Mortis Scribere

Fiction

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Update for You Are My Way Of Life:

Hiii sorry about the hiatus, I ended up getting very sick amongst other life things. I am working on the next chapter. Also may redo the earlier chapters? Idk

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do we be a bitch to carotta in you are my way of life?

Yes

No

Dont care but wanna see the results

Voting ended onMar 30

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You Are My Way Of Life

Authors Notes: I've been putting off posting this chapter cause I wasn't sure if I wanted to follow the movie/play or not still but I finally figured out what I'm doing to progress so here you go! Triggers: Slight violence.

Chapter 4: Prying Pandora

Your eyes drift open, your mind still debates if what transpired earlier was just a dream or reality. When your eyes fully settle you realize it was not a dream. You lie here in the peacock bed, wrapped in lush velvet sheets. You reach for the rope to raise the curtain over the bed, and candle light begins to pool into the area. You see the man, the phantom at the grand organ, writing on a sheet, a composition you presume. He does not look in your direction, as he is engrossed in his work.

You slide out of the bed, your feet hitting the ice cold stone sends a shiver up your spine. You start making strides toward him at the organ. He hears you arise and looks behind at you, his expression is unreadable. You continue to make your stride toward him as he turns back, looking at the sheet before him.

“Who was that face in the shadows?”  You sing to yourself, standing by his side at the organ.

“Whose is the face in the mask?” Your hand reaches up to his bare cheek and he leans into your hand as if he hasn't felt any touch in years. Your other hand reaches up, towards the mask on his face, you slowly begin to pull it away. The mask removes with ease and suddenly terror strikes his eyes. You thought he was giving you the okay. You were wrong.

He shoves you away, the mask still clutched in your hand. You hit the cold floor and a gasp escapes your throat. His hand flies up to cover his face.

“Damn you! You little prying pandora! You little demon! Is this what you wanted to see?” He yells, his body thrashing in a fit of rage. You flinch at the movements unsure of what he may do next.

“Curse you! You little lying delilah! You little viper! Now you cannot ever be free!” His voice is still booming off the walls. His venom filled words are what strikes you, not his hands.

“Damn you! Curse you...” His voice trembles as he storms to one side of the organ, hand still covering his face, the other knocking down candelabras.

You are still in a heap on the ground, heart racing at his explosive reaction. All the facades of the phantom disappear at this moment. He is not a ghost, he is a man, a very, very, wounded man. Hurt by leering eyes and harsh words.

“Stranger than you’ve dreamt it, can you even dare to look? Or bear to think of me? This loathsome gargoyle who burns in hell but secretly, yearns for heaven, secretly...secretly.” His voice is breaking as he walks around you, his eyes don't meet yours.

“Fear can turn to love you'll learn to see, to find the man behind the monster, this...repulsive carcass who seems a beast but secretly, dreams of beauty, secretly, secretly...” He is on the ground with you, practicalling crawling toward you with unshed tears in his eyes, pleading. He is pleading with you. This man who makes backdrops fall, and is a ghost to the rest of the opera house is pleading to you. To understand him, to look beyond the mask.

His eyes still won't meet yours. He is afraid to look at you, to see your reaction. Your hand trembles still holding his mask. You inch closer to him, handing it to him.

“I-I’m sorry monsieur, I didn't mean to upset you.” You finally speak, your voice small and meek. And you are telling the truth, you did not wish to hurt this man, you were simply curious. 

He takes the mask, turning away from you to place it back on. For a moment he does not speak, he is still turned away from you, securing the mask back onto his face. You did not see what lies beneath it, but given his explosive reaction, you may not ever see it.

He stands up, fixing his waistcoat and shirt, straightening them out. He turns to you, his unmasked side facing you. You meet his gaze, he has since now composed himself to the best of his ability, his eyes still filled with the unshed tears.

“It is early dawn now, come, people will suspect your disappearance." He says, his throat tight from the previous yelling.

He offers a hand to you, still on the ground from him shoving you. You take it and he helps you rise  back to your feet. He stands very tall before you as he guides you back to the gondola.

The ride on the lake now this time is silent, no music, no humming, no singing. Just silent. You eventually work your courage to speak again.

“Monsiuer... I am still very sorry, I did not wish to upset you, I was just-” You say softly again before his voice cuts through.

