Disclaimer: Do not own Marvel, The 100 or Phantom of the Opera, which was written by Gaston Leroux
Beneath the opera house
The Paris opera house was wide, vast and full of many well-dressed people, as always.
Long flowing gowns and cloaks of dark and bright red, of dark and bright blue and a many other colors in many other shades, flowed about the floor of the opera house, as those clasped within these clothes, danced about, holding their partners close, as they played out the scene which they had been instructed to.
This was the Paris opera house. And the new play which was to be put on for the richest and most respected residents of Paris, France, were going to flock to see the stage performance.
Watching the scene play out, mademoiselle Callie Cartwig, smiled as the performers pulled off their moves perfectly.
The dancers twirled out of the way in varying speeds, all so that the woman in the middle of the stage, Octavia Blake, could step forward and begin her singing.
Callie tried not to snicker at Octavia's exaggerated performance as she sang and danced.
Octavia always did something so dramatically. So garishly.
The only reason why she was such a big star of the opera? Was because she had been practicing it with her older brother, Bellamy, for almost eight years now. And had established herself in the opera house.
Which had left no room for anyone else to be able to perform. No one wanted to give anyone else a chance. It was all about Octavia, and that was just how Octavia and Bellamy liked it.
Callie would never say it out loud, but she was certain that the Blake brother and sister had a relationship that wasn't just by blood related. She had heard…..whispers between the two of them.
There were times when she tried to feel sympathy for Octavia because of it. But she knew better.
Octavia liked the power she had over Bellamy. For her? If there was indeed incest, as Callie suspected there might be, Octavia was more than happy to use Bellamy to her advantage.
As long as she got the spotlight, Octavia was happy to cut someone's throat.
Callie had no love for either Octavia or her brother.
The sooner something horrific happened to them, the better.
Callie slowly glanced up at the rafters above the stage where if anyone was looking? Would be able to see the figures in dark clothing moving about the walkways above, watching the performance.
Callie knew that they were watching and listening.
The thirty phantoms.
They weren't literally phantoms. Callie had met them when they were younger. She knew that they were as flesh and blood as she was.
They were here watching, because they were likely going to arrange an accident.
They wanted Octavia gone as much as Callie did.
They wished to end Octavia's control over the opera house, so that their beloved could be loved by the masses.
A young woman, just a year older than Octavia, a young girl by the name of Clarke Griffin, age twenty-two, had worked in this opera house even longer than Octavia had. However, she was not obsessed with power in the way that Octavia and her brother were.
She just wanted love.
Real love.
She did not want fickle fascination, the way the crowds would give an idol, the way the audience would give Octavia, when it was time for Octavia to sing this part before her admirers.
She wanted someone to truly love her for who she was.
And Callie? She knew that the phantoms on the walkways above were not perfect. They were violent and had killed people in the past.
But they loved Clarke entirely.
They just wished for Clarke to know them.
If one asked how the phantoms knew Clarke, a young orphan girl who was raised here in the opera house, when the phantoms expressed no interest in anyone else here?
The answer was plain and simple.
None of the others here, had caused the phantoms to fall in love.
The phantoms had not fallen in love with Clarke for a long time, till she had reached her seventeenth birthday.
But long before then, they'd known she was special.
Clarke's mother, Abby Griffin, who had recently become a widow, had left Clarke here at this opera house, when Clarke was merely eight years old.
Wretched woman, she had never loved Clarke.
As soon as her husband was dead, she was off to marry another man, by the name of Marcus Kane, with the hopes of a child not weighing her down when she made her new fortune.
Callie thought about Clarke, as she pretended to pay rapt attention to Octavia.
Sweet girl, Clarke, who Callie had come to see as her own daughter. What a precious girl.
Callie's eyes traveled up again to the rafters and she could almost sense the phantoms that secretly ruled this opera house, smile.
She knew that they were planning.
They were going to kill, if they had to get what they wanted. And what they wanted, was Clarke.
That was alright with Callie. As long as Clarke was safe, healthy, loved, looked after and happy. That was all that mattered to her.
Amongst the dancers, there were Wells Jaha, Finn Collins, Harper, Fox, Sterling and Monroe.
Dear friends of Clarke's who were dancing, and likely would have questions when Clarke eventually went missing.
But Callie would explain. Explain that Clarke would emerge, and when she did, she would have the protection of the phantoms of the opera house.
She knew they might not understand. But she would explain as best as she could.
