The turnout to Rose de l'amour éternel or, as it is called in English, The Rose of Eternal Love, was unprecedented. All of the arena and balcony seats were bought out by the who's who of the Kalos elite, and box seats were reserved by prominent individuals hailing from as far away as the Johto region, booked as many as two weeks in advance.
Théodore peeks out at the audience from behind the curtains, in his full costume: comprised of a robin's egg blue beret with a white feather poking out of it, and a wool tunic of the same color. Clovis clings to his heels closely, shuffling his feet impatiently.
"Tonight is packed, mon ami." He looks at Clovis. "Where is Estella? Our debut is approaching."
Clovis shrugs, no doubt glad to be spared her insufferable presence for even just a few seconds anyhow.
As if on cue, Estella appears at the other side of the stage, garbed in a pearl white dress decked with pink ribbons. She is holding a blue rose prop in one of her pink gloved hands.
Alexis the Lilligant is with her, its eyes closed in a deep concentration.
Théodore waves at them.
"Hello, mademoiselle! You look stunningly beautiful tonight. And I am glad to see you as well, Alexis."
"Why don't you spare your French for the stage, Romeo le précoce." Estella snaps at him.
"Precocious?!" Théodore exclaims, looking genuinely offended. But before he can make his case for the contrary, the curtain is called so he hurries to correct himself.
Margaux watches all this from the back of the stage. Her eyebrows are crinkled, hinting at her prevailing feelings of anxiety. Even as Théodore, Estella, Clovis and Alexis take the stage and the audience erupts into excited claps and a sea of eager faces, it does nothing to assuage them.
But why?
Why feel this way tonight, opening with such a timeless classic as Rose, the kind of story of a romantic affair between star-crossed lovers ending in tragedy, that audiences adore? And at a beloved theatre like the Palais Thornier? Because she had heard the mysterious knocking noise too, and was already aware that such strange happenings were not uncommon here.
The lights grow dim. A spotlight flickers on, centering on the figure of Théodore who is kneeling dramatically as he opens, to orchestral accompaniment:
"Oh Carmine, my love,
Gift of the angels and heaven above,
I vow to you my writhing soul,
To you I pledge my love's Rose de l'amour éternel."
Clovis leaps in front of him, twirling majestically in midair to release petals that shower upon the audience.
Then another, red spotlight, falls on Estella, who throws her arm out toward Thédore as she sings:
"Your love it stings,
Reaks of deadly sins, my
Heart dévores everything,
It sees the sparkle in your eye,
I pray you seek to run and hide,
Your Rose de l'amour éternel from me."
Alexis spins about the stage like a dancer, whipping up a whirlwind that gathers the petals littering the stage.
Margaux craved a sip of chardonnay at this point to numb her nerves. To help her accept that the night could be nothing other than a complete success. Because of course, the night was going to be a success. Four of the best performers in the business were gracing the stage, and from what she could hear, they were at their absolute best.
But, since the early days of the Palais Thornier's four month long rebuilding process, strange things had been happening, and the thought of them weighed heavily on her mind. There were stories that had been passed on to her by the construction workers: of tools disappearing inexplicably, the sound of disembodied footsteps in the auditorium, shadowy figures sighted in the balconies and haunting the dressing rooms.
Haunting. She shakes her head, but cannot discard the thought. Nor the faint possibility that something supernatural had existed here since the day of that terrible fire, waiting for the place to be reopened to make its presence known. Surely a ghost was the last thing the Thornier...her Thornier needed, when it was just getting back on its feet.
"Give me your everythiiiing!
Give me your Roooose de l'amoooour éternel!"
She overhears Théodore croon in his artfully wavering falsetto, signalling the conclusion of the first scene.
The spotlight fades out and the flood lights flicker on again, then there is a round of applause as the curtain falls.
Le Baodin sees this as her chance to warn the others about the stories she had been told.
"Monsieur Théodore, there is something I must tell you!"
"Not now, pet!" He calls back at her. "The stage demands my full attention already!"
So she turns to Estella, who walks past her, heading for the dressing room.
"Estella, if I could have one minute please!"
Margaux reaches for her arm but misses, and she disappears around the corner wordlessly. That imagined bottle of chardonnay was sounding more appealing by the second.
The curtain raises again. This time, just Théodore, Clovis, and Alexis are on the stage.
"Dear Lillyweather, sweetest petal,
Héraut of ma bien-aimée,
the dainty and the strange rose
that mine heart chaseth..."
The spotlight flickers, which is not unusual considering that the original lighting system had been preserved, but only served to compound Margaux's gnawing sense of foreboding.
Théodore, however, does not miss a beat.
"Bequeth and my swell companion,
My cumbersome Humberdoyle,
Impart upon me your mag -"
The spotlight shuts off completely, casting everything in complete darkness. Everybody in attendance knew that this was not in the script, and Margaux was certain that this was not planned ahead. She feels along the far wall in search of the controls for the back up lighting, and eventually finds it, removing the wooden cover then flicking random switches until backup lights fizzle to life.
Théodore, who had remained frozen on stage, blinks until his eyes readjusted to the new, slightly dimmer source of light.
"Excusez-moi, Lillyweather, but we are experiencing some technical issues this evening." He says, earning a few laughs from the audience. Then the show goes on as scripted, and no other mishaps occur up through the concert's conclusion, at which point Margeaux breathes in a deep sigh of relief.
After the final curtain call, she arranges for everyone to meet backstage.
"What happened to the lights? Could they be fixed in time for the next performance?" Théodore asks immediately.
Estella scoffs. "The lights went off unexpectedly at this quaint old theatre?" She says, hardly bothering to mask her sarcasm.
"I will try to get to the bottom of what caused the blackout tonight, and if it requires the assistance of the mechanics then I will have them in by tomorrow morning." Margaux reassures them. Then adds, after further contemplation. "Although, they had given me their word that something like this would not happen, so my faith in them has waned somewhat." And, if by a stroke of luck the issue at hand turns out to be something I can resolve on my own through the unabashed application of duct tape, I would be more than happy to dismiss them.
But later that evening, what she finds is something that no amount of duct tape would be able to repair, and she knew immediately that it must be kept a secret from the others. For, upon inspecting the central lighting area beneath the stage, Margaux discovers that every last wire had been precisely cut through - clearly as though from a knife or other bladed instrument - effectively rendering the whole system useless.
Margaux made up her mind to never be alone in the theatre ever again.