Faust was opening that night, and the theater was caught up in a flurry of last-minute activities: final touch-ups on the scenery, checking and double checking the placement of every property, musical instruments well cleaned and tuned, lamps polished to gleaming, the marble stairs swept and scrubbed, railings dusted, food and drink prepared and awaiting the after-show reception, and Ang was at her little table with a pile of last minute alterations to set into place. The poorly set stitches seams created at the hands of some of the other girls had popped free, and it was up to her to set things aright before the curtain rose. Why the others couldn't be responsible for their own work, she didn't know; it must be another one of those annoying hierarchy things. So keeping her grumbling to herself, her aching fingers continued to set pleat after pleat, stitch after stitch, seam after seam.

"In my own little corner, in my own little chair…"

She sang softly under her breath and finished pressing another hem with the iron and hung the garment on the rack to be moved into place for the performance, then returned to her chair, grinning a little to herself. Moving around was so much easier now that she had two working legs and feet beneath her. While in her heart she knew exactly who her unnamed benefactor was who gifted her the prosthetic, she refused to voice it. He hadn't wanted her. All she'd asked of him was the tiniest bit of trust, and he couldn't even do that, as if he cornered the market on unhappy childhoods and lonely existences. It was fine; she didn't need him. She didn't need anyone.

Her chest clenched at that assertion, and she knew she was lying to herself. Even back home, she'd deluded herself into believing she was actually happy. She'd been alive, but that was it. Not really living, not thriving, just letting one day melt into another, then another, until her days were nothing but a string of un-events. And things weren't looking much better.

She missed Gus. She missed his jokes, his teasing, his checking in on her, reminding her to eat. Since their argument two weeks earlier, she'd seen little of him. She'd started half a dozen conversations with him, or attempted to start them, but each time, the words I'm sorry stuck in her throat and wouldn't come out, and Gus wasn't going to do her any favors by letting bygones be bygones.

A whistle echoed in the hall outside the costume rooms, and her heart skipped. Gus! Today was the day; today she was finally going to apologize for not trusting him - the very same thing she'd held against a certain underground ghost - and they would be thick as thieves just like before! Draping the gown across the table and securing the needle in a fold, she pushed from her chair and hurried to the doorway to catch him, only to run smack into a body just coming into the room. With a squeak, she scuffled backwards, her hand flying out to catch the doorframe just in time to save herself from toppling backwards.

"Sorry there, Angelique," the gruff voice rumbled.

Her eyes shot up to the face and her heart fell. Not Gus. The man who stood before her was tall and skinny except for the belly which proclaimed his fondness for ale. His hairline was already receding, and he wore his greasy hair long and pulled back in a grimy tail. His eyes were a dull, lusterless brown. His beard was scraggly and unkempt, patchy as if only half the surface area was capable of growing the wiry brown hair, and the skin of his face was heavily scarred after years of losing the battle against acne… or pox. Did they even have chicken pox? Small pox?

"...So?"

Shit! He'd been talking this entire time to her, and she'd been so wrapped up in criticizing how he looked that she'd totally missed everything he said to her. She mentally scolded herself for being so cruelly judgmental of his appearance. He might be the sweetest man in the entire theater for all she knew!

"I- I'm so sorry. I-" she stuttered.

"You'll come to the party with me tonight," he repeated, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe, effectively blocking her from leaving the costume shop.

"That's… that's really kind of you to invite me. But-"

"What? You got a better offer?"

Ang started, blinking hard. "Excuse me?"

"I figured no one would bother asking the cripple. But you've got a decent body, anyhow," he commented, letting his gaze freely drift over her form from face to boots and back up again.

Wow. So much for being the sweetest man in the theater. "Um, thank you for the invitation. I imagine I'll see you there anyway."

She pivoted smoothly and returned to her work station, tucking herself into the chair and bending over the stitches once more.

"Aw, come on, sweetling, let me show you a good time. We're smuggling a few bottles of the good stuff out. It'll be great fun," he cajoled, following her.