Clarke loved her friends dearly, and that was why Callie knew that the phantoms would never keep her from them. Or from Callie, who practically was Clarke's mother.
But for Clarke to be safe with the phantoms, not to mention, be able to emerge on stage and sing as she wished, deposing the arrogant and self-centered Octavia, the enemies would have to be dealt with.
The phantoms, Callie knew, would dispatch them.
She knew the names of those the phantoms intended to kill, too.
Octavia and Bellamy Blake, of course. But also, Raven Reyes, a horrid young woman that loved making Clarke feel bad. And John Murphy, someone who enjoyed such a sport, as well. Then there were Jasper Jordan, Emori, Nathan Miller, Atom Worth, Dax Summers and John Mbege.
Jones, Drew, Myles, Connor and Miles, Callie presumed would also have to go, even if they hadn't participated as much.
And Callie was in no way surprised, when a sheet of curtain suddenly came loose and rained down onto Octavia, delivering a startled and terrified scream from the weasel of a girl.
Callie fought the need to smirk at her cries.
Served her right.
And it was far from the first "accident" that had befallen Octavia.
Bellamy of course, raced up to the stage as soon as his sister was assaulted by the offending fallen curtain.
He and some others pushed the curtain away, while the enraged and upset Octavia demanded to know how that happened.
Callie tried not to laugh at Octavia's cries. How exactly such a shrieky wretch became the top performer of the opera house's stage? She would never know. However, she was just one of the many obstacles that would need to be disposed of.
Five months ago, another potential enemy had shown up. Calling himself "The Persian."
But he had been easy enough to get rid of.
The Phantoms had cut his throat and let his blood spill all over the floor of the stage, and had sunken his body into the Seine.
The rest of the bodies of those that dared threaten Clarke in any manner, would be disposed of in different ways.
Were anyone to find the bodies of those that had harmed Clarke in the past in the Seine, the fingers would quickly be pointed to her.
And the Phantoms would never allow any harm to come to her.
Callie watched as Octavia gave one of her tantrums and she and her brother stormed off.
Callie swallowed her need to laugh.
Who in their right mind actually liked people like them?
Anyone who used so much as one part of their brain would be able to tell you, that the Blake brother and the Blake sister, were worth nothing. They were grotesque people. A waste of everyone's time.
Callie sighed as she strode forward, only after Octavia and Bellamy had left the room, approaching the stage with her cane in hand. She had no need of a cane, she was only in her early forties and had no health problems to speak of, however, she had found that carrying around a cane, often got her more attention in the authority sense.
"Now that we do not have our star," Callie tried not to snort the word "star" out as she spoke, "We perhaps need to move on to someone else who might just fit the role." She didn't have to look up at the rafters to know that she was doing as the Phantoms wished.
"And who will replace someone like Octavia?!" One of the two new employers of the Paris opera house, Thaddeus Ross, demanded, "She is a sensation!"
"And have you asked anyone else to sing in her stead?" Callie asked, "Have you asked anyone else to show you their talents?" She didn't even face Ross as she spoke, "For all you know? You could have paid attention only to Octavia, and by doing so, neglected the great potential of the many other singers here."
Thaddeus Ross was stunned into silence.
Next to him, Alexander Pierce, much younger than Thaddeus Ross but just as ignorant, demanded, "Well, who do you have in mind, Cartwig?"
Callie nodded at his acknowledgment, even if it was a rude acknowledgment.
She said, "Have you heard Clarke Griffin? She can be compelling."
"A chorus girl?!" Thaddeus scoffed.
Callie looked into the crowd of performers, finding Clarke easily, as any true mother or true father would find their child in a crowd of many masked faces.
Because Callie knew Clarke's mannerisms, Clarke's glances. When Clarke felt self-conscious and tried to conceal herself. As she was attempting to do at the moment, clearly embarrassed that such attention be brought to her.
Callie had worked at this opera house since she was twenty-one, and she had been twenty-four when Clarke had been brought here, desperate for a mother. And Callie had treated the child as her daughter for these many years.
Callie smiled at Clarke's shifting.
Even with the black mask on her, Callie recognized Clarke easily.
Yes, she wore an uncharacteristically elaborate, gold dress, which was the opposite of how she preferred to dress, but Callie would recognize her anywhere.
"Come here," she said gently to the young woman next to Finn, "Show monsieur Ross and monsieur Pierce that Octavia is no loss to our great opera house."
