Chapter 5: Eyes in the Walls

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Warnings- brief sexual content

Disclaimer- See chapter 1

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"Birdy!"

Berdine turned to face the long-legged Meg as the girl ran to catch up with her, her long curls bouncing in a maddening way that her thin body lacked. Berdine had been wandering the halls, lost and terribly confused since she had stopped in to see the Madame about leaving the opera house. She couldn't understand what had changed in the short time her and Giry had parted ways. Could the letter have had a part to play? In her discovery of a would-be stalker, she had completely forgotten about the second note that dropped from the rafters that morning. What had it said to make the steadfast woman change her mind? Maybe this was bigger than she first thought.

A smile tried to break the haunted look on her face, so Meg wouldn't think something was wrong and prod for answers- or worse yet, leave her in favor of better company. Despite not really liking the dancer, she would rather not be alone right now to stew on this ever growing puzzle that sat heavily in her stomach. She needed Meg's bright smile and outrageous gossip.

"Have you heard what Carlotta said to the Director this morning?"

Berdine shook her head.

"Well, I heard from Clarice that she…"

And she let herself be swept away with stories of the snotty Diva and her laughable antics. She didn't necessarily dislike Carlotta, but she had a feeling it would be best to stay far away from the temperamental woman. She wasn't well received within the ranks here at the opera, and to Berdine's understanding she had been the brunt of many pranks from the presumed dead opera ghost. Some of them, she had heard, were even life threatening. Why the horrid women chose to stay only told Berdine that Carlotta loved and valued the fame she received more than her own life. Only empty people relied on things like stardom or prestige to bring them happiness, and she had a sinking feeling Carlotta drowned in both in order to keep herself satisfied.

They ended up backstage where some of the performers were warming up and slipping into bulky, colorful costumes that Berdine thought looked just absurd. The humming voices carried cheerful tunes to match the bright pinks and light blues, along with the many feathers sticking out of hats and wigs alike. She wasn't entirely sure what opera was being performed opening night, but it looked to be some sort of heartfelt comedy. It seemed to her that in order to coax back a weary audience the Opera had to promise a fun performance with pretty pastels and lots of expensive alcohol.

Berdine, at one point in her life, imagined what it would be like to become an opera diva. Most young girls did in this day and age. It was a profession that was highly frowned upon- taboo even. She used to wonder why that was, and when she grew older she figured out it was due to the… experiences some women had while working as a pretty dancer or singer. How the men would kiss them, touch them, the things they would call out, or the costumes that would tease with their plunging necklines or hugging corsets. There were a few women like these that lived in Berdine's small hometown, that would dress up and paint their faces for the lecherous men who would let themselves be lightened of their coins. Her mother often called them petty thieves. She never quite grasped the appeal of doing such things. To someone such as herself, touching someone else made her uncomfortable. She didn't even like hugging her own parents, not to say she hated them, just the tightening in her chest and sickly dropping of her gut whenever she let someone that close.

Her mother told her it was okay to be this way, human contact wasn't for everyone after all, and everyone had their own way of showing affection.

"It's fine, little birdy. You don't have to like it, that's what makes you completely unique."

"But you and daddy hug all the time, and kiss, and daddy will sometimes pet your head."

"Well, we like things like that. That doesn't mean you have to like it though. You like words better, darling, and that's just as good."

A known fact in her household was this: if her mother said it was alright, then it was. Margret liked teaching her children that being different was okay, especially for Charlie's sake. And all three Lefevre children grew up knowing that the little quirks were okay to have, that they weren't freaks of nature for it.

Berdine's heart burned with longing. She suddenly felt incredibly homesick.

"Hey Birdy, look at this!"

Meg had steered her towards the long racks filled with costumes from previous performances. The dancer had pulled out a flowing ball gown with many dazzling sequins that made the fabric almost blinding to look at directly. It was hideous. She couldn't even begin to imagine what kind of play demanded the prima donna wear something so blaringly abhorrent.

