Chapter Text
A ballet dancer by trade, a poet by heart, and an explorer by spirit, the young woman wrapped the shawl around her shoulders tighter. The strange hallway she had managed to stumble in was dark and damp, and she had lost the light of the moon long ago. All she had was a candle, and that was on its way to melting away as well. She cursed her curiosity, and then she cursed the opera house that she lived in. How was it that at least once a month she found herself inexplicably lost in a building that could only have so many walkways and rooms and doors? She knew that part of it was due to her boredom that arose when couldn’t sleep. But, sometimes she wondered if her assessment of the order of things was wrong, if it was possible that these strange instances she found herself in were the product of something unnatural. Magic or malevolent, or both. She would drift through what seemed to be an endless labyrinth of pitch black hallways in a haze, until a noise knocked her out of her stupor and attracted her attention to a door she swore was not there before.
In this particular instance she was in a far grander walkway, one where the dark grey brick walls seemed to tower over her, but not uninvitingly so. If anything, they only spurred her to continue on further, as she lost all consideration for what time it was and what time she would need to wake in the morning.
The further she walked, the more she began to feel a thick moisture in the air. And then, as suddenly as she took the next step, she felt the full weight of another oppressive force, like she’d entered another realm entirely. She stopped, and in that moment her candle reached the final bit of its wick and was completely snuffed out. Grimacing, she flicked some stray wax from her fingers and took stock of her surroundings. It was still incredibly dark, but further down the hallway she saw a faint warm yellow light. It wasn’t much, but it was something, and begrudgingly she started forward again.
The closer she got, the stronger the light grew. The oppressive atmosphere followed suit. The grand hallway turned into a spiraling staircase, and as she peered down it she noticed the start of water. Her eyes widened, and she stood completely astounded for a few moments. Where could this water have possibly come from? Had there been a flood in the opera that she was not privy to? But that didn’t seem likely, there hadn’t been a storm in ages, and they were in the middle of summertime. And for the water to be this high, it must’ve started long before she had gotten lost. She would’ve been warned.
Hesitant to continue on, she tried reasoning with herself that sewers existed, and that one must have run under the opera house. And of course anyone would be able to access it, even a wandering fool like herself, for reasons of safety she could not name.
Looking behind her, the void waiting did not seem more enticing than the offer of light below. With shaky confidence she descended down the stairs and to the edge of the water, and gazed up to find an island in the distance. Or at least, what seemed to be an island. Balancing delicately on her toes and using the wall next to her for extra stability, she peered closer to find that it seemed a manmade island adorned with rich and decadent furniture. She was tempted to pinch herself to see if her fantastical thoughts had got the best of her in her bed, and she had indeed been dreaming this entire time.
The island seemed to be the only place of interest, and so she lifted up the hem of her dress and stepped cautiously into the water. The water reeked of must, but not too unpleasantly, and came up to her knees. The coldness of it instantly shocked any ideas of dreaming out of her head.
She waded towards the island, and as it came closer into view she began to appreciate the beauty it beheld. There was plush red furniture of all variety scattered about, dressers and desks, parchment paper tossed about wildly, jewelry and other trinkets of curiosity, fine linens and cloth and lace for what seemed to be costume-making, and the jewel of it all, a grand wooden organ, intricately carved, which commanded respect from anyone observing it. Forgetting the chill of the water, she nearly bounded out of the water and up the stairs to get a closer look at the magnificent instrument.
Up closer, it was even more beautiful, and she took pleasure in delicately dragging her finger against the smooth wood. She then gained the courage to press a few keys with her fingers, reveling in the powerful and resonant sound that it produced. This satisfaction was short lived though, as suddenly a gloved hand gripped her shoulder tightly.
“What are you doing here?” A silvery voice hissed, though she did not turn fast enough to see its owner. Her sudden fear and the combined physical exhaustion her wandering had taken manifested into a wild scramble to escape the hand trapping her. This resulted in a misstep off of the edge of the floor of the island, and she tumbled down the stairs leading to the organ, managing to hit her head on a step as she did. She thought she heard a faint voice cry out in shock, and perhaps even concern, before the world melted into darkness.
🎭
When she awoke sunlight was lapping at the apples of her cheeks. Everything around her was warm and sweet, enticing her back into sleep. But she knew that it was time to rise, and so she sat up in her bed, the sheets pooling lovingly around her hips. To her displeasure, she found that she was the only one left in the dormitories, everyone else most likely having already begun lessons and practice for the day. She pursed her lips in muted panic. She was sure to get an earful from her teacher, and a fair bit of teasing from her friends as well.
As she stood from the bed and her bare feet hit the cold floor, she was suddenly aware of a dull throbbing in the back of her head. Touching the affected area gingerly, memories of the previous night flooded her mind. Had it all been real? She knew that the almost bizarre, nearly supernatural quality of the opera halls was indeed fact, not fiction. She had countless nights spent being lost to confirm that. But the strange lake beneath the building, the island of opulence and music, the voice? Had that all been true, or a hallucination brought on by a night spent awake too long. The throbbing in her head seemed to confirm that something had indeed happened, but the question of whether that was what she remembered or some other ordeal entirely had yet to be answered. She decided that it was time to get ready for the day, and ask for answers from others.
