The Phantom of the Opera: Chapter 2
Disclaimer: DC Comics owns "Teen Titans." Gaston Leroux owns the original story of "The Phantom of the Opera." Andrew Lloyd Webber owns the musical version. I own whatever I write/create. Don't steal and don't sue.
A/N: If some original characters in this story confuse you, please refer to my story "Book of Demons" for more information about them.
The premiere gala was nothing short of a resounding success. Paris was enchanted by the young soprano, Starfire. They cheered for every song she sang that night. They gave her a standing ovation for her incredible performance of the beautiful aria, but all those who had heard her sing agreed that there was no earthly praise high enough to give her.
When the opera ended and the house rang with the sounds of cheers, applause, and all other forms of praise, she burst into joyous tears, collapsing in the arms of her two friends Bumblebee and Terra. From his place sharing the box of Cyborg and Beast Boy, Robin rushed away to get to the stage before the curtain had fallen. Despite his best efforts, everywhere he went was flooded with people. As custom proclaimed they could, the frequent visitors to the Paris Opera House—the subscribers, they were called—were clambering about in every nook and cranny to chat with the singers, dancers, stagehands, and the managers.
Robin tried to push past the small crowd of people that rushed at him. They in turn shoved him aside in a mad rush to congratulate the managers, who had followed the young viscount from their box, on their discovery of Starfire. He dodged by the groups of men speaking in loud voices and promising to meet later to drink. Graciously he bowed to the clouds of young women he passed, but he did not slow his pace.
"Where is Mademoiselle Starfire?" he asked every person he could pull away from their conversation about the aforementioned diva. No one was certain where the young woman was. When he went away, they would laugh at him, the young man so obviously and completely spellbound. He bumped into Chaos and begged an answer, but she only said that the young woman needed to rest.
The answer, though less than truly informative, gave him direction enough. Robin made his way toward the dressing rooms, scanning the cracks along the seams of the doors for any sign of Starfire. After finding darkness in every place he looked, he came at last to the last dressing room at the end of a hall. It was one of the largest dressing rooms, reserved for the female lead of the current piece being performed.
Light poured out from under the door, and Robin heard faint murmuring through the door. He drew close, leaning as close as he could to the shut door without actually pressing his ear against the wood.
"I—I sang for you tonight." He instantly recognized Starfire's voice. It was a soft, nervous whisper laced with hope.
"No one has ever received a finer gift." The second voice was unfamiliar. It was just as soft as Starfire's whisper, but held a power that unaccountably drove needles into his skin. He could not tell if it was a man or a woman who spoke, but he instantly loathed the voice and its owner. "Heaven and its angels wept tonight."
"Then—you must have wept as well?" Starfire's gentle question was followed by a low chuckle from the other voice.
"It's growing late. Pray for your family, and when you return, I will sing for you." A moment later, the door was thrown open. Robin had to leap backwards to keep from being struck in the face. He briefly saw the young woman running away—still in costume—before she turned a corner. Scowling, he glanced about and strode into the dressing room.
He searched every nook and cranny, every dark corner of the lavishly furnished room. He crouched down to check under the desk and the table, kneeling down to look beneath the chairs. Hanging draperies and ornamental tapestries were moved aside in his search for the voice, which yielded less than nothing. No one was there.
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"So you worked in the junk business?"
"Scrap metal." Bumblebee and Terra laughed at the insistent protest. Beast Boy blushed darkly as Cyborg joined in their laughter. He cleared his throat and held his head high. "We made an excellent profit, but when we heard that the Paris Opera House was going up for sale, we couldn't resist such an opportunity."
"You came here for the money?" Bumblebee demanded.
"I'm staying because there's real beauty here," Cyborg said. He smiled at Bumblebee, who flushed prettily and smiled in return.
"Well, so am I!" Beast Boy said quickly. He grinned at Terra, whose returning smile made his cheeks burn. "And it's a good thing that there's something to keep me here. I've got a bigger dream than money."