"Isn't it pretty?" Meg asked.

Berdine shook her head violently in protest. That thing was downright gaudy, and she was confident not even Carlotta would feel comfortable wearing it.

Meg's smile faded, "You don't think it's pretty? Well I do… alright, what about this one."

She pulled out another ball gown, this one was baby blue with satin trimmings and white lace that, while adorable, was something she would expect to find on an infant and not a fully grown woman. She grimaced.

Meg, the poor thing, just huffed in frustration. "It would seem we don't have the same taste in fashion, Mlle Birdy." she took a step back from the costumes and with a wave and a theatrical bow she gestured to the rack. "If my taste fails to please you, then show me which ones you prefer."

And just like that, Berdine felt the need to comply. Meg had that way about her that made people listen to her. She was boisterous and yet utterly charming with that smile that would bloom upon her face when she was particularly amused. She had an air of confidence, and a hint of that power that her mother, the Madame, held like a sword sheathed at her side. Meg was everything that Berdine wasn't, and that was the only thing driving Berdine to pick out the one dress she thought was more beautiful than any other.

Her hands skirted through the numerous multicolored fabrics. There were many gowns, some of them had the giant poofing skirts, others were meant to slim the female form with long trains and skin-clinging materials. They were all nice to look at, she supposed, but none of them were beautiful. They were loud, obnoxious, or downright lewd.

"Not finding anything? Surely there must be something here you like…" Meg stepped up next to her and began to pull out the dresses herself, holding them up for Berdine to inspect. "What about this one? No? Okay… how about this? No?"

She swore they went through every single ladies attire the Opera owned, right down to the ballerina's outfits. Not one appealed to Berdine.

"You're too picky!" Meg finally gave up with a stomp of her foot. She puffed her cheeks and squinted at her new friend, stepping so there was only a few inches between them. Berdine's eyes went wide and she had to hold in her screech of protest as Meg's hands cupped her face forcefully and her forehead rested against her own.

"You're unbelievable! This is the Opera Populaire! We've gathered every style known to Western Europe both ancient and modern alike. How in all of France have you not seen one that you like?"

Taking Meg's hands in hers, Berdine tried to not seem like her heart was attempting to escape her chest when she took a few steps back and away from the frustrated ballerina. She calmed when the girl stayed where she was and didn't seek to touch her again but instead folded her long arms and cocked a hip. A move she no doubt learned from Madame Giry.

Berdine just smiled and shrugged her shoulders, doubting very much that this place had every style known to Western Europe among these racks. It was clear they favored ball gowns, and perhaps a few good pieces from ancient greece but not much more. Meg was a very sheltered girl if she thought that this collection was all there was to women's fashion. Opera attire wasn't a good comparison to what real women wore, after all.

Seemingly bored with this rummage through the costume department, Meg suddenly turned when the sounds of drums and laughter came from the stage.

"Come now Birdy!" The dancer once again sized her hand and began to drag her along from the backstage into the auditorium. Berdine could see the main players all situated on the stage, Carlotta and her male lead at the very center of, what Berdine thought of as, controlled chaos. She and Meg snuck down into the vast rows and took seats among the plush, new chairs that had been put in after the fire. Berdine ran her hands along the upholstered, deep red fabrics with gold trim. This was very nice, and no doubt very expensive. She wondered where the managers had gotten the money for this kind of redecorating.

"Have you seen the opera we're putting on?" Meg leaned over to whisper into her ear. Berdine turned to face her and shook her head.

"It's called Der Barbier von Bagdad. It's a comedy about Nureddin, the hero, who falls in love with Margiana, daughter of the Cadi. As you can probably see, Carlotta demanded she be the one who got the role of Margiana." Meg rolled her eyes at this, "I personally would have casted someone like Isabelle or Margot. They're much more suited to the role of a shy girl who must chose between her own happiness and that of her father's. Carlotta is too much like a bull, boisterous and crude. Not to mention the old bag is far too along in years to be playing a young… well- anything!"

