Hey all! I would really like more comments but I figured I just go ahead and post this to try and persuade you all to review. Alright, thanks guys!
-Olivia N.
He had been the subject of each conversation every day since the finding of his note; for a week straight the word Phantom was dancing on the lips of every person residing within the Opera Populaire. Despite her disbelief Raylan had listened to the strange tails of this opera ghost and added every little ridiculous superstition to the notes in her journal. They described him as sinister and hideous, a black figure reeling his death head, drawing you in with his music, into the depths of his underworld from which you never returned. All of it seemed rather silly to Raylan, but she had learned countless times over the past week that to voice this was firmly frowned upon. Several times she had said this, but it would only result in others trying desperately to prove her wrong. The dance instructor, this Madame Giry as she had quickly learned, seemed particularly interested in making Raylan a believer. Raylan had over time become tired of fighting them over it though, and so whenever they spoke of him she would remain silent, allowing her opinions to linger in her own mind. It was the day of the performance, and although every person was in a rush to finish Raylan's fellow seamstresses had somehow found the time to chat about their dear opera ghost. Raylan simply rolled her eyes and continued to stitch in silence, trying to ignore the conversation of the phantom's past that has been repeated for the hundredth time this week.
There was a polite tap on the costume department door. Madame Dacio growled furiously, muttering colorful and elaborate curses under her breath as the knock sounded. She practically threw her sowing needle down, the long thin strip of metal slicing through the air on its decent to the ground and barely missing someone's foot as it was imbedded into the rug. Her short, stubby legs carried her as fast as she could manage to the door, aged fingers wrapping about the frosty door knob and she ripped the door back. Her mouth had been poised to release a thunderous complaint but as soon as the knocker was in view that anger dissipated into retained irritation. "What is it Captain Dress?" Madame Dacio said through gritted teeth.
Outside the door stood a rather aged man, his heavy eyes blue suggesting being some place in his fifties. He had broad shoulders and an old fashion look to his image, the white hair and beard and plain tattered clothing. The only thing that looked particularly unusual was the enormous boot he had strapped onto his feet. His voice was husky and soft as he said, "Pardon me, Milady. I'm terribly sorry ta barge int. But, Vits is requestin' Miss Raylan. Twon't take but a moment. And Vits's is really irritated today, I'd rather not anger her anymore-if ya catch me drift." He sounded slightly worried.
Madame Dacio groaned and looked to Raylan, saying tersely, "Make it quick. We have work to do." Raylan nodded then and rose, carefully placing her things down before following the captain out the room.
On the walk there Captain Dres tried to make for small talk, but it was fairly short lived as Raylan's responses were rather short from the sudden rising nerves. Dres smiled at her though, a small comforting grin that offered support and kindness, "Tis alright lass. Vits ain't really that mad-at ya at least- ta Patron's a different story."
She nodded and smiled timidly, "I was hoping as much, but if she isn't mad at me, what does she want? It's not like her to call me out of work."
Dres shrugged, "Tis up ta her, Lass. I jest follow orders, ain't wise ta ask too many questions with Vits."
Raylan nodded and laughed gently, "This is true."
He nodded his head in agreement as they reached the stage. Once there he bowed gentlemanly and departed. Raylan had barely had time to look for Vits before her voice called out strong and demanding from the rafters above, "Raylan! You've got a visitor!" She glanced up to see Vits hanging upside down, her legs wrapped about a rafter as she fiddled with one of the wires meant to hold up the back drop. Vits gestured in the direction left of the stage before yelling warningly, "Make it quick. I don't need Dacio on my ass because you loitered!"
Raylan looked in the direction Vits had pointed, her breath turning instantly into a gasp of surprise. Her face curved into a broad grin, and suddenly she screeched, her voice ringing excitedly through the opera house, "Ethan!"