"Oh, Lord, not this again," Cyborg groaned.
"What?" the other three asked—Beast Boy indignantly, and the young women curiously.
"He wants to—you tell them," the larger man muttered.
"I've heard about putting special engines inside carriages," Beast Boy explained. "They'd move the carriage around, and there'd be a way to steer and drive the carriage without horses."
"You want to make those?" Bumblebee asked.
"Not quite." He puffed his chest out and tugged importantly at the lapels of his jacket. "I'd like to put an engine in a bicycle. I'd call it—the moped!"
"That's the stupidest name I've ever heard," Cyborg and Bumblebee said in unison. Beast Boy slumped slightly.
"That sounds incredible!" Terra said excitedly. He immediately regained his confidence.
"What I'd really like to call it is the B-ped," he said. "You know—after it's creator?" Terra nodded in understanding, and Beast Boy grinned. He took in a breath to begin an in-depth explanation.
"Terra! Bumblebee!" He bit his tongue in surprise as Chaos strode toward the small group. The young women looked to their teacher, knowing that their immediate attention was required. "It's gotten late. Go and get Starfire." The young women nodded and scurried away. Feeling a blending of happiness and disappointment, the young men watched them go.
"Didn't you take her to her dressing room?" Cyborg asked.
"She'll have left there anyway," Chaos replied. "There's a place here that a person can pray for the soul of a deceased loved one. Starfire has two to pray for." She started to turn away, but paused. Abruptly, she held out a hand. Cyborg took hold of it with his living hand, feeling the strength of her grip as she laid her other hand over his and shook. "Congratulations, gentlemen. You've allowed a great talent to take wing." She walked away, vanishing amidst the people still milling about.
Beast Boy looked to Cyborg, but the older man shook his head. There was no need to speak of the strangeness they both clearly sensed.
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The room was filled with candles, but very few of the candles were lit. The braziers burning in the corridor beyond the door supplied most of the dim light in the room. Starfire picked up a small splinter of wood and held it in the fire of another candle. Guarding the tiny flame with her hand, she lit two other candles. When the candles were burning, she blew out the splinter and knelt down.
Every candle was accompanied by a piece of stone. On the stone was etched the name of a single person who had died. The stones did not speak of the cause of the person's death or when or where they died. Tombstones and their trite sayings and labels were left in the graveyards they belonged in. This room in the Paris Opera House was for simple prayers, and it was to give simple prayers that Starfire knelt with her head bowed and her eyes closed.
The two candles she had lit flickered and illuminated the names carved into the stones. The names were written in her native tongue. It had been no small feat, considering the duality of the script. There were tight angles that flowed immediately into gentle arcs all within the same character. The old man who carved all the memorial stones for the Opera House had balked at the request of keeping the names in such a strange script, instead suggesting that the names be translated to French.
At that time, still only five years old and still learning this foreign if lovely language, Starfire was barely able to comprehend the suggestion. When it was explained to her, she nearly burst into tears. The name of her sister could be translated to Blackfire, but her father's name had no equivalent beyond how the spoken name sounded. The request of an impossible task utterly boggled the young girl's mind.
A child's natural selfishness came into play as well to create her tears. Her family was gone, killed off by old age and sickness, and all she wanted was their memory to remain as she knew it. Tears rolling down her face, she had been led from the carver's shop. Sniffing mightily, the little girl had looked up at Chaos. The tall woman had wiped away her tears and promised to carve the stones herself.
With her prayers finished, Starfire looked at the stones, smiling at the perfectly written names. She lingered for a moment, savoring the coolness and the quiet of the small stone room.
"Starfire!" She started at the call of her name, recognizing the unified voices of her two friends. They appeared in the doorway, bright smiles on their faces. Terra scurried in first, kneeling down and taking Starfire's hands.
"You were wonderful!" she said. "I can't believe how good you were!"
"You were awful a few months ago," Bumblebee remarked.