“Curious as to why a man, hidden in the depths of an opera house hides his face? You wanted to see the monster behind the mask. The spectacle.” He says coldly not meeting your gaze, focusing on guiding the gondola through the passages.

Your breath hitches in your throat, he speaks so lowly of himself. The truth is you were curious, curious as to why a man with a beautiful voice hides his face, himself deep below the opera house.

“I don't believe you are a monster monsieur, monsters don't leave women roses and compliment their singing.” You say your voice still hushed. 

For a moment his whole body goes rigid and he stops rowing. The pole lays still in the water mid-stroke as he analyzes your words, trying to find a point he can break them, deny your kindness. But he doesn't find that point as you speak up again.

“If you wish to keep your face hidden that is alright, it makes no difference to me whether you wear a mask or not.” You state firmly, not in a harsh tone but one that solidifies your feelings on the matter.

His eyes finally meet yours, looking for any sign of deception or pity in your face, but he finds none. He resumes rowing without a word, bringing his focus back on guiding the gondola across the passages.

Silences falls upon you both again, the only sounds are the occasional drip somewhere deep in the passages and the pole dragging through the water. 

“Monsiuer, you know my name but I do not know yours... What can I call you?” You speak up again, voice still soft, not wishing to upset him.

He does not still this time, he continues rowing as he ponders at your question. A simple question you’ve asked, his name, but he sits and questions it as if you’ve asked him the meaning of life itself.

“Erik... My name is Erik.” He finally speaks up, his voice stripped of all the vibrato of the opera ghost persona, he speaks plainly, as himself. No theatrics behind it. His piercing blue eyes drift down to you only for just a moment, then flick back up to the waters ahead.

A smile breaches your face, you’ve completely disarmed this ‘ghost’ by just asking a simple question of his name. You do not speak again, happy with your discovery and not wanting to push too far.

The gondola arrives back at shore. The horse that was once there is gone now, perhaps resting in a nearby stable underground. He ties the boat back to the dock and then offers you his hand again. You rise from the velvet seat taking his hand again guiding you out of the boat. He does not let go after you are secure on the ground for a moment he stands there staring into your eyes before jerking his head back to the path.

“Ceaser retired for the night and has not risen yet, we will have to take the path on foot.” He states firmly, picking up a torch on a sconce, lighting the path ahead.

“That's quite alright, Erik.” You say giving a slight curt nod back. His hand grips slightly as his name falls from your tongue, almost as if he already forgot he told you his name just moments prior. 

The rest of the walk is quiet, the only sound is both of your feet on the stone and the occasional drip-drop of water. You see the mirror you came from the night prior your heart sinks just a bit knowing this will be goodbye. Just a few feet before the mirror you stop. He turns around his face drawing a reaction of confusion mixed with worry at your sudden halt.

“Erik, will I see you again?” You whisper, a voice only for him to hear, as if other people were around despite the fact that it is just the two of you in this dark tunnel. A whisper that only reaches his ears. 

He looks at you for a moment, his brow raised at the question, all anger from earlier has subsided. He stares back at you, his mouth opens, then closes, the words never coming out before he finally answers you.

“Yes, you will... But at this time people will begin to question where the prima donna is, you must return to your room.” He says, almost in the same hushed tone you had just used with him. 

He lets go of your hand, reaching for a mechanism and then when his other hands his fingers gently coax the mirror to slide open, revealing your room, just as you left it last night. His hand finds the small of your back gently leading you back into the room. Once inside you turn around to him.

“Well, until we meet again, Erik.” You offer him a warm smile.

“Until we meet again, (Y/N).” He says, the corner of his lip almost turning upward, forming into a smirk, as he slides the mirror shut again.

You are left in the room alone, your mind reeling from all that's happened, the performance, the duet last night, his anger this morning. You move back to the dressing screen, opening a trunk that was left there of your clothes. You begin to dress in your regular practice clothes, a simple blouse and skirt. Once dressed you look to the bouquet on the vanity, then to the dual roses that lay next to it. You pick one of the roses, briefly bringing it to your nose, inhaling the sweet smell of its velvet petals. You are brought out of your thoughts with a knock at the door.

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You Are My Way Of Life

I thought I already posted this chapter! This chapter (and the next next which I'm still working on) will start to branch off from the original story, so sorry if this has been a boring read so far but I needed to set the stage for my own sake!