Both girls grinned at each other, Meg even daring to let a small giggle out into the strong notes that said old bag was letting loose currently on stage. Despite her wicked temper, the Diva wasn't a bad singer. She was quite the opposite, actually, with a clean voice that bounced off the walls with willpower behind every bellow. But there inlied the problem. She was so used to playing the roles of a goddess or countess, that she had no clue how to play the delicate flower. She was too much for the music itself, and that was what made Berdine want to cover her ears in aversion.

The conductor must have agreed with her, because he waved his arms frantically to, once again, cut off the diva mid aria. "Carlotta! You are not playing the role of Nureddin! If you cannot grasp these simple notes at a much smaller register, then you and Louis can switch roles!"

A slew of sharp Italian whipped out of Carlotta, the woman throwing up her hands and stomping off to the back of the stage. Many of the younger dancers rushed to get out of her way, while the older ones tried to hide their laughter behind gloved hands. Berdine curled her lip at the childish display. She didn't have a chance to see the woman in action before now, only what she had heard from Meg and Adeline. And as they both had described, Carlotta was rude, arrogant, and incredibly immature.

The conductor stood firm though, and regained the attention of his cast with a simple clap of his hands. "Alright, if her highness wishes to skip rehearsal, then she can drown opening night. But that means I want the rest of you to shine where she does not! Begin from after the duet."

"I like M Durand. He's not a pushover like our last conductor was." Meg smiled, "This one actually puts La Diva in her place."

….

From above he watched his bird, all the while trying his best to ignore the atrocity being executed on stage. He supposed the managers were going for the more recently developed operas to be performed for their audiences. They were going for fresher ideas, ones that people had never seen before. He knew of Der Barbier von Bagdad, knew how pathetic it was, and would have never let something like it into his opera house. It would fail spectacularly, especially if it was that monstrous woman who played the female lead. She was far more suited for one of the more silent roles.

He could see from his vantagepoint that Berdine had made friends with little Meg, the blonde twit constantly whispering into his bird's ear. No doubt they were laughing at the pathetic, caterwauling fiend who still dared to perform on his stage.

He wondered if this was the first opera she'd heard. It probably was, considering she was from a tiny town in the middle of nowhere- or so he had heard her uncle say. His poor girl was probably completely ignorant of all things opera, and he felt a little annoyed with this. Surely he could teach her himself. He could perform every opera locked away in his memory for her, from beginning to end. He was most certain she would enjoy it, for he knew that he most certainly would.

But unlike last time around, he had to be patient. He couldn't go into this headfirst like he so desperately wanted. He needed to wait until she was eating out of the palm of his hands.

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She felt it again.

The feeling of eyes on her. Like yesterday when she had sat in this enormous auditorium for the first time, that feeling of a predator breathing down her neck had returned. It felt like when someone put their arms around her, she suffered that tightening in her chest and a shaky panic flow through her body, making it tremble with a need to run.

She felt caged in.

Berdine's hands grasped Meg's bicep with a tremendous force, the dancer jumped in her seat, gasping with surprise and turned wide green eyes to her friend. "Birdy? What's wrong?"

Berdine tugged at her arm again, her eyes straying to the door at the end of the rows of seats. She wanted out, now.

Meg seemed to immediately understand what she wanted, standing up and pulling Berdine to stand as well. Meg led her out into the grand hall, not saying a word the entire time she walked. Berdine thought perhaps the young women was mad at her for her sudden violent outburst. Maybe this was the moment Meg told her she was too much of a killjoy, and left her to go find someone else to hang out with.

Berdine, despite not really enjoying being around people, needed Meg right now. She didn't want to be alone, with this new feeling of pressure sitting on her chest and her newfound homesickness. She wanted Meg's bright smile and never ending opinions.

"Birdy…"

Here it came, the moment she would be left to dwell alone.

"If there is ever something bothering you, please come find me. I can help you with whatever you may need." the dancer's voice was abnormally soft.