This man stood practically center stage in his ripped blue jeans and sleeveless white dirt stained shirt. His build was strong and wide, with broad shoulders and finely shaped muscles, his skin an even and delicious tan. He had a sculpted, angular face; with thin, quirky lips and stormy blue eyes to complete is roughly suave appearance. His hair was an oil black, wavy and wind tousled that barely stroked his shoulders. The people upon the stage eyed him curiously, the males with a look of envy or disgust while the females expressed an entirely different emotion. The females giggled and whispered about him, the ballerinas especially who continued to try and draw his eyes with a seductive sway of their hips, but never once did he look their way as his gaze was focused upon the young seamstress running at him full speed.
She ran to him, Ethan taking her into his large arms, engulfing her in a bear hug. His strong Southern tenor voice sounded joyous, "Well if it ain't my baby sister- damn girl, you really did make it here."
"Hey cowboy!" Raylan cried gleefully, burying her face into his shoulder length black hair, snuggling him roughly until her pushed her back, holding her out before him and looking her over skeptically.
"Hell girl, your skin an' bones," He laughed, taking her chin in his large hands gently, "What you been eatin'?"
"Not much," She laughed, pulling him towards her into another hug and wrapping her arms about his waist, "Lord Ethan, I can't believe you are here."
She released him, taking a step back to look at him fondly. A smile was plastered on both their faces, one that either suggested faked happiness or an over amount of excitement from being so long departed. When the crowds about them had finished eyeing the new male, Raylan's smile softened some as she questioned gently, "But really, Ethan, what are you doing here?"
Ethan looked into her eyes, his own conveying a deeper meaning that only they understood. "Just lookin' after you lil sis. You didn't think we'd let you have all the fun now did you? Momma and Poppa been worried as hell since you gone, they sent all our brothers over here to find you. They mostly went over towards England and Whales, thinkin' ya'd stick to higher society."
Her eyes had grown wide, and for a moment her mouth curved into a cunning grin, "Well- that should distract them for some time. I guess I'm not as detectable as I thought."
Ethan nodded, "Hopefully it will keep them busy. I take it you don't want to be found quite yet, lil sis. Your secret's safe with me."
Raylan nodded, "I know- but hey- just incase, you are going to keep an eye out for them right? I know our brothers can be rather persistent."
Ethan smiled his dazzling smile, several of the ballerinas still watching swooning as he did. His voice came out soft, but still completely significant, "I'll always keep an eye out for our brothers-and waylay them if necessary."
"See- this is why I love you," She laughed, pulling him once more into a sisterly embrace. She released him only once the hug began to turn from enjoyed to uncomfortable. "Oh," She grinned broadly and took a step back, "Ethan- I would like you to meet someone."
"Really?" His smile turned into a quirky grin, "This someone a female or a male?"
Raylan smirked, "Why do you care?"
He laughed, "Because as your brother- it's my job to know."
"Female- she's my room mate," She smiled and then turned her eyes towards the rafters, shouting up to her, "Vits come down here- I want you to meet some one."
Vits paused, still swearing. She called back in her rich, and colorful, baritone voice, "Can't you see I'm doing something!" She was still hanging upside down trying to fix the bleeding chains.
Raylan yelled back, she had learned how to respond to Vits over the past week, "You can spare a few seconds!"
Vits glared at her, and with a few grumbling curses, she shinnied down the ropes; similar to a sailor's climbing the rigging. She was almost like a graceful monkey as she swung down the ropes, and landed on the stage with a soft thud. She walked over to Raylan, a sway of irritation in her hips as she approached, "What the bloody hell do you want?"
Raylan in a much more pleasant voice gestured to Ethan, "Vits, this is my brother Ethan- come to visit me from America. Ethan, this is my room mate and stage director Vits."
Ethan extended an arm, offering a firm handshake to Vits, "Nice to meet ya ma'am."
Vits's handshake nearly crushed his hand. She had a firm grip beyond what any female was meant to have. She didn't say anything, but nodded instead, impatient to get back to work, and then on to the rest of her long list of things to get done before the night's performance.
"Wow," His face expressed delightful surprise, "Quite a handshake you got there. Well ma'am, suppose I should thank you for takin' care of my little sister- that was mighty fine of you."
