was so professional of doing. For what would be the use of having a title such as phantom, if one did not have the ability to disappear as quickly as being seen?

Interesting, he thought to himself as he watched the young woman approach a much older madame while she stared at his opera house with intense interest...

Very interesting...