~ White Lily, Blue Ribbon ~
When the Phantom awoke the next morning he arose, dressed and went to the box where he kept his money. He opened the little wooden box and withdrew a substantial amount of coin, putting it in a dark blue velvet pouch, which he then tucked inside his breast pocket.
Then he noticed something glimmer under a pile of tarnished silver. Curious, he dug underneath until he found it, and almost choked.
It was the ring he had given Christine.
All of a sudden the wild urge overcame him to throw it down the tunnel and lose it forever in the darkness, but he couldn't bring himself to. He put the ring in is pocket and tried to push it from his mind. Trying to not be ridiculously aware of its shape and weight in his pocket, he then picked up the dark top hat that rested on the corner of his wardrobe and pulled it very low over his mask. He checked himself in a mirror, and satisfied, he descended the narrow spiral stairway and stepped outside.
The sun washed over him in the most peculiar way, and it warmed him, his black coat catching and absorbing the rays.
His mask was obscured by the hat, so he attracted little attention as he made his way among the flower stalls that littered the square at this time of morning, with their colourful displays and vibrant vendors, advertising their wares.
In no time, he found a rose stall from which he ordered a large amount of stemmed red roses. The vendor looked at him curiously, but said nothing in regards to his appearance. He would have them sent to box five of the Royal Opera House and although the rose seller looked confused as to why he needed so many, she promised them before the week was out.
That job done, he began to walk back to his clock tower, when something caught his eye. It was a pair of rose bushes, potted. An idea struck him. Sunlight streamed into the clock tower in the daytime, and he had a gracious supply of fresh water from the tap in a bathroom off the narrow hallway he noticed when he had arrived. It would certainly save him having to be continuously buying roses…
When he returned to his clock tower he had two potted rose bushes in his arms and his head full of growing instructions from the man who sold them to him. He set the two young plants either side of his organ, where they would get a lot of sun each morning, then stood back and admired them. Then, he took off his hat and opened the trap door once more.
The trip to box five took less time than the last, and when he emerged above the stage, rehearsal was again underway. This time it was the young ballet dancers who occupied the stage. However in the orchestra pit the Prima Donna argued with the maestro and another man, who sported a huge moustache of thick brown hair. He was verging on the overweight and he wore a monocle. However he had the presence of a man in charge. Could this be the owner of the theatre?
"But Mr. Moretti, sir," the diva pleaded with him "She will never be ready in t-"
"She MUST be ready in time, miss Victoria, the opening night is in one month! I don't care if you have to whip her to get her to do what is necessary she MUST be ready-" the man had the hint of an Italian accent.
"Mr. Moretti," the maestro interjected, his face turning white, "There is no need for such measures, miss Evelyn will be ready in time I have no doubt, despite everyone's worries," he glanced quickly at Victoria, "She is quite-"
"She will not listen to a word of instructions-"
The Phantom turned away from the argument, which was beginning to tire him. He had something he had to do while they were busy. He looked back at the row of seats and counted two chairs to the right of the one that led to his tower. He moved to it and pulled both it's arms vertical, which required an amount of force. The chair swung upwards, revealing a new tunnel that wound through the opera house's walls.
'Excellent,' he thought.
He followed the narrow tunnel through the walls as it descended gently, turning corners, which seemed to lead backstage. He reached a panel that slid aside, and soon he found himself inside the wardrobe of a lady – it was full of fine dresses and coats. He pushed the door of the wardrobe aside and stepped stealthily into the dressing room of Miss Victoria, Prima Donna of the London Opera. He grinned. He had found the right room.
He pulled out a red sealing wax candle and his old skull stamp from an inner pocket. Quietly moving towards Victoria's desk, he lit the candle, allowing hot wax to drip onto the fine, polished wood. He pressed it with his stamp, leaving the fearsome image of a leering skull. That would be all he did today.
It would be best to start off small and slowly immerse himself further and further into the minds of the Opera House's residents, until they did as he wished.
He retreated into the wardrobe to view the results.
"You insolent child! I'll teach you to defile my possessions!"
"It wasn't me, I swear!"
