~ White Lily, Blue Ribbon ~
Of course they ignored the Phantom's letter.
He knew they weren't superstitious idiots, except perhaps some of the ballerinas, and this was cold hard money he wanted. They had reacted exactly the way he had suspected, he thought, as he traversed another of the tunnels that spider webbed inside the Opera House walls.
They needed a little more encouragement; last week with the dresses and violin had just been the beginning.
When he reached the end of the tunnel, he found a door that slid to the side and entered into a deserted ballet studio, from behind a mirror.
The dancers weren't due there for another ten minutes so he quickly went to work, drawing out from a sack slung over his shoulder a few handfuls of paper sheets. He went over to the corner and took the three wooden chairs that sat there, breaking one into smaller, lighter pieces and then arranged them around the other two. He then found an old wooden desk in another corner and pushed that up against the stack, arranging alight. The flames ate up the paper hungrily, starting to lick around the wood of the chairs. Once he was sure that the fire was well underway, he retreated into his tunnel, quickly escaping the growing flames.
When Evelyn arrived at the source of all the commotion, the fire had at last been put out, and all that was left were the charred ashes of any furniture that had been there, and the mirrors that had lined the walls now lay in pools of molten glass on the floor, the metal that had been behind them red hot and showing through.
Stage hands and musicians rushed around with water, attending to the still smoking remains, but the thing that drew Evelyn's attention was the huge cluster of people just outside the room.
Jocelyn, one of the older ballerinas came up to her, her tear-stained face drawn with horror.
"We didn't know there was a fire in there, Evie, and Georgia opened the door it all flew out into her face-" tears started trickling from her eyes again, and Evelyn hugged her wordlessly.
She moved over to where the people congregated and got a glimpse of Georgia, only nine years old, laying prone and crying on the ground, her arms covered in blistering burns. A few nurses that must have come over from the hospital a few streets over were administering balm to her burns, trying to get her to stand so they could get her somewhere calm and safe.
"Evie," Georgia said softly when she saw the girl's face. "It's the Opera Ghost."
Evelyn's eyes brimmed with tears, and she knelt by the tiny injured girl. "Georgie, I was only joking. I've never saw any opera ghost. I made it all up-"
"No he's really here Evie- I- I saw him- He wore a dark cape, and a white mask-"
"Shhh" Evelyn whispered to her, hugging her gently, trying not to touch the burns. Inside she was frightened, but she put on a brave face for little Georgia. She remembered the Opera Ghosts warning the week before, and how they had scorned it, and knew this had been his doing.
She heard the maestro's voice from behind her, speaking in hushed and desperate tones. She didn't turn around, for fear that he would realise she could hear him speak. She just listened hard with all her energy.
"Just give him the money, Moretti, you have more than enough to spare! Young Georgia could have died today, do you think that he would hesitate to actually kill someone after what you have seen here?"
"It's more the principle-" Moretti's voice sounded strained.
"Damn you and your principals Moretti!" the maestro fumed. He took a deep breath, and then tried another tack. "Think of all the intrigue and publicity news of a phantom would create."
Moretti paused, obviously deep in thought. The maestro's words had affected him. After what sounded like a brief moment of deliberation he made his mind up.
"It would be disastrous if anyone were to be killed."
"You are honourable, sir." The maestro said, his voice relieved. Evelyn turned when she heard the manager walk away, just in time to see the maestro pull a red stained knife out of his pocket and examine it worriedly. Evelyn's eyes widened.
Not noticing her gaze, he slipped the instrument back into his pocket and strode out of the room.
The nurses took Georgia away to the hospital to better treat her burns. Evelyn watched them go from the door into the hallway, hugging herself tightly to keep the worry at bay. The nurses had said the little girl would be fine, though they weren't sure if she would ever be able to perform in the opera again.
Once the carriage that carried her was out of sight, Evelyn's mind began to furiously tick over the things the little girl had said, with intrigue and almost excitement. Nothing like this had ever happened in her life before. A dark cape and a white mask…
"It is useless." Victoria declared despairingly, the day after the fire, throwing down her copy of the sheet music after Evelyn's sixteenth attempt at the line, "You will never be good enough,"
Evelyn bit her lip hard to stop herself from retorting, tears of hurt and exhaustion brimming in her eyes.
"You're nothing but a burden to me and this theatre," she went to sit, a hand covering her eyes in frustration.
Evelyn could hold it in no longer. Not after all these years.
"IF YOU DIDN'T WANT ME YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE SLEPT WITH "THAT ACTOR" THIRTEEN YEARS AGO!" she cried, mimicking the tone that her mother always used when talking about her father, one of disgust and contempt. Victoria rose from her seat and levelled her daughter a look.
"At least I'm not the reason he left." She said, her words quiet and devastating. The words Evelyn had been going to say couldn't get past the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat at the accusation. Then she found words.
