:A/N: Good morning, dear readers! So, here are the good news: I know exactly how this is going to end, and I tell you, you'll LOVE it. Simply read on I promise next chapters will be on soon, 15 is already… ready.
:Disclaimer: I don't own POTO.
:Claimer: My Maxime, my Tatjana, my cook. You are allowed to steal the cook, but leave me the others!
:beta-read by: L-M-V-T
:Thanks to Lady-Miranda-Van-Tassel, Meg Giry, Robika, Madame Van Tassel and Incapability (for her great support and listening to my huge theories about what the heck to do with Christine):
:Far Cry:
: Chapter 14 : Paris At Night:
---For Raoul---
He slowly sat down on the chair, his eyes fixed on Antoinette's gracful figure. His head leaned to his right as if he'd hear more of her singing voice this way and his eyebrows formed a line of pure concentration. Nothing else reached Raoul that moment. He was in her class, watching her instructing the girls. There was no Paris, there were no other people.
He didn't hear the pointe noises on the wooden floor, didn't see the sun shining through the big windows of the Opera's biggest rehearsal room. He felt like there was no need for him to ever go someplace else. Desperately, he hoped for her to turn around, run towards him and kiss him. He'd just feel her in his arms again and never let go. But she wouldn't, and he knew it.
That morning, he had recieved a letter from her inviting him to join them for the next class:
Dear Monsieur Le Vicomte,
I daresay that I would be honestly pleased if you gave me the honor of coming to today's classes. We will rehearse a piece that will have its Premiere soon, and I hope you are just as excited as I am.
Greetings,
Mme Giry
She didn't want to get people suspicious about them not talking anymore, and so she would again put them into torture. He felt his heart wincing at the bare thought of her letter. Yes, it had hurt him very much to feel the cold of her words, so lost of any passion. Lost of the passion she had exclaimed days ago, entering the room, filling it with her smell.
"Girls, what does that turnout look like? How are you expecting hundrets of people looking at your dance, paying lots of money for this turnout?" She stepped next to Maxime, pushing her feet to a proper 180°. "THIS is what you have to dance like, no matter in what position!"
"But Madame, wouldn't it be-", Meg raised her voice. Obviously, Madame Giry didn't like people to object.
"It is the way it has to be," she said, her voice cold as ice. She stepped closer to her daughter, not lowering her voice at all. "Do you think Monsieur Le Vicomte will let you dance on his stage with that sloppy thing you call your ability?"
Raoul immediately froze and closed his eyes. The mere fact that she had spoken his name was already causing him goosebumbs, but adding to this sensation she had pronounced his name for the first time that day. And it was already the fourth class he was watching. He swallowed her voice deep into him as if to keep it until death, fearing it could have been the last time she had pronounced his name with her beautiful lips. How his chest ached!
After some seconds of silence, Raoul opened his eyes and found himself stared at by all present students.
"Monsieur?" Meg said, her eyes shining with hope. Raoul looked at Mme Giry to nod at her, but saw that she stared at her own feet.
Madame turned back. "Don't disturb class with such comments, daughter," she said, giving Meg an evil and angry look. "You are no use for ballet if your mouth is bigger than your extensions, which you could actually work on." Meg nodded pertinently, placing a leg on the barre.
To finally change the situation she had caused, Madame Giry turned to a girl standing next to Maxime. "Tatjana, would you come here for a second, please?"
Tatjana, a young girl who had just come from Russia, stepped into the middle of the room.
She was very talented indeed and could easily thieve Meg's Prima Ballerina position. Her turnout was amazing, but Madame actually liked her for how much she was like the young Antoinette who she had been once. Her eyes had the same expression Madame's eyes had had all those years ago, before her heart had broken into pieces after her wedding. Tatjana was so equal to Madame's taste of ballet that she simply –had- to put her eyes upon her and treat her with respect. Sometimes, even with more respect than her own daughter. But apparently, the two of them had no connections but ballet whatsoever, probably to Meg's benefit.
With a nod to the pianist, Madame whispered a "sorry" in Raoul's direction and then concentrated on the class.
While Tatjana danced around the room, three hearts broke into pieces. Meg felt how addicted her mother was. Madame saw her youth and easiness die. And Raoul felt that he was not the only backup Madame had in her life. She would possibly be taken good care of by this art, and so he decided he wouldn't be a great loss after all.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Raoul stood on a bridge in the middle of Paris, watching the Seine float underneath him and the stars shining above him. He felt deeply wounded by Antoinette's behaviour and how right she was about them.
They couldn't be together, and it tore him apart. He wanted to kiss her lips every day without fearing what others would think, he wanted to lie awake at night to watch her sleep, wanted to bring her croissants to bed in the morning. Oh how his heart was in pain. He wiped away the tears that were rolling down his eyes when he heard a voice.
But deep inside of him, he felt relieved from what the day had brought. He felt that she didn't need him to breathe and her only passion was art. 'She will survive, and that gives my life its total sense.'
"Monsieur, I think I could help you." A woman with a lot of make-up on her face stood next to him, smiling at him seductively. She touched his arm. "You wouldn't have to pay much, but this isn't an issue with you anyway. Look at all those clothes... I'd want to know if rich men felt differently."
He was appalled by this woman and stared at her. "Excuse me, Madame, but this isn't something I would do."
"What a pity. Hurt men are usually easy to get." She turned around and left.
Raoul thought about this woman for a couple of minutes, but no thought remained on his mind. They all floated away with the Seine, he felt so almost unbreakable peace, which could only be destroyed if life didn't give him the only wish he had left. And it wasn't to get Madame back.
Staring down at the water, he breathed out slowly.
He was finally able of letting go.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