Miss Victoria had her daughter by the onyx coloured hair, gesturing angrily to her desk, from where the skull stared blankly at the unfolding events. Victoria had come into the room and upon seeing the skull, called her daughter sweetly to come here for a moment. As soon as the girl did, eyes wide and innocent with curiosity, her mother had been on her, violent with anger. The Phantom had seen it all.
"You're telling me this is not your doing?" the Leading Soprano demanded.
"I swear! Mother, please." The girl whimpered.
"Who's then?"
"I don't know!"
Victoria roughly let go of her daughter, pushing her towards the door in disgust.
"I despise a liar Evelyn."
The girl bolted from the room, fighting against tears.
"I'm not a liar!" the Phantom heard her cry when she was a safe distance away, still retreating.
He fumed from his position inside the wardrobe. This hadn't been his plan, and more than that, he felt guilty now for being the ultimate cause of all the girl's distress. His jaw set with determination.
He would conquer them. He just needed to step things up a few notches.
The next day when he arrived in box five he found a vast array of blood red roses in full bloom, to his satisfaction. He made short work of moving them just inside the tunnel to take them back later, but so they would be out of sight. He then selected one of them to take with him when he again visited the dressing room of Victoria.
He slid the panel aside and entered the wardrobe, but this time he did not intend to step outside. He pushed the dresses aside and took the first, an olive green affair with vertical white stripes.
"Hideous." He breathed, grinning, and took out his knife. In one smooth, clean movement he tore the dress straight down the middle, rendering it irreparable. Satisfied with his work, he turned to the next dress, which was a green-blue, and it met the same fate as its fellow.
One by one the dresses were mutilated each in turn with his knife, each the same way, one long rip down the centre from the bodice to the hem. When he finished his work he surveyed it happily. Then he opened the wardrobe door a crack and peered out into the room, which he found empty. He then look a short length of black ribbon out of his pocket and tied it around the rose, with a note attached. It read;
"Deepest respects,
The Opera Ghost"
He stepped quietly out of the wardrobe and placed it on her desk, which still had a mark from where he had stamped the skull before. He then left his knife with the initials "O.G." engraved is the butt of the hilt near the wardrobe door. It was long and dangerous looking, with a bit of a hook to the blade. He even took the trouble of staining it a little with his red ink, to give it a more dramatic effect. It was a warning.
Try blaming that on a child.
His work was not yet finished, however.
It was not long before Victoria stormed into the room and slammed the door behind her, muttering angrily. Outside there was a nervous patter of young feet and a few girls' voices calling out things like "Miss Frost? Please come back! We meant no offence, honest! We didn't even know you were unmarried! Please come back! We can't continue rehearsals without your guidance! Miss Frost?"
She stood just inside the door as tears of frustration rolled down her face. She just couldn't cope with these children. The stress of training them; of putting up with their malicious whims and spiteful words. Children should not be allowed in the Opera.
The next thing they heard was her scream. The four dancers quickly opened the door; she was looking at her dresses, each of them ruined. At her screams a whole storm of people had come rushing to her aid, Mr. Moretti, the maestro and the little one, Evelyn among them. The little room became crowded very quickly.
"What has happened here, Victoria?" the manager demanded. "Who has done this?" he demanded of the room.
"No one we know," offered Evelyn helpfully, "Everyone was either at rehearsal or not in the Opera house, the cleaners are at the square on their break,"
"Hush, child." He commanded and she fell silent.
The maestro had already studied the damage to the dresses and had moved over to Victoria's desk, where the rose and note lay. Evelyn noticed him slip something that glinted faintly red into his pocket, a troubled expression on his face.
"A gift for you," he said, handing the rose to Victoria who still fretted about her dresses. She looked at it, confused.
"Was that with it?" she demanded, pointing at the note, which he still held in his hand.
"Yes." He said, reading it.
"What does it say?"
He told her and she scoffed.
"Opera Ghost?" but the ballet dancers were talking amongst themselves, frightened.
"Yes," Evelyn said, grinning. "He haunts the Opera House at night, searching for a young girl's voice to steal. He collects them, you know, in a little silver box. Of course, once he has the voice, he has no need for the body…"
"Evelyn that is quite enough." The maestro reprimanded her as the young ballerina's faces paled. She fell silent, still smirking. The ballet dancers went over to Evelyn, their expressions fearful.