"If I'm the reason he left, why would he leave his most treasured possession to me? The only thing he gave to you was an ungrateful bastard brat." she said, blue eyes narrow. Victoria only laughed at this.
"You seriously believe that ribbon belonged to him?" Victoria cackled, pointing at the ribbon, "That was just a scrap I found in the store rooms and gave to you to stop your complaining" she paused to let the words sink in.
"You-" the little girl could find no words.
She turned and fled from the room, so as not to give her mother the satisfaction of seeing the tears of twelve years flood down her face.
'I hate her' she thought furiously, as she slipped a panel aside in one of the old unused music studios and ran along the low tunnel it revealed. One of hertunnels.
'I hate him' she thought, tears burning her eyes. She stopped and took off the blue ribbon staring at it for a moment before hurling it at the floor and running away once again, towards her secret room in the upper storey of the theatre. The room with no doors.
The Phantom of the London Opera strolled cheerfully down another tunnel that Madame Giry had told him of, his pocket heavy with English money. He was pleased he had gotten through to them.
Something caught his eye as he walked, and he stopped in confusion. A blue ribbon lay on the floor of the tunnel, trodden into the dirt. His heart skipped a beat.
What? In his tunnel?
He picked it up and examined it thoroughly. There was no mistaking it. It was that same unusual colour. 'What is this?' he thought gravely. It was then that he heard a soft sound echoing up the tunnel. It sounded like weeping. The weeping of a young girl. He tucked the ribbon into his pocket, a crease forming in his brow.
He followed the sound until he came across a panel barring his way. Cautiously, he slid it partially open, just enough so that he could peer inside.
The sound of sobbing was louder now, and he could see the source of it. The young soprano Evelyn sat amongst a nest of blankets cushions and trinkets, that glinted in the light from a small, dying cluster of candles stuck to the floor. She was curled in the foetal position with her head buried in her knees and her back towards where he stood.
Feeling for the young girl, he silently slid the panel closed once more, wishing he could somehow comfort her.
His mind inadvertently wandered to Christine, and how he had tried to help her... How he had taught her, protected her, opened his heart to her, and she had taken it sweetly and crushed it to pieces with a smile. He couldn't- wouldn't let that happen again, and yet…this girl was not like Christine…
Without knowing how or why, he began to softly sing in a hypnotic voice he had used many times before; "Wandering child, so lost, so helpless. Yearning for my guidance."
There was a short silence in the room, before the panel suddenly slid back with a crack. There stood the girl, her face tear streaked, with more then a few tears still making their way down her cheeks, which she furiously wiped away. She glared at him, and then her face seemed to fall a little in surprise…or recognition…
"Oh no…" the girl, Evelyn murmured as she stared at the man who had somehow found what seemed to be her own secret room.
He felt slightly awkward at being uncovered, but stood tall, dark and intimidating, and Evelyn took a step backwards in uncertainty, the huge blue discs of her eyes fixed on his mask in apprehension, her body tensed.
"Who are you?" she demanded. Standing her ground now, glaring at him in rage. "And how did you find my room?" eyes narrowing distrustfully and arms folding, confirming his earlier suspicions. He looked at her, his eyes glittering with amusement. How could one so tiny have so much wrath?
"I'm sorry, your room?" his voice was strange: warm and somehow rough round the edges, though it flowed easily like liquid. He spoke softly now, but she got the feeling his voice could be very powerful when he chose.
"That's right." She confirmed, placing her hands upon her hips. He laughed condescendingly to which she glowered again.
"Naive child, this Opera House belongs to me now." He said, smirking in satisfaction. It had been so much easier than he had anticipated.
"So you are the one calling himself "Opera Ghost" then," she mused, looking him up and down critically. He felt strangely self conscious… After she had finished scrutinising from his white half-mask to his shoes, her head snapped back to look him dead in the eyes.
"You almost killed my friend." She accused bluntly. He thought back to the little blonde ballerina that had stupidly opened the smouldering door.
"Ah yes. Quite unfortunate." She waited for him to apologise, but he didn't. He just stood in the passage ways entrance, scrutinising her just as she did him. There were things about her that he hadn't noticed before, from his vantage point in box five.
Her eyes were even larger that he had previously thought, now that he saw them close up, and they were framed by sooty dark lashes. They looked angrily up at him now, and he could see her tiny hands balled into shaking fists at her sides. He wondered if those tiny fists would actually do any damage if she decided to punch him. They looked rather feeble, actually. He didn't comment, however. A thought struck him.
"You sing quite beautifully." He said softy and abruptly. The kindness of his words took her off guard and she took an unconscious half step back.
"What?" she asked, confused.
"You're voice." He repeated. "Its quite lovely."
She stared at him blankly. A thought he had tried to forget wormed it's way into his mind again. Uncertainly he began to voice it.