Vits looked Raylan over as if she were looking over a cow to sell, "She earns her keep."
He nodded, "I have no doubt- but still- thanks for whatever you did." He grinned, that same flattering smile and then released her hand as he turned to face Raylan. "Well- I better be lettin' yall get back to your jobs. Wouldn't want to get you in too much trouble," His smile was tender and he cupped Raylan's chin in his hands, "Listen, I'm staying at the Cervantes Inn a few miles down the road from here. Come visit me some time- I'll be checkin' in on you in the next week or so."
Vits had quickly disappeared once he had said this, rudely not saying a polite goodbye before heading into the rafters again, working with those chains that she almost had finished.
Ethan had noticed this but instead of taking it offensively he simply laughed, "Well- she sure ain't the friendly one."
"No- she ain't," Raylan agreed, touching his hand lightly before releasing a despairing sigh, "I will visit you when I can. Until then," She pulled him into another embrace, whispering into his ears, "Stay safe."
"You stay safe too," He whispered back, only then releasing her and striding out of the opera house before any more words could be exchanged.
The Performance of Cosi fan Tuute had commenced that night, the hilarious comedy written by the most famous Mozart ending up being a smash hit. Carlotta had gotten several standing ovations, and Vits, who had sung under the original male lead, had been left alone which is exactly the way she wanted it. Time had passed since then, the Parisian clocks now chimed midnight, as Vits stood on the stage again, the lights still on from the previous performance. Her green eyes carefully and cautiously looked out over the empty auditorium. She was alone. With a sigh of relied Vits walked to center stage, and took a deep breath, collecting her thoughts for the moment. Then she reached inside herself. Vits's body moved with a graceful rhythm of a well practiced ballet dancer. However her experience dancing didn't stop at ballet, she knew nearly every form of dance, and used it freely often entwining several at once. Tonight she moved of triumph, her body spoke of success, of hard work paying off. To say she was astounding would be a gross understatement, Vits was amazing, and that just barely scratched the surface. Her dancing changed, its tone moving from an exciting triumph to pathetic failure, a down hill struggle against the unstoppable tide. She moved maintaining her exquisite grace and beauty. Though Vits held a man's body in everyway-including voice, she maintained a dancer's small elegant feet. Her feet were long and graceful, but still tiny. They almost looked too small to support her weight, and what Vits demanded of them. Yet they danced flawlessly, expressing the emotions she put through her movements, and they expressed them well. The dance went through the slow depression, slowly building speed as it spiraled downwards, pausing on the brink of destruction, only to flit back, and dance along the edge, daring fate to end the life. She tempted fate's decision, fate's control, through her movements. Then before fate had made up its mind entirely, Vits leaped back into triumph, throwing away her desperation, her pain, her losses. She seized fate's hesitation to leap away from the brink and triumph once more.
Within the aisles however, the shadowed figure of a woman was edging slowly along as to not disturb the performance. She had followed her room mate out of their quarters that night after faking sleep, curious as to the nocturnal habits of her companion. Raylan took a seat in one of the rows placed furthest away from the stage, leaning into the shadow of the dimly lit auditorium and propping her feat up on the back of the seat in front of her. In silent awe she watched her companion move, so graceful and exquisite- not at all what you would expect from the crude tom boy she was by day. To the residence of the Opera Populaire she was this foul mouthed, vicious and demanding male, but now in the solitude of darkness she was truly a woman- an astounding, beautiful and magical woman. She moved with such firing passion, bending the stage, the night, the audience to her will, and they all submitted to her beauty. It was like they were kissing Aphrodite's feet, her magical feet. Raylan felt a shortness of breath as she watched the emotion that only something truly amazing could provoke.