"I lost a friend here once, because I didn't know she was suffering. Please… if you ever need help, just come and get me?" she finally turned to look into her eyes.

Berdine could only nod.

….

She lay on the cot that night with a feeling of wonderment. Meg hadn't left her side for the rest of the day. And while Berdine did admit the girl was a bit much for her to handle at times, she was grateful for the company.

She was on edge constantly now. The feeling of eyes following her every move hadn't left since Meg led her out of the auditorium that afternoon. She thought at first perhaps it was only her imagination, but the longer the feeling remained the more her suspicions rose. The back of her neck felt as if it had went up in flames by late evening.

It was difficult to pay much attention to anything after that, though Meg had desperately tried. Berdine couldn't really grasp why the pretty blonde dancer wouldn't just leave her to go and find one of her friends, like Adeline or Clarice, someone who would actually talk with her.

A heavy sigh escaped, she suspected it was pity, or maybe it had something to do with that strange way Meg's face had contorted into something beyond sorrow when they had exited the theatre.

I lost a friend here once, because I didn't know she was suffering...

Who had the girl lost? Had whoever it was die? That's what it sounded like. Berdine had never experienced the death of a loved one. Her grandparents on her father's side had died before she was even born, and she had only seen her mother's father once or twice before when she was younger. From what she could recall, even with his withering age the man was a bear, having spent years as a blacksmith. Berdine, and even her brothers had always been weary of him. Her mother had been heartbroken to find out that he had recently passed away in his sleep, and thought briefly of traveling to his funeral, but for whatever reason, her mother had decided against it, and when Berdine had asked her mother only smiled sadly and said something about 'tension among her hometown and herself that was never resolved'.

Meg shared that same look as her mother though, and that's how Berdine came to the conclusion that whoever it was that Meg had mentioned was most likely dead. It had been that glance of regret, like they couldn't look her in the eyes because they were ashamed of something.

Berdine had a hard time understanding that. Her mother was perfect, and Meg was… Meg. What could they possibly have to regret? It wasn't their fault people died, after all. People died all the time, for all kinds of reasons, and unless you had been the one to take their life with your own hands their death wasn't your fault.

So why did they hold on to that gult?

That was her last thought before sleep took her.

...

He watched her sleep, his hands stroking her long hair. It reminded him of his black stallion out in the opera's stables, dark and course, almost rough on his fingertips. In the moonlight it shined like hot tar, saturating the sheets around her head which lead down into an angelic, young face. Her skin was pale, made almost transparent with the contrast of her dark locks. Her mouth was a dusty peach, warm, smooth, and oh so soft. He loved her lips, and wanted to touch them with his, but he stopped himself.

He always stopped himself.

His gaze traveled lower, and he leaned forward just a bit on the chair he placed beside her bed, like his body was drawn to hers. Her figure wasn't that of a dancer, it was womanly. Small shoulders, trim waist, large hips, aspects that Christine lacked. She had a girl's body, which would someday grow into an elegantly long shape. It would be sharper, thinner, and not too unlike the painting of the greek goddesses hanging out in the foyer.

They walked differently, he noted. Christine had been light with every step, as if she was made of air. His bird had a very heavy step, probably due to the extra weight, or perhaps just years of lacking grace of any kind. He doubted a farm girl needed to shape herself with womanly charms and seductions. Maybe his bird wasn't yet interested in men.

He would change that. He knew he could. It was easy enough with his Christine, the way he made her want. A young girl surrounded by sex in an opera house- it was no wonder she had almost succumbed to her darker desires that no mere boy could satisfy. Eric knew how to operate the body, make it sing for him. The years spent with voluptuous concubines and spoiled young princes had taught him all he ever needed to know about sin.

He wanted nothing more than to drown this young woman in sinful pleasure. Make her scream for him, wanted her to love and crave nothing but him. No handsome rich brats or vicomtes would make her turn her gaze from him. He would make absolute sure of it.

"Sleep my girl, sleep and dream of me."

He smiled.

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