(Erik POV)
I watch the rehearsal of the new opera from my usual perch and sigh in disbelief. The only true difference between the new managers and the previous ones is my pay and my box. Though they increase my pay and leave me my box, they think I do not notice the proud pink peacock strutting around the stage. I laugh to myself as the maids of the opera house once again take small bits of cloth and stuff their ears. My attention is snapped back to the stage as I hear a shrill Spanish accent ringing through the auditorium. I see the Prima Donna flailing her hands like she was drowning and screaming about her dress.
"Someone will pay for dis! I specifically asked for MORE pink! I am to play a Lady no?!" The two twits come running to her side and promise her anything she desires; new furniture in her dressing room, jewelry, and I think I heard something about a new dog. She began to cry, or at least act like she was crying. Soon she pulled her head up, gave her best fake smile and 'accept' their flattering gifts. Old habits die hard, don't they? Her smile is more fake than my mask trying to be a part of my face. I leave my box and decide to do a little skulking around among the catwalks. I reach the stairwell behind the stage when I hear Carlotta say something about leaving for the afternoon, and the click of her heels walk off the stage. I quickly ascend the stairs and stride across the planks, admiring my employees as the shuffle about. I hear the giggle of little rats as they return to their dorms, and the screeching of props as they are put away.
"As you so desire, Seniora Carlotta, but may I sugg-" The voice is cut off by a swift thud and more Spanish insults. I look down to see Carlotta and a new girl trying to hold Carlotta's costume.
"YOU WILL BE SILENT 'ITTLE TOAD!" the Prima donna scolded, then paraded off with her pomp and circumstance to her dressing room. The girl sighed and gave the dress to the head seamstress. Now her full figure and face were in my view. I'll be damned if it isn't the little dancing girl from the street. Her hair was pulled tightly back like a ballerina, several strands framing her sweaty and tired face.
"My, my Mademoiselle, you certainly can hold your own around a stage." Said Christophe, the new head of sets. "But how are you when it comes to this?" and held up a whiskey bottle. The girl shook her head and said she didn't drink, which I found interesting. The girl walked past the blundering drunk, probably wanting to be left alone. The fool grabbed her arm and pulled her back, pinning her to the wall. She turned her head away in disgust, I could smell his breath from the catwalks.
"Please just leave me alone…." She softly pleaded. He ignored her plea and moved in closer for his kill.
"I never said you could leave ma ange..." His speech slurred "No wonder your name is Belle… beauty like yours should be taken advantage of…" I growled in rage and had a sandbag ready to drop on his head when to my curious surprise, the girl took matters into her own hands. She drove her knee into his crotch, making even me wince in pain. Christophe swore like a pirate and stumbled away, then was given a taste of his own medicine when she pulled a knife from her boot and pinned him to the wall, ready to cut out his tongue. I couldn't help but, enhance the situation.
"Though her again sir, and you'll wish you'd never drank a drop in your life!" I could hear my voice echoing like the ghost I am. His eyes went wide with fear as he scrambled away and back to the rat hole from which he crawled out of. The girl looked around to try and find me, but I left before she could spot me. I wandered back to my box, forgetting I left my cane behind my chair. Soon my mind was flooded with music, sweet, pure music. I haven't felt this since…I dare not utter her name, but the music was strong, powerful, I had to write it down. I quickly fled to her old dressing room, hoping it would stop. The music was only getting louder and stronger; I looked around to see someone has move in and made themselves at home. I shook my head, reminding myself to scare them away before I moved the mirror and retreated to my piano. I took the boat and hastily rowed across. I must get to my piano before this infernal melody kills me… pulling blank sheets of parchment from wherever I could find them, I threw myself into the melody, letting it take me over. It was nothing like I had written before, it was pure bliss. The ebb and flow graced my fingers as I played, only pausing for a moment to let me scribble down its notes before it took me over again. I finally broke from my trans, my body weak and weary. I sat up and began to write everything down, every note, key change…
"Wow…" a soft whisper stated. Suddenly the music was gone. I couldn't hear it anymore. I growled and snapped to the sound.
"Who's there? You can't hide from me!" I grabbed the candelabra from the piano and my sword from behind the piano and marched toward the whisper, a small splash now taking its place. "damnit!" I cursed. Whoever it was went under the gate. I waited for them to surface, but then had a better idea. I went back to the boat and rowed to the only place where they could escape to. I docked the boat and walked to the stairwell. I could see someone swimming in the icy waters. No one escapes me and lives to tell about it… I stood waiting on the shore, and to my surprise the little dancing girl swam to me. I demanded to know how and why she was in my domain… she stopped the music in my mind! It would be a shame to kill a beautiful young flower like her, but no one disrupts my music.
"What are you doing down here Mademoiselle?" my voice growling at the girl. She pushed herself from the water as I set the candelabra to the ground.