Dark eyes watched from the shadow of box five, from behind a cold and sculpted mask. His lips moved, counting the rhythm of his enchantment on the stage. The potential she held was beyond any mortal dreams, and she knew it. If only he could force-no, convince her to use it. She could become what Christine wanted, and so much more. The fame that Christine had wanted… his Christine. Christine…
His heart wretched with pain, his gloved hands wringing the arm rests of his box chair fretfully. Damn her; curse her for leaving him- leaving him again to this shadowed hell! But no, not curse. He could not wish harm upon her; he still loved his Angel of Music. He always would.
With a heavy sigh his attention returned the graceful figure dancing on the stage. She could be so much more than what she was, she could even out due her mother, the most famous Opera singer in Europe, and one of the greatest dancers. What baffled him was that she had no desire. She knew she could so easily prove everyone's preconceived notions of her, but she refused. Instead she danced in the dark of the night, alone. Why, was the question that rang through his mind, and echoed behind the mask through his eyes. Why did she dance when no one was watching, and remain so silent during the day? Why didn't she prove them all wrong? That she could out do them all, in a heartbeat, and permanently force Carlotta, the prima donna witch, into the quiet solitude of being washed-up as she deserved? Vits perplexed him; she had not the desire to achieve fame, as most that walked through the Opera Populaire's doors. She was content where she was, being the set director.
The creak of a chair down below drew the mask away from the hidden beauty on the stage. Someone had intruded upon his private performance. His eyes narrowed behind the mask, as he stood, to achieve a better view of the shadows in which the thief tried to hide. But, alas, the shadows were his, for he knew them all. It was the new girl. The seamstress. She would pay for her invasion of his moments with his prodigy. She would pay.
Raylan had taken no notice of the danger above, nor anything else in the room that was not an inch from Vits's feet. All her senses, all her attention was captivated in those steps, those steps that spun so perfectly and jumped to meet the air as gracefully as a bird taking flight. She consumed the room with her dance, seduced them into her feelings- her world. So many emotions hurled forward like a title wave, gradually building you up before crashing over you and drowning you in her emotional abyss. There were not enough words, not enough emotions to describe what she stirred in Raylan, feelings that Ray had long since buried and forgotten, only now Vits twisted these emotions with such expertise that they no longer seemed intolerable but instead something Ray desperately wished to feel again.
She clung to the magic Vits created, held tight like a child who had been departed from its parent for far too long. She never wished to let go, never desired to lose herself in that labyrinth she had hidden away in ever again but the most curious of feelings rang high and alarming above the others. An internal alarm struck her in her gut, distracting her from the magic and once more crushing her emotions away into their cells. It screamed in her ears, tightened in her chest and tensed every muscle- this emotion that viciously warned her that she was being watched.
He stood within the shadows of the thick velvet curtain of his private box. The stage lights reflected off the white of his mask as he watched the trespasser steal his moment. He observed her as she drank in the emotions that Vits so proudly displayed His scrutiny fell into completion, as he watched her body tense up. His impenetrable gaze broke through her ignorance of the rules. Vits was his alone beneath the shadow of the moon. She danced under his constant watch. This woman would pay for this trespass.
Raylan did not doubt this feeling, this awareness. She had learned long ago how great of an aspect it truly was- how someone like her could not afford to question these warnings. Her feet connected with the floor smoothly, her body rising with no detectable sound from the seat into a crouch behind the aisle before her, angling herself so that she squatted low enough so that her eyes were barely peering over the back cushion. Concealing herself in the shadow that the aisle provided her eyes searched thoroughly along the auditorium, along every row of seats and dark corners that her gaze could reach. When she had determined that the lower levels were clear she allowed her eyes to drift up, critically surveying the boxes mounted several feet above. She had nearly finished with no avail when she came upon Box Five, the supposed box that was to be kept for the Opera's most famous specter.