"Is it true Evie? You've been here longer than any of us; you'd know any of the stories that go on here. Is there really an Opera Ghost?"
"Uhuh." She whispered in reply. "I've seen him."
'I certainly hope not.' The Phantom thought, from where he watched from the tunnel, viewing them through a crack in the bricks. He knew he had to be off soon, he had more yet to do…
Sure enough after the crowd had dispersed and left the room another shout of distress was heard from the music pit. The Phantom watched gleefully from a vantage point in box five.
The maestro was holding his violin with an expression of pure distraught on his face. The strings of his violin and bow had been ripped out, and then had been stuck to the wood of the violin with a red wax seal fashioned into the shape of a skull. He had carved O.G. into the wood next to the seal.
"It's the opera ghost," whispered one frightened ballerina to another.
"Told you it wasn't me," blurted Evelyn when she saw it.
"There is no such thing as ghosts!" Victoria shouted angrily.
"Then I don't know how you would explain this, Victoria," Moretti said frostily, giving her a penetrating look. "But it is not one of my employees, that is for certain."
The Phantom smiled. They had gotten the message.
Rehearsal was once again underway, and the dancers were all working furiously away as Evelyn found herself singing the same line over and over again. She was detecting a pattern here, but her mother was not far away, so she kept at it, despite how much she hated it.
She wondered how long she would be required to sing this damn line, but then was saved the trouble when something snakelike plummeted from the rafters above the stage, and landed around the neck of a young blonde ballerina. She screamed and pushed it off her neck and it fell to the ground, lying motionless.
It was a noose, with red hand shaped stains upon it. She burst into tears and all her fellows rushed to her side, where they comforted her, cooing and hugging her, their eyes fearful and wide.
Evelyn looked on, from her place by the piano, fascinated, her huge blue eyes even wider. The maestro leapt from the pit to the stage and picked up the noose, his eyes scanning it and finding a note attached. Moretti strode to where the maestro stood, his face drawn and troubled. Curiosity proved too much for Evelyn, and she ran over to where they stood, hoping to hear a fragment at least of what it read. She was given more than a fragment: The maestro read aloud.
"Dear Sirs,
A warm hello to you both, and of course, the lovely star of your opera, miss Evelyn."
"The what?" Victoria shot. Evelyn's eyes grew wide with surprise, more than fear. The Opera Ghost knew her? But more than that the Opera Ghost was real?
"Allow me to introduce myself, I am the fabled Phantom of the Opera that has graced many a stage in my time, and now I take residence in this fine institution of your beautiful, if backward, London."
'So the Ghost wanders?' Evelyn thought to herself. It made sense; it must be why she hadn't heard of him before in her years growing up in this opera house.
"Do forgive me for imposing on you, but I am fond of the arts, on which subject I know you will agree, and I have a few humble requests to make of you. I know you have seen some of what I can do but let me assure you that those are merely trifles and my powers extend above simply moving about unseen,"
Many of the cast and musicians looked about nervously, as if the Ghost would suddenly appear before them.
"Simply know that I can promise each and every one of you safety within these walls, in exchange of course for a modest retainer, which as men of the world, I am sure you will understand. I demand only your English equivalent of 20 000 francs"
So he was French…
She smiled in spite of herself.
"Although 25 000 would be ideal, if you can manage it, of course. You may leave it on the third seat from the left in the second row, in box five at a monthly period, starting tomorrow.
I look forward to Opening Night next month, and request that box five be kept empty for my use.
I do implore you to take my demands seriously, as it would be incredibly unfortunate for there to be any loss of life, and I can not, of course, guarantee your safety if my demands are not met. I'm sure you will understand.
Your most humble servant,
O.G."
Evelyn was deaf to the shouting and outrage that met his letter and its ridiculous demands and assumptions. She just stood, staring that the noose that lay on the floor, and noticed something glitter from a little underneath it.
She pattered, unnoticed amongst the uproar, to where it lay and picked up the little object. It was a diamond ring, and she turned it over in her hand, fascinated, before slipping it into her pocket quickly so that Victoria wouldn't see it and confiscate it.
She then stood silently, watching the commotion unfeelingly, but running through her thoughts were the same thought that went through the minds of every man woman and child present that afternoon.
'Who is this man?'