"Well, I saw that my mirror wasn't straight and went to fix it, then I found the hallway and followed it. The rest is history." Nosey little rat… all ballerinas are nosey creatures. This one's curiosity has gotten them killed…
"I could kill you where you stand, and in all honesty I should…" I pulled my sword out and pinned her to the wall, her blue eyes were full of fear, but not for long.
"Damn you, you little rat!" I howled. She had driven the butt of her knife into my elbow. Clever girl…you're going to regret that… I swung my sword at her, creating sparks off the brick wall. She wasn't a bad fighter, must have picked up a few things on the streets in self-defense. I was trained, she lacked proper stance. I lunged forward with my fist, letting her block it long enough to cut her arm with my sword. She didn't scream, just grabbed her arm and readied herself for the next move, which I gladly obliged her with. She was dangerously close to the water's edge. I grinned and thrusted my sword at her core, just enough for her to lose her balance and fall into the water. That will teach her… she soon surfaced, and I put the tip of my blade to her cheek, making her tread water with her wounded wing. I let a smooth, dark grin grace my lip as I put my blade away. "I must say mon cher, that was some impressive knife fighting. Maybe you Are worth more alive, eh?" her face when pale at my words. Good, you should fear me you little ballet rat. I pulled her from the water and offered her help.
"Oh so now we're being civilized?" she smarted back to me. Mon cher, that mouth of yours is going to get you in a lot of trouble…
"Well I could just let you bleed." Her arm was dripping with blood through her hand. She sighed and took my outstretched hand. I set her in the boat and ferried her back to my lair. She was still dripping when we arrived, and I made very sure not to have her dripping on my furniture. I went back to my room to grab the gauze and brandy. I came to my knees to treat her cut. I poured the brandy down her shoulder, a hiss coming from her lips as she tried to bite them to keep from swearing.
"Sorry" I mumbled inaudibly. I wrapped her arm in the gauze then quickly returned them to my room. As I came back to take her home and offer her dry clothes, she was standing over my piano, eyeing it like a child at Christmas. "Do you play mon cher?" The girl turned and nodded her head excitedly as she took my bench and began to play what I had written just moments before. I growled at first, but she was impressive in keeping the tempo of the music. I pulled another bench beside her to watch, almost laughing at how she worked to keep my set tempo. Damn this girl is quite good, very promising talent… I didn't realize I was swaying and humming until she came to the end of what I had written and continued the piece, ending it perfectly, like she was the one who had written the music in my mind… I beamed with excitement. Could she really be…? I handed her some dry clothes to change into before we left.
"Thank you" she said. As she walked to the boat, one of my small clay figures caught her by surprise. Her hand went to the wall, sliding over its jagged edges before she caught her balance. I could see a small streak of red on the wall.
"Mon cher, your hand." She looked at her hand, shrugged it off and continued to the boat. She just cut her hand and she acts like its nothing?! What an odd girl… I wonder… I called to her, asking her to come back to the piano. She came back and sat on the bench. I took her tiny hand in mine. "Why are your hands cracked? A ballerina's hands don't ever crack." She let out a small laugh.
"Oh well, I'm not a ballerina. I am a stagehand and I don't dance that well." I looked away, trying to figure out why those two twits were stupid enough to hire a female stagehand. Occurrences like today were bound to happen daily, or worse. I reached behind my music and grabbed my jar of oils, a special gift from a certain Persian. I took her hand and smeared the oil over her hands. They had never seen such gentle treatment in many years. I gently worked it into her hands, her eyes wide when I finished.
"They have never been so soft…" I gave a grin and kissed the top of her left hand, a blush rising in her cheeks.
"Thank you.." she yawned.
"You should be getting to bed." I picked her up and carried her to the boat, laying her down and ferrying her across like I would do with…her… We docked, the girl's blue eyes half closed with slumber. I chuckled to myself as I picked her up. Even dead asleep I could carry her with only one arm. I hummed our melody to her as I climbed the staircase to her room. I put her to bed, then got an idea. I quickly strode back to the boat and ferried myself to my abode, tearing apart my junk room. I know it's here somewhere… I scavenged for a simple box tied in chord. There it is! I pulled it from the dusty room, blowing away the years. Taking a piece of parchment, I used my best script to write the girl a letter. I stuck it on the box and delivered it to the girl. I placed the box on her nightstand, accidently knocking her book off. I snapped my head up to her, but she didn't move. At least she is a learned girl… I picked up the book; King Arthur… I see the girl has a sense of adventure… I took the note from the box and placed it in her book. Even asleep she was a ravishing creature. Her auburn hair was still in its top knot. I lifted her head and pulled the ribbon from her hair and cascades of auburn spilled out. It was straight like spider's silk. I set her back down, spilling her hair out on the pillow. Her beauty was different from Christine, a warm and welcomed different. I kissed her hand again and set her book in her arms, letting her pull the book to her chest and roll to her side.
"Sleep well, mon cher…"