"I'm sure it will be. And I didn't say I wouldn't be going. I just…" Ang took half a second to pick her words carefully, "I don't intend to go with anyone in particular."

He snorted and came up behind her, clamping a hand on the table on either side of her, caging her in place. She could feel his breath on her neck and in her hair, and she waffled between wanting to throw up and wanting to elbow him in the gut. "I had my hopes set on you coming with me," his voice graveled behind her.

"Well, get used to disappointment," she parried, clenching her jaw. "Now if you don't mind, I have work to do."

"Nothing that can't be put off for a few minutes," and he nuzzled her hair with his nose and lips.

With her heart pounding against her chest like the wings of a panicked bird, she pinched the needle between her fingertips and brought it down hard into the back of his hand. He recoiled, yowling in pain, and in a single movement she shoved back in the chair, flinging it backwards into him, and raced for the door, vanishing down the hall before her erstwhile 'suitor' had a chance to fully recover.

Rather than hiding in her closet room, she slinked behind the curtain at the very back of the stage and sank onto the floor. Alone now, she panted for breath and forced herself to slow her breathing. What was it about her that shouted Pick on me! to bullies and predators? Was it tattooed across her forehead? Flashbacks assaulted her and she forcibly shoved them back onto the shelves of her memory. Nope, she refused to go there, wasn't going to deal with that; not here, not now.

Opening night went through without a single hitch, none that the audience would have noticed, anyway. A few flubs here and there, but all in all, everything went smoothly. At least, that was what Ang was told. While the other costumers waited in the wings to be of assistance to the principals and corps de ballet, Ang was left by herself in the costume room, taking shirts, trousers, shoes, skirts, and gowns from the stagehands as they were brought back and out of the way once the garments' moment to shine onstage was complete. Each was gone over carefully for rips, tears, or stains, and then either hung up, or placed to the side to mend or wash. With the first show completed and successful, the main performers changed into their dress clothes to attend the lavish party above stairs in the lobby with the directors, conductor, patrons, and other society jewels. The laborers had their own celebration behind the scenes, and once every costume was put away in its proper place, Ang went to join them.

She didn't make it far. The man from earlier was waiting in the hall, one hand around the neck of a bottle from which he took frequent swigs. Ang pulled up short and bit back a groan.

"There you are," he slurred. "I's wondering when youuu were gonna come out."

She hedged, glancing over her shoulder at the empty hallway behind her. If she took that, it ended with a side door leading to the side alley, but that might be better than being trapped with this-

"C'mon, sweetling." He'd caught her wrist in his free hand and yanked her close. Warm, putrid breath washed over her face and she nearly gagged. She took a firm step back and set her forearm against his chest, pushing firmly against him.

"No! Get off!"

He crowded her against the wall, rubbing his body against hers, grinding his hips into hers, and the hard length she felt against her belly had her stomach lurching. "You are such a tease," he growled before his mouth came down hard on hers.

Rage shot through her; she was done being a victim! Done! She bit down hard on his lip as both hands came up and shoved at his chest. Already well on his way to drunkenness, he stumbled back with a yelp, just enough for her to take a swing at his face, her fist connecting with his cheek with a satisfying crack. His head snapped to the side, and the bottle slipped from his grip to shatter on the floor at their feet.

"You bitch!" His palm came at her at blinding speed, and she was on the ground, holding one side of her face before she even realized what was happening.

He took another step toward her, hands fumbling with the front of his trousers, and a sick sense of deja vu washed over her, the world slowing to a crawl around her. She brought her leg around in a powerful, sweeping kick and her boot connected with the side of his knee. His holler echoed off the walls as he crumpled to the floor, holding his injured leg and cursing up a storm.

Ang didn't stick around to see if anyone heard what had happened. She spun around and took off down the hall, ignoring the threats bellowed after her as she tore through the door and into the darkness of the alley... and straight into a pair of strong arms.

A/N: Anyone still reading this? LOL I wouldn't blame ya for giving up on it - I almost did, too. But I refuse to stop until this thing is complete! Heaven only knows when that might be, or what the ending will even look like. But... just keep swimming!