And yes, Callie had intentionally phrased it in that exact way, for two reasons.
The most important reason for Callie, was so that everyone would know that Octavia was not nearly as great a performer as everyone believed her to be-because she was not.
And secondly, because in this opera house? There were many talented performers. One person did not make this opera house. All of the performers did. Octavia was not the face of the Paris opera house, no matter how much she believed she was.
She was an arrogant and callous mistake which never should have entered the halls of the opera house. And her brother was no more but a violent and uncouth bitch who should never have been born.
Callie would be more than happy to smear both their names now, were it not that they needed to attend to the show.
Clarke hesitantly stepped forward, and Callie could read from her child's body language, that Clarke was nervous.
"It's alright, Clarke," Callie assured the younger woman, as Clarke came over, pulling her mask off, "Just begin to sing. Show them. And if you can't do it? There's nothing to be ashamed of. You did your best and that is all that matters."
Callie always encouraged Clarke. Made sure, as Clarke knew she had been abandoned by her birth mother-not really a mother, just someone who gave birth to Clarke, that Clarke was always wanted, always knew that anything she did was enough.
That Clarke never needed to feel ashamed.
Clarke nodded, though a light pink touched her cheeks.
"Thank you, mademoiselle Cartwig," Clarke said, faced Thaddeus Ross and Alexander Pierce, cleared her throat, and then the young woman with pale blonde hair and sky-blue eyes, began singing in earnest.
As she did, Callie smiled, and she sensed the smiles of many of Clarke's friends on the stage as they watched.
She observed Pierce and Ross gasp at what they heard, stunned by the performance, and clearly impressed.
Callie fought a grin.
She knew that Clarke had the part.
Which meant that Clarke was one step closer to being in the grasp of the Phantoms who wished to love her.
The show happened not long afterwards.
Clarke sang before audiences who were amazed by the talent which had not been discovered by those that governed the opera house, until now.
Now? Octavia had competition.
Callie didn't have to ask to know that Octavia would not take this well. Octavia and Bellamy believed themselves to be the center of the universe. And if anyone told them otherwise? It would lead to most likely screaming fits at best, and perhaps even violence at worst.
Callie knew they would have to wait and see what happened.
Below the opera house, were many of the Phantoms, listening to the sweet and beautiful melody of their angel.
They wished to remain where they were and listen the entire time, but they knew that they needed to dispatch a threat to their Clarke.
The rat catcher, John Murphy.
Several of the Phantoms nodded to the three next to them and the three of them moved down the hall, knowing where John Murphy, who liked to be called just "Murphy," was at the moment.
Murphy was raised here in the opera house like all of the residents, except for the staff that preceded those that lived here.
But Murphy had no interest nor any talent for opera. Then again, many did not. But for Murphy? It was almost as if there was a force that made him even less talented than not talented at all.
It was why he had resigned himself only to be able to stick to the gutters of the opera house and hunt down rats.
As he liked to joke with his best friend, John Mbege, who actually had some singing talent, but not much, "I'm just doing my fucking duty. Hunting down unwanted rats like myself."
It was sort of a running joke between himself and Mbege.
Murphy had caught and killed at least ten rats today. He knew he'd need to kill more before he was paid.
He knew who was singing on the stage now. He didn't recognize it as Octavia's voice, so, even if he didn't know that that bitch, Clarke Griffin was on the stage now? He knew that it wasn't Octavia singing.
But he had heard the rumors, nonetheless.
Clarke Griffin at last got the spotlight she wanted so badly.
It was disgusting.
The first time Murphy had met Clarke? She had seen how lean and thin he was and had tried to offer him some of her food, smiling.
It had repulsed Murphy. There he was, working for his meal and this spoiled princess got food and was giving him pity?
It had made Murphy's blood boil.
And he had grabbed the plate that Clarke had offered to him and had thrown it back at her, the food hitting her and she had cried out, scared.
It was funny to Murphy.
Of course, Murphy had gotten the beating of his life for that by the guards around the opera house.
Clarke had even had the gall to try to stop the guards not to hit him, pleading with them not to.
It was why Murphy enjoyed it so much when Octavia, Raven, Miller, Jasper, Bellamy and the others insulted Clarke and he was happy also to take part in it.
When later, Clarke had exclaimed to Murphy that she just wanted to be his friend, Murphy had laughed at her and told her to just shut up and die.
Murphy was fourteen at the time, Clarke thirteen.
He hated that bitch.
Always had.