Approaching the doorway to the backstage of the opera house, she mentally prepared herself for a scolding. Upon entering, the hawk-like stare of Madame Giry turned towards her in its full wrath. With a small grimace, she lowered her head as she walked towards the older woman.
“You are an hour later than all of your peers.” Her teacher stated matter of factly. Looking up with apologetic eyes, she could not get a word in before Madame Giry spoke again.
“This is not to become a habit, not for an aspiring dancer such as yourself, and certainly not for one of my ballerinas. You are a professional who should rise with the sun, not sleep it away. In order to make up for your lost hour, you will stay behind at the end of the day to assist the stagehands with their duties.” The words seemed to bite, not because she was upset at the extra work, although she wasn’t fond of that either, but because she wasn’t used to Madame Giry being this upset with her. As her face fashioned into a frown, her teacher’s eyes softened. Letting out a soft breath, she gently lay a hand on the younger woman’s shoulder. Though she wouldn’t say it out loud, she had a particular fondness for the girl standing in front of her.
“You look as though you have not been resting well. Have you been taking the tea I’ve been suggesting before bed?” She questioned. She shook her head, glancing up at Madame Giry’s face. Her teacher and her friend Meg were the only one’s privy to her trouble with sleep.
“I have been, and it worked for a few nights, but not recently.” She admitted. Madame Giry tutted as she said her name. Her eyes held a look of both concern and pity, a look that she did not like one bit. Waving off the older woman’s disquiet, she turned to face the other ballerinas.
“I’ll start warming up,” and she began to walk to the opposite side of the room where Meg was practicing.
“I’m sorry, it won’t happen again I promise.” She added, turning to face her teacher one more time before scampering off. Though Madame Giry’s face returned to her usual stern expression, there was a mixture of curiosity and apprehension that confessed secrets unknown to those around her.
As she lined up next to Meg, she was ready to rip into her dear friend for failing to wake her up with the others. Meg beat her to it.
“Where were you Daaé!” Her raven haired friend accused, her face pinched in anger. Still, the girl knew that if Meg was using her last name, she must’ve not been that mad. In the opera house she preferred that people use that name instead of her first, as it made her feel closer to her family, the one she missed dearly. She raised her eyebrows and tilted her head at Meg.
“When we woke up you were gone! I thought you’d gotten an early start to the day, but when we all came down here you were nowhere to be found. I was starting to think the Opera Ghost had stolen you!” Meg all but cried. The young Daaé gave a slight roll of her eyes. Though she was not one to argue against the paranormal activities of the opera, it seemed as though every slight mishap was blamed on the supposed Opera Ghost nowadays.
“I just wandered for too long last night.. and I.” She paused for a moment. If someone had not found her and brought her back when she (surely) passed out from exhaustion, then just how did she manage to get back to her bed safe and sound?
“You what?” Meg inquired, frustration still evident in her furrowed brow.
“No one found me? I thought that I had fainted in the halls, and that one of the custodians or stagehands had found me and brought me back to the dorms. No one said anything, to any of you?” She asked. Meg’s face melted from annoyance to confusion, if not fear.
“You were gone when we woke up, I just told you! You’re not making sense. What happened last night?” Meg pushed further, this time in a whisper. Both were quick to pretend they were diligently practicing when Madame Giry walked by with a stomp of her cane.
“I got up because I couldn’t fall asleep again, and then I went to walk around for a bit and I–” Meg interrupted her.
“Did you get lost again?” She asked fervently. Daaé nodded in response. Despite sharing her troubles of sleeplessness with both Madame Giry and her daughter, Meg was the only one who knew of the strange happenings she experienced when wandering around the Opera at night. They had concluded together that these instances of normal hallways twisting into endless labyrinths only occurred to Daaé. Meg was anxious to find out the reason why, along with Daaé herself.
“Yes, I did, and I thought that I dreamt this part Meg, but I walked so far I reached a lake under the opera house. An entire lake! And there was an island in the middle with a great big organ! And when I reached the island to inspect the organ, someone grabbed me, and startled me so much that I fell and hit my head. And I must have fainted, because I woke up in my bed after.” As she finished the recount of her journey, Meg stared at her in disbelief. Daaé knew that she had either convinced her friend of her impending insanity, or fueled the fire of her Opera Ghost stories. As she recounted the night, a feeling of dread began to descend heavy in her heart.
“It must have been a dream though Meg, surely someone would already know if there was a lake under the Opera.” She reasoned, hesitant to believe that the whole ordeal had been true. That would mean that someone was lurking around the building completely undetected, and moreover, she had angered them. That thought terrified her. Meg thought about it for a moment, and though she was prone to excitability when it came to fantastical stories about the opera house, she knew when it was time to be logical, if for the comfort of her clearly distressed friend. She was much like her mother in that way.
