1Disclaimer: Still not mine...( Sighs)
A/N: Still short, but I like cliffhangers, so writing more would just screw up my story... Enjoy and review please.
"Wake up or you'll miss rehearsal!" piped a high pitched voice in my ear. As my eyes fluttered open, Meg's slightly freckled face, with bright green eyes were looking at me with great distress.
"Come on Christine." She said in a whining tone.
Sitting up, I saw that it was true. All of the dancers weren't in bed and I was the only one still in my bed gown. I ran my fingers through my messy brown curls.
"Don't worry I'll be ready in a moment, Meg. Go on without me."
When I had made it to the dance hall, everyone was already in their positions. Madame Giry looked at me with great disapproval. "It is very unprofessional to be late for practice, Miss Daae."
"I'm sorry Madame. It won't happen again."
She eyed me with great curiosity that I found to be quite awkward in this current situation. "Fine...take your position among the girls Christine. We are learning a new dance today, but first….business."
That last word got to me…business. I didn't know what she had meant by that, but I would soon find out.
"The Opera Ghost would like to make some adjustments to the dance corps. Luciana Gobaldi, you are hear by cut from the corps. I'm sorry, dear, and Geneva Reeve, you are cut as well. I am sorry."
Madame Giry had finished reading the note and slipped it into her sleeve. As the girls ran out of the room crying, my desire to know who this Opera Ghost character was growing by the second.
"Now ladies, we shall be dancing to..." I didn't hear anymore, I just couldn't concentrate. Would you have been able to? This person... this Opera ghost...I must know, I must find out...
"Excuse me, Madame?"
"Yes, Miss Daae, what is it?" Her gaze was as heavy as a fog in London.
"I…don't ... feel quite well; may I please go up and rest?" I tried my best to look frightfully ill.
Madame Giry just looked at me. In the Ballet, it wouldn't matter if you were bleeding out of the eyes; you would have to dance until the ballet mistress told you to stop. But surprisingly she said yes. I put my acting skills to the test and wobbled out of the room, arms around my stomach, constant moans escaping my lips. Once the door to the dance hall had closed I headed towards the only place I knew where to look. The Dressing room of that pampered Carlotta.