And the worst part was? Even after Murphy had told her how he felt about her, Clarke still treated him kindly. Like she was pitying him.
It was disgusting.
If he could get away with it? He was sure he'd kill Clarke himself. Clarke and that friend of hers, Wells Jaha, since Wells was the son of some wealthy businessman.
Whatever.
Murphy made his way through the tunnel, grabbing at and killing rats as he went.
He grinned as he pulled out some more traps, when a pain unlike anything he had ever known, hit the back of his neck, and began piercing through to the front of his throat, blood pouring down his chest as it did.
Murphy gasped, a coppery taste filling his mouth.
Desperate, he reached up and grabbed at the metal prong pushing out of his throat, splitting his throat open.
He let out a watery gasp, as he grabbed it.
Pain dug into his right hand.
It felt like an arrow.
Why was there an arrow in his neck?!
He slowly and weakly turned around, the water around his ankles sloshing as he did.
Behind him, he saw three figures closing in on him, but they were quickly becoming blurry.
And with that, Murphy choked out blood and dropped down into the water, dead, pain the last thing he felt.
The closest of the three Phantoms leaned down, grabbed the arrow right below its blade, and pulled the arrow all the way out through the rat catcher's neck.
"What a shame," the Phantom that had shot the arrow said, smirking under his mask, "The poor bastard that treated our Clarke badly is dead. I'm sure that's a real loss."
The other two with him chortled in amusement.
They let Murphy's body decay along the canals of the opera house. The rats would have their feast of meat from him.
They then went to the upper levels of the opera house, as the show went on.
They found Emori, Drew, Dax Summers, Atom Worth, Jones, Myles and Connor easily enough.
And when they did, they cut them apart limb from limb and burned the pieces in the back of the opera house where no one saw them.
They knew they would have to wait before getting to the others.
Octavia and her brother weren't even in the opera house currently.
Raven, Miller and Miles were all on the stage now, part of the show.
And Jasper, one of the workhands on stage, was looking after the props.
That was fine. They could wait.
For now? Several of the people that had hurt Clarke, were dead.
Murphy wasn't even the first of those that had hurt Clarke that was dead.
The first two had been Clarke's birth mother, Abby Griffin and Abby's paramour, Marcus Kane.
Soon after Clarke was abandoned at the opera house, they tracked Clarke's mother down and killed her and her lover.
They left the bodies for hungry dogs to eat and tear apart. No one found the bodies. Just scraps that might be speculated to be human body parts.
They then made their way back to the main part of the opera house.
They left various soaps and fresh water containers around the underside of the opera house. The three that killed Murphy, grabbed those things and washed their hands. Before anything else, it would not be pleasant to try anything while having used their hands on such a filthy creature as Murphy.
They were pleased to join their companions, listening to their angel sing, as it was her turn to sing again.
They knew that their feelings for her were far from pure. They had loved her since the moment they had seen her. And because of what they were? That was possible.
People thought they might be literal ghosts. They were not.
Clarke believed them to be spirits or angels. They were not.
They were vampires. And vampires all had soulmates.
It was just in this case? They all had the same soulmate.
Clarke Griffin.
Clarke didn't know what they were, and didn't know that she was their soulmate.
It was best she not know until it was time.
When they had seen her, they had known what their connection to her was.
But they knew that they could not approach her, when they had first laid eyes on her.
She was a child. For them, to be full-grown adults and to approach a child? Would be wrong.
They wished not to prey on her in such a way. It would not be good for her.
They had heard of those that had forced themselves on children, or those that had lured children into coitus with them.
Such actions? Were deplorable. At best.
They hunted down adults like that.
This was why they stayed away from Clarke.
They spoke to her when she was young, while she was crying, to comfort her, because they couldn't bear how lonely she was. But they didn't involve themselves with her.
Until now.
There were parts of the world that had laws that said that when a child turned fourteen or fifteen, they were considered adults.
But the Phantoms didn't buy that. They had been around a long time. You didn't automatically become an adult when you were sixteen, fifteen or fourteen.
Those that made it legal for thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen or seventeen-year-olds to have sex with adults, clearly just wanted an excuse to take advantage sexually of young children, to control them.
Clarke's mates stayed away from her, but only began to instruct her in singing when she began to come of age.
When she was seventeen and up.
Now that she was a full-grown woman? They would approach her.
They would show her what they had done for her.
That they had killed for her and would kill again for her.
And yes, they were going to kill again for her.