"Stop that!" Terra said with a frown. Bumblebee smirked and laughed, and Terra's expression softened when she saw the humble smile on Starfire's face. She grew excited suddenly, squeezing Starfire's hands. "Who's been teaching you?"
"If they can turn you into a little angel in five months, just think of what they could do with Mademoiselle Bad Luck," Bumblebee muttered. They shared a quick, quiet giggle at the fitting nickname. Long ago, when they were still mere adolescents beginning to learn how to dance, there had been cautionary stories told by the older girls. These stories always involved Jinx and any person who dared to usurp or upstage her in any way. While there was no claiming of responsibility like the Opera Ghost was wont to do, the accidents and tragedies that befell these usurpers could logically be linked to Jinx.
"It is—appropriate—that you speak of angels," Starfire murmured. "Years ago, my father told my sister and I stories of the Angel of Music." She smiled the brightest smile that either of the young women had ever seen. "The Angel of Music has visited me." Silence followed this simple statement, broken only by the sound of the flickering candles.
"What?" Terra asked in a whisper. Before Starfire could answer, Bumblebee spoke up.
"Explain on the way," she said. "Madame Dolan wants you back upstairs." Truthfully, she was just as intrigued as Terra was by Starfire's proclamation. In much the same way, Terra was equally as driven to follow the command they had been given. They had been given their lives of relative luxury and real happiness by Chaos.
She had taken both girls from the streets and brought them to the Opera House, and they had instantly fallen in love with the great place and the professions therein. In return for their basic obedience during lessons and good behavior, Chaos let them essentially run free. Such an arrangement was more than agreeable, and they were happy to follow it. For that reason, they each took one of Starfire's arms and lifted her to her feet.
"Do you believe that it's the spirit of your father?" Terra asked.
"No," Starfire replied dreamily. "The Angel has a woman's voice."
"Your sister?" Bumblebee asked.
"No—my sister could not sing so beautifully." Starfire sighed wistfully, and her smile wavered. "My sister was not such a good friend as the Angel of Music is." Her smile regained its strength as she thought of her angel. Unsure of what to say, Terra and Bumblebee walked behind their friend in silence. The moment they stepped out of the stairway and onto the main floor of the Opera House, they were swarmed.
Scattered applause rang out amidst the cheers and cries for an encore performance. Bouquets and bottles of fine wine were extended to her, and more than one crazed fan cried out a marriage proposal. Starfire swallowed nervously, taking a step back. The crowd tried to move with her, but a black shape dropped down from the level above. Chaos stood to her full height, looking coolly at those gathered with her bright red eyes.
"Thank you, girls," she said over her shoulder. Terra and Bumblebee nodded automatically. "Come on, Starfire." She started forward and Starfire quickly drew close to her. The crowd parted, but the noise they produced did not cease. Starfire kept her eyes on the floor, wishing that she were alone with the ever-present Angel of Music once more.
The dressing room, once bare, was nigh overflowing with gifts from zealous fans. Starfire looked about, wide-eyed, at all the flowers, notes, and various items that had been given to her. Chaos closed the door after slipping inside behind Starfire. She smiled at the young woman.
"I know you've heard it a thousand times already," she said. "But you did very well. Tonight was a single performance—just a gala premiere for the new managers. We're going to start rehearsal for Il Muto tomorrow, and I have the pleasure of informing you that you'll be playing the part of the countess. I want you to get some rest."
"Oh," Starfire whispered. "I just—of course."
"You can stay here for a while. I understand." The words stopped Starfire short. She looked at the woman, all the more confused at the smile she received. A question was born in her mind from the words: what did she understand? What did she know? As if to answer those silent questions, Chaos said, "I'll send Terra and Bumblebee to get you when everyone's left. I doubt you want to be mobbed again." Starfire smiled in both relief and gratitude, nodding.