She had almost convinced herself to skip over it, saying that she would be proving that she was becoming as superstitious as the others if she examined that particular box, but she had given in to the temptation. Her breath had caught in her throat, her eyes squinting to determine that what she was seeing was not some light illusion. There was a white mask, illuminating through the darkness, watching her crouched form. She blinked several times, determined to believe it was her sleep deprived mind playing tricks on her, but when the mask had not vanished she stared dumbly at it. Could it be? Could it truly be him? No, she would not be fooled so easily. She did not believe in ghosts, how many times did she have to say it before these damned believers would stop trying to prove to her that this phantom was real? Anger tightened in her stomach, her lips thinning into a harsh frown. Another trick, she thought bitterly, another someone trying to make a fool out of her. She had had just about enough of this game.
The eyes watched her, his mouth turning into a slow smile. He knew her how she felt about him. He knew that she refused to believe he existed. Foolish girl. It was time to convert the heathen. His voice rang out across the theater, his lips barely moving a muscle as he boomed, "How dare you interrupt my private performance with your pathetic attempts to hide from my sight. I live in the shadows Raylan. They are mine. You can't possibly use them against me." Vits, lost within her own world, continued her dance with no hint of hearing this.
Raylan froze, still and poised as a cat, her dark eyes keeping a steady gaze on the mask. Had he spoke her name? Truly it had to be someone she knew, someone who wished to frighten her with the ridiculous story of an opera ghost. One of the seamstresses? One of the stage hands? Madame Giry perhaps, she had seemed rather persistent to make Raylan believe. Keeping firm to this belief she remained in her place, her eyes keeping a criticizing glare upon the mask as she said softly, "I don't believe in ghosts."
"It would be wise for you to start," The words came from across the room, a dark nook that she had over looked.
Swiftly she diverted her gaze towards the voice, her eyes searching fretfully through the darkness. When she spoke though there was not fear in her voice but the soft hint of curiosity as she questioned, "Who are you? I refuse to believe in a phantom, but a man on the other hand."
"I am the Phantom of the Opera" The position of the voice changed again, to another box close to the stage. His eyes never left her though. Those cold hard eyes bored into her soul. "Phantom, man and Spirit," Again the words came from a different place. This time they came from right behind her, along with a chill that sent shivers down her spine.
Raylan spun about, only this time surprisingly launched to her feet, fists raised and poised to strike. Her chest was heaving from her rushed breaths, her heart pounding mercilessly in her ears. There was no one in that darkness behind her, her eyebrows creasing with confusion as her arms dropped back to her sides. Her voice was slightly wavered but still strong as she muttered, "Whoever you are, your tricks will not work- you don't frighten me."
His laughter rang out across the theater. It was an unnerving laughter of someone having just gotten the reaction that they wanted. "That's what they all told me, until they found my lasso strangling the life from their necks. Their beliefs changed as they took their dying breaths," The voice returned to box five then as it spoke with a dark threat.
Strangely a smirk crawled over her lips as she turned back to face box five, her eyes lying gently upon the white mask that still lingered above. Her voice was surprisingly soft and significant, suggesting much hidden meaning beneath her words as she said, "If you are the phantom of the opera, and take pleasure in knowing the people of your opera house, then you will soon discover Monsieur that death does not frighten me. Of all things, I would welcome death."
"There are punishments worse than death," He responded in a quiet tone that carried across the theater, and spoke volumes of threats.
She nodded, and once again her tone held some significance to it, "Indeed- there are." Her gaze dropped from him then, staring absently at the shadow that box five displayed across the wall. Her eyes were distant only for a moment before she drew herself from the turmoil of her mind to stare once again curiously at the mask in the shadows. "Ghost or man? Show me one and I will do my best to believe," Her tone was actually one of a demand and not a request.
"I am both and I am neither," His voice was tart. He didn't like ultimatums, especially from some thoughtless girl. Still, he had no time to indulge this seamstress. Vits performance had ended and she had silently slipped from the stage, leaving the two of them to quarrel, but he had to deliver a message to his prodigy, not remain questioning this imprudent female. With an elegant swirl of his cloak, the Phantom of the Opera disappeared into nights shadows. The darkness closed around the solitary inquirer, the candles died as the night's chill whistled through the empty, haunted auditorium. Many questions were still left on Raylan's lips. Those questions still unanswered. She would have to wait.