They still needed to get rid of Raven, Jasper, Miles, Miller, Octavia and Bellamy.
Jasper would be easy enough right now.
He was a stagehand.
He would be in the wings.
And he'd be easy enough to dispose of, without anyone seeing them do it.
But they'd wait. Until the next few shows. Because right now? Nothing was going to interrupt Clarke getting the credit and acknowledgment she deserved.
The group of thirty vampires listened to their angel sing.
When the show ended, they shared a smile at the roar of joy and approval from the audience.
The show ended and they began to move all the way up through the opera house, and reached the secret entrances, reaching Clarke's room, peering at her through the mirror glass.
There she was. Clarke.
Their angel.
Clarke was surrounded by the flowers given to her by the many who wished to give her their congratulations and thanks.
White, pink and red roses alike flooded the room.
Clarke picked up the nearest pink rose and smelled it, smiling.
One of the redheaded women of the vampire Phantoms, called out, "Bravo! Bravo! Excellently done!"
Clarke turned to the mirror, hearing the praise directed at her, smiling.
Clarke believed them to be spirits or angels. Believed that she owed them everything.
This was not so.
They were not spirits or angels. Not in any sense of the word. And Clarke owed them nothing.
They owed her everything. Just by existing, that was the case.
There was a voice that came from the hall opposite of the mirror.
The Phantoms recognized the voice. It was the voice of Harper, one of Clarke's friends.
"Clarke," Harper called out as she entered the room, grinning, "I'm so happy for you!" She came over to sit down next to Clarke, "I just wish I knew your secret. Who taught you so well?"
Clarke smiled at Harper as she said, "Harper, when I first was brought here, fourteen years ago, do you remember how sad I was? How alone I was?"
Harper nodded, appearing pained at the reminder.
"I was alone and in so much pain," Clarke said, smiling sadly, "Then I heard a voice speak to me from seemingly nowhere. And then another and then another. Men and women spoke to me. They comforted me. Told me not to be afraid. That I wasn't alone. I think they're angels. Or spirits. I don't know. But they have been there for me ever since I got here. And they instructed me, since I was seventeen, on how to sing."
Several of the Phantoms chuckled at the startled expression on Harper's face.
Clearly, she didn't know what to make of Clarke's story.
Clarke nodded to Harper as she said, "I know that's hard to believe. But it's the truth."
Harper studied Clarke's face for several moments. She then said, "Clarke, spirits? Angels? I've never heard you speak about things like this. And…it's not like you."
Clarke smiled. "Thank you for your concern," She said to Harper, "But I know what I've heard. It's alright that you don't believe it. I sometimes have a hard time believing it too."
Harper was quiet, troubled and worried as she looked at Clarke.
Harper thankfully didn't push the issue, just hugged Clarke, hoping that Clarke was okay, then left.
The Phantoms, they knew Harper with Clarke well enough to know that Harper wasn't going to abandon the other woman.
Harper was just having a hard time accepting Clarke's story and needed time to process it.
Well, Clarke and the Phantoms were without any outsiders. Which meant? The Phantoms could move in now.
The Phantoms in question; Bruce, Frank, Peggy, Wanda, Pietro, Natasha, Steve, Tony, Pepper, Jessica, Luke, Danny, Christine, Yelena, Melina, Sam, Clint, Laura, Barney, Simone, Rhodey, Carol, Brunnhilde, Thor, Hela, Loki, Sylvie, Maria, Elektra and Stephen, all bearing white masks that covered parts of their faces, but not all of it. They had hoods up as well. This was mainly so that people wouldn't recognize them when they skulked around the opera house, knocked people out and fed on them-not enough to kill those they fed on, then leave.
They only reserved killing for the worst sorts of people. Like they were going to reserve for the rest of the people that had hurt Clarke.
"Clarke," the Phantom closest to the mirror called out, "Come to us, we are here. You will see us at last."
Clarke raised her head and got up from her seat, moving to the mirror.
One of the Phantoms worked a stone switch next to the mirror, and the mirror began to slide up.
As soon as the mirror was up, the Phantom who had when praising Clarke for her performance onstage, reached her hand in offering, and Clarke, certain that her angels or spirits were going to explain everything to her at last-which they would, reached her right hand out, and took the offered hand, and allowed the closest Phantom to lead her down the hall, through the mirror's doorway.
Author's note
Gaston Leroux, when he wrote the Phantom of the Opera book, I'm sure never envisioned this, lol.