“Perhaps you did pass out somewhere in the opera, and someone brought you back in the morning after we’d all woken up without telling us. I’ll ask my mother.” She suggested, but the Daaé girl shook her head.
“I don’t want to concern her with this right now, not with the stress of our production being nearly underway. It’s all perfectly explainable, I must have just had a strange dream.” She assured, straining to convince both herself and her friend. Though Meg studied her skeptically, this had not been the first time she was found passed out somewhere around the building in the early morning. Though it had been the first time such a bizarre dream had accompanied it, and the first time she’d woken up late because of it. Agreeing to forget the ordeal for now, Meg suddenly grinned.
“What punishment did you get for waking up so late?”
🎭
True to her word, Madame Giry had left her alone in the backstage of the opera when all the other girls left to attend dinner. Meg had only laughed at her pout, while some of her less acquainted friends pursed their lips at her in pity. She grumbled all the way to the office of the stage manager, Jean Lafitte, a cheerful man of middle age with balding red hair. He had only slapped her on the back in a chuckle, placing a brush in her hand and sending her on her way to painting a few backdrops in plain white. This was, of course, busy work, only in preparation for the actual painters to design their beautiful scenes of grandeur for the upcoming production of Rigoletto. But Monsieur Lafitte had assured her that it was necessary with a twinkle in his eyes, and so there she lay on her knees, painting some old wooden slab a pearly white in the main stage of the Palais Garnier.
Taking a small break after the first half hour of her punishment, she glanced around at the empty stage. Some had worked with her for the first 15 minutes, but their day had nearly ended when she began, so she was now completely alone. Glancing briefly at the Maestro’s piano sitting on the left hand side of the stage for rehearsals, she decided it would harm no one if she tested out the instrument's quality.
Going to sit down at the piano, she carefully inspected the keys in front of her, as well as the scattered sheet music sitting atop of it. She was fortunate enough to have learned to read sheet music as a young child, and every so often Madame Giry allowed her to practice on the piano in her home. But this was the first time she’d played on the one in the opera house, and she felt giddy with anticipation and rebelliousness.
Playing a few notes of the song in front of her, she quickly grew bored of that tune, and switched over to a melody she had been toying around with in spare moments for a month or so. It was stilted at first, but as her fingers warmed up and muscle memory kicked in, the song became more fluid. Enough for her to stop focusing on her fingers and instead give her full attention to the music. She began to hum along, letting her voice go whichever way seemed to best complement the song, eventually letting emotion completely guide the flow of the melody. A few minutes in, she found herself entirely entrenched in the otherworldly atmosphere of the music, unaware of her surroundings.
She was not well trained by any standard, but Madame Giry and Meg, biased as they may be, had complemented often that her voice had potential. ‘Perhaps with the right teacher..’ the older Giry had once commented under her breath. So she continued to sing anyway, hoping that one day she might get the chance to learn.
Slowly, a voice joined in on her playing, seemingly distant, a sort of thick fog of sound around it. It was silky and deep at first, like a serpent moving through the soft ground of the earth. Initially, she did not notice the nature of this intrusion, only enjoying the beautifully haunting addition to her melody, reveling in how it elevated the song. But as she continued on, the voice continued to grow and grow in strength and magnificence. It was as if an anguished scream had been skillfully translated into an intimate and sorrowful melody. Her conscious mind could no longer ignore it. She stopped playing and stared up at the gigantic ceiling of the opera, willing to find the person whom the voice belonged to. But a few moments after she ended her playing, the voice faded away as well.
Just then, a lingering stagehand walked in. He looked at her warmly.
“Was that you playing just now Mademoiselle?” He asked her, gathering a few spare props in a pile across the stage. She nodded in a daze, glancing back and forth between the man and the now quiet, empty theater.
“Did you hear that other voice just now?” She asked, standing up from her place on the bench of the piano. The stagehand gave her a look of curiosity.
“Only yours.” He replied, continuing to glance at her skeptically as he went about his work. Still staring at the endless row of plush red seats, she furrowed her eyebrows. She was so certain that she’d heard another voice, but now it seemed to escape her mind, like the memory of a dream after one has been awake for too long.
Shaking away her racing thoughts, she approached the other man and gave a bashful smile.
“It must’ve been my own echo then, perhaps due to the acoustics of the stage. I’ve never played here before.” She admitted, not wanting anyone else to question her sanity that day. He seemed to relax at her words, and returned her grin.
“Well you must play again some time, it was quite exquisite.” And with that the stagehand left the room. She felt herself beam at the praise, relieved to hear it from someone other than Meg and Madame Giry. Perhaps they weren’t so biased.
Turning with a sigh, she carefully picked up the abandoned paint brush from the floor. She knew it was time to finish up her extra hour of work, and that little detour had only added to her time. But as she finished up what was left, she couldn’t help but glance back to the now foreboding theater every so often. Past the first few rows of seats, there was only the blanket of a shadow that now held an air of foreboding. She never saw any strange movement, no indication that someone had been lurking in hidden corners. But she couldn’t shake the feeling of a stare burning into her figure.