Author's Note: Sorry I couldn't publish for a while, my parents didn't allow me to use the computer for a while. Please forgive me for the delay in publishing.
Palais Garnier, Spring 1884
Emma LaRue eyed her friend Lucienne nervously. "It's after curfew. What do you want?" She glanced down the dark corridor that yawned before her, and a sudden dread started to creep into her chest. Emma shivered.
Lucienne shook out her elegant golden hair and said casually, "Oh, I'm sneaking into the kitchen to grab some sweets. It's going to be fine, Emma. It's not like there's a ghost stalking the Opera House or something… You don't believe in ghosts, do you?"
Emma gulped. "No, I don't! That kind of nonsense is ridiculous. It's just that these dark hallways gives me a really bad feeling… It feels like someone is watching us. I'm heading back to my room."
"Come on, Emma, don't be a silly goose." Lucienne grabbed Emma's arm and pulled Emma away from the dorm room entrance. "You're always so nervous. What are you even nervous about? Everyone else in this building is asleep, and there's no ghost or anything. Of course, a couple years ago, there was an incident… "
Terror seized Emma's heart, and her eyes widened. "W-w-what incident?"
Lucienne explained blithely, "Oh, three years ago, these mysterious events happened. The Swedish singer Christine Daae at one point vanished while she was singing. People say she was kidnapped. In addition, the Comte de Chagny was found dead on the shore of an underground lake, and his brother, the Vicomte, simply disappeared, never to be seen again. People assume he's dead… But don't worry, I've made the journey to the kitchen dozens of times already and nothing bad has ever happened to me. You want sweets too, don't you?" She crept through the passageways on tiptoe, still clutching Emma's arm, who was forced to follow her.
Emma felt a knot of fear twist in her stomach. People dying and vanishing?... Emma shook her head. What Lucienne heard was likely gossip from the other ballet rats, who were extremely superstitious. Emma doubted if a word of it was true, but she couldn't help but feel a creeping sense of dread.
They made their way through the many hallways of the Palais Garnier, eventually working their way to the outside of the kitchen door. Lucienne told Emma, "Wait for me here."
Then Lucienne slipped away into the darkness.
Emma considered making a run for it—after all, she didn't want to get caught raiding the opera kitchen—but she didn't know this section of the hallways well, and she would surely get lost. So she waited for Lucienne to return, with her golden curls and brilliant blue eyes and brave, daring personality.
Several minutes later, Lucienne reappeared with a basket tucked beneath her arm. "Let's go," she whispered, tiptoeing away. Emma trailed her closely.
They sneaked through the dark and silent corridors, treading carefully. They made it back up to their room without trouble, and when Emma was safely in her dorm room, she breathed a sigh of relief as she gently shut the door behind her.
Louis Durand peered at the narrow passageway before him. He thought he had spotted someone here… someone dressed in black, stalking the corridors long after curfew. How odd.
He had been above the great stage when he saw a flash of black on black in the periphery of his vision, and became curious as to why someone would be out and about after curfew. Louis himself had been preparing the props for the staging of Le Prophète tomorrow—he was a scene-shifter—and he had just finished when he saw the figure. He then hurried after the vague shadow, catching short glimpses of him before he disappeared from view. He was now deep in the cellars in pursuit of the figure about after curfew.
Louis leaned on a prop from the Le Roi de Lahore, breathing hard. He had been chasing the figure for quite a while now, and needed rest. He also needed time to think: why would someone retreat to the depths of the opera?
He had been contemplating for some time, so he was caught by surprise when something fell around his neck. Odd, he thought—until the cord-like substance tightened around his neck. Louis gasped for air, and struggled to loosen the noose with his fingers, but to no avail.
His desperate clawing slowed; his eyes bulged; his vision grew dimmer and blacker. Before the darkness overwhelmed him, Louis twisted his head—and saw two golden points. Stars… but there were no stars shining down in the cellars of the Opera House. They must be the eyes of a feral demon, the eyes of a nightmare...