"Would you-" he cut himself off, deep in thought. Last time it had ended in disaster, and yet…this child was not Christine. He was not drawn to her in the same way. And in her voice he saw so much potential. Possibly even more than…
"What?" her voice jolted him out of his reverie.
"Um,"
'Eloquent,' he admonished himself sarcastically in his mind. She raised an eyebrow expectantly. All of a sudden, his mind came to a decision. In an instant he had stepped out of the doorway, taking her arm, and leading her further into the room, away from the door.
"My dear Evelyn-" he began, his voice laden with charm.
"Evie." She shot, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"Evie then. How long have you lived here in the Royal London Opera House?" he inquired.
"I was born here," she said, part of her mind wondering vaguely why she was telling him. He smelt of roses and old parchment... "I've lived here my whole life,"
"Well I'm actually new to this Opera House, I only arrived here in London a few weeks ago," he wondered vaguely why he was telling her this…perhaps to make her trust him, perhaps to make himself trust her…
"You have a French accent." She commented simply. 'Eloquent' she thought acerbically to herself. He, however, laughed.
"I used to live underneath the Opera Populaire in Paris," he said, nodding. Her eyes lit up with curiosity. The Opera Populaire… That had been destroyed in a fire not long ago... Did this man have anything to do with it?
"What made you decide to come here?" she asked inquisitively. She felt his arm stiffen. Curious...
"That is unimportant." He said sharply. That was unusual, she thought. He had been so at ease a moment before. She thought back to the fire of last week. Was this man unstable?
The thought sowed unease in the pit of her stomach, but something about the man intrigued her. How could she not be intrigued? This stranger practically oozed mystery.
It probably had something to do, too, with the fact that she could only see part of his face. The other half was obscured by that simple yet elegant white mask. The half she could see was rather handsome, too. His sharp eyes were a green-blue colour, and his thick, slicked back hair a raven black. He had a strong jaw and the hand that gripped her arm was strong too, but gloved. She wondered why he covered his skin up so much. She realised he had already started to talk again and paid attention.
"-had the fortune to teach the leading soprano at the Paris Opera-"
"Christine Daae?" she asked suddenly, recalling something she had been told a while ago. She saw his jaw clench and was a little confused. She then shrugged it off. Stories of Chirstine Daae didn't really interest her. "Mr. Ghost, this is interesting and all, but what are you leading up to?" she cut off the reply that had formed on his lips.
He looked at her, perplexed. No child, or in fact any other person had ever spoken to him with such little respect. Not that he talked to many children…Still, this one was unusual…
"Well, Evie," he began, going to sit on a cusion in her little nest. She looked a little defensive and protective at the invasion of her space, her eyes sharpening, but the curiosity overcame it. She sat beside him. He continued.
"I listened to you performing the other day, that aria…" he searched his memory for the name of it, but couldn't find it, "And in spite of popular opinion, I found it enchanting," She didn't let how his words had affected her show on her face. "Although there is a vast room for improvement-"
"So I'm often told." She replied a little coldly, her arms hugging her waist in some sort of subconscious act of defence. And I'm sure you know so very much about music." She added, a touch disdainfully.
"More than you could ever dream," He replied seriously, his sharp eyes boring into her wide blue ones. She fell silent, but didn't flinch or look away from his gaze. Brave girl…
"You interest me," he said honestly, "Your voice has great potential, I'm not sure if you realise this or not. What I'm offering you, Evie," no going back now… "Is to teach you to sing, just as I did miss Daae," she noticed he flinched slightly at the name, and wondered why. "I can make your voice parallel to the angels singing in heaven-"
He was interrupted by her laughing. The tone was patronizing, but he detected a hint of melancholy. Her eyes were no longer open and curious, but deadened, making her seem older somehow. She stood and moved to face the corner, her back to him.
"You have chosen entirely the wrong person for your offer, Mr Ghost," she said. "You would do better to choose someone who would actually want to learn to sing parallel to the angels in heaven."
The Phantom was angered.
"You think yourself above my teachings?" he accused, his voice rising, as he stood. She turned to him, her eyes distressed.
"Sir, no!" she said, seeming very troubled at the allegation. Perhaps even a little fearful at his sudden anger. "I'm sure you are one of the greatest musicians that ever lived, if what you tell me about teaching Christine Daae is true. Its just-"
She bit her lip, uncertain of how to tell the man, whom, she understood from her conversation with him and the content of his letter, to be a great lover and even master of the arts.
"Yes?"
"I find no joy in music."
Authors Notes: Dun dun duuuuhn! The little girl hates music? D: How will the Phantom react to Evie's declaration? read the next chapter to find out! :D hehe.
Just a few extra things, thanks to anyone who reviewed the story ^^ Sorry about the music jargon that seems to be a little prominent so far in the story, I didn't expect there to be so much. :D Also I'm gonna be out of state for a week so writing and uploading will be very difficult during that time...