"Thank you." Chaos opened the door and slipped outside. The noise of the crowd beyond the doorway vanished with the faint click of the door closing. Starfire sat in the nearest chair, the perfume of the flowers dragging her eyelids down. As she sat, she thought wearily of her triumph. With her thoughts returned to music and song, she irrevocably thought again of the Angel of Music.
In that silent room, she prayed that the Angel would return and sing. Perhaps she would be kind enough to sing a lullaby. The idea made her smile. A small sound reached her ears, and she forced herself to open her eyes.
"Raven?" she asked aloud.
"Wrong bird, I'm afraid." Starfire gasped and stood up quickly. Robin strode in through the door, closing it quietly behind him. He grinned at her, holding a vase full of various flowers in his hands. "Surely you remember that?"
"What are you doing here?" Starfire demanded. "Who are you?"
"Robin," he replied with a laugh. "I suppose that pretty head of yours isn't one for names."
"I remember your name," Starfire said, crossing her arms and stepping away from him. "What I meant is who are you to come into my room without my permission?"
"An admirer," he said simply. "Mademoiselle, I insist that you join me for supper tonight."
"What? It's—" She looked at the small clock on the desk, taking another step away from him as he stepped toward her. "It's eight thirty-eight!"
"A late supper, then." He drew closer to her, and she found herself trapped against the wall next to the full-length mirror. "I simply won't take no for an answer."
"It is all you will receive." He laughed at her, turning to walk toward the door.
"I won't keep you out too late," he said. "Two minutes, little diva." He strode out of the room, leaving her staring incredulously at the closed door. Starfire shuddered and slowly crouched down, hugging herself tightly.
"Insolent boy!" Starfire looked about in a vain attempt to find the voice. It came from every direction. She slowly made her way to the center of the room, still looking about. "How dare he act that way!" Starfire whirled to look at the mirror. "Ignorant fool! What a loathsome wretch!"
"Raven," Starfire whispered. The dark echo of rage and hatred sent ice rushing in her veins. "Raven, please forgive me—I couldn't turn him away."
"No." The voice lost its edge, lowering to the soft murmur that Starfire cherished. It was more than enough to wipe away everything else and bring forth a small, hesitant smile on Starfire's face. "No. There's nothing to forgive. You did what you could." A long, unsure silence began. Time was passing all too quickly, and the viscount had only promised a bare two minutes. Starfire bowed her head, letting loose a wavering sigh that betrayed the tears she hid.
"If only you were here," she said. "If you were here, he couldn't say such things. If you were here, I would…I would go with you." The air in the room rippled, and the sound of the candles flickering was like a soft gasp.
"Would you?" So far in her own despair, Starfire did not hear the awed hope in the voice.
"Yes," she whispered. "If you could take me from here—there is nothing more I want than to go with you."
"Starfire." The urgent way the voice said her name made her worries fade away. "Look up. Look at your mirror. I'm here." She did as the voice begged of her, lifting her eyes to look into the mirror. A shadow—one that she had seen many times before in almost every mirror she looked into—appeared. The shadow's shape grew defined, light revealing the figure alongside Starfire's reflection.
A woman, just taller than Starfire, stood there. She was dressed in formal wear, a black suit cut to show her feminine body. An indigo cloak was wrapped round her shoulders, held up by a large broach set with a large, crimson stone. Her skin—what Starfire could see of it—was pale, and her hair was blue-black and long. Dark blue eyes looked out from behind a finely crafted white mask that covered most of her face. Her gaze was soft, as was the small smile on her face.
"Angel of Music—Raven." It was the same Angel she had seen in so many dreams before. The woman in the mirror held out her hand to Starfire.
"I am your Angel…
Come to me: Angel of Music…"
Her voice was low and sweet. Her song was entrancing and beautiful. Starfire began to walk forward, reaching out for the proffered hand.
"I am your Angel of Music…
Come to me: Angel of Music…"
Starfire smiled, laying her hand in the woman's. She continued on, following Raven down into the darkness past the mirror.
—to be continued—