Chapter 3: Angel of Music

In this deep, dark passageway, the only life inside them is you and this strange man. Your eyes still laced onto this man. Everything in you screams that this is wrong, that you are making a mistake. But you can't listen to these thoughts. Not at this time. Currently the only thing on your mind is wonder.

Surely if this man was a ghost, he wouldn't be able to leave you roses at your vanity, or hold your hand as he leads you down this path. Ghosts can't do that... Can they?

Bewitched by this man, you feel words coming from your lips. Not words, music. Lyrics to a song you don't know, a melody unknown.

“In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came, that voice which calls to me, and speaks my name. And do I dream again? For now, I find The Phantom of the Opera is there inside my mind.”  Your throat sings. Eyes still unwavering the gaze upon this man.

The pause is not long before the man bellows. “Sing once again with me, our strange duet, my power over you grow stronger yet. And though you turn from me to glance behind, The Phantom of the Opera is there, Inside your mind”

His voice is a rich, deep baritone, a velvet cage that spawls around you. You both continue your irregular duet.

“Those who have seen your face, draw back in fear, I am the mask you wear

It's me they hear...”

As you both sing, he leads you towards a stark white horse. You know this horse, its Ceaser, the horse from the opera’s stables that mysteriously disappeared a couple of months ago. What was he doing down here? He helps you onto the horse, as you sit side saddle on it you continue the strange duet.

“Your/My spirit and my/your voice in one combined the Phantom of the Opera is there inside my/your mind”

You arrive at a dark glassy lake, the water almost pitch black. And upon the lake is a small venetian gondola. Black with a lantern in the front. His hands come to your hips to guide you down from Caesar. Once upon the ground his hand finds yours again, leading you to the boat and guiding you in. You sit upon its velvet seat in the front, taking in the sights before you. He unties the rope from the dock, using a long pole to push you afar from the shore.

“In all your fantasies, you always knew that man and mystery were both in you.And in this labyrinth, where night is blind the Phantom of the Opera is here inside my mind.”

“Sing, my Angel of Music” His rich voice booms over you as you come to the finish of your duet, lilting the final melodies of this unknown duet.

The boat comes towards the shore. He places the pole back down, and ties the rope onto the dock. He sheds his long flowing black cloak in a rather dramatic swoop, letting it fall to the floor. Before offering you a hand off the gondola.

His eyes are still transfixed on you as you take in the sights of the area around you. It seems to be a cavern, but not a dark, dank cavern devoid of life. The floors are adorned with rich persian rugs sprawling the vast areas of the cave. Candles adorn the vast lair, making it as bright as any room above. The walls while still rock have curtains placed on them giving it some semblance of a... home. Home that's exactly what this place is, it is the phantom's home, tucked so deep into the opera not a single soul above knows its here. Not a single soul besides you.

“I have heard you sing, (Y/N), a beautiful voice.. But untrained” He starts his voice still booming in the echoes of the stone walls. “Thats why I have brought you here, to teach you, to nurture your voice so you can be...sublime.” His voice dropped the strong theatrical boom but shifted into a more, soft, delicate tone. 

His hand takes yours again, leading you towards the different parts of his home, a table littered with sketches and drafts of musical compositions. A large organ, with its strong pipes surrounded in candles burning. He stops before a mannequin, dawning a beautiful ivory dress, he says nothing as you stand before it.

The sight of everything becomes too much, your knees buckle and his hands coming behind you to keep you straight up. Before you entirely lose your senses, you keep your feet firmly planted on the ground. You turn towards him, your mind still spinning.

“But monsieur, why me? Surely there are greater voices within this opera house.” You speak meekly, as if your throat is trying to stop the words that escape.

“They do not hold the soul that you possess, the soul of an artist, someone who not only hears the music but understands it.” His voice falters low, as he keeps your gaze. 

“But your voice, it is a tool, there will be some who admire it only at surface level... They will only see you as a pretty face with a voice to match. But they don't see what I see (Y/N)... I see your soul, and it aches.” He says releasing his grasp that once steadied you.

Your face flushes with a heat that creeps up from your neck, unmistakable a blush forming on your cheeks. Your feet still feel like they might give way. His hand extends once again, leading you back to the grand organ. 

“Listen" he says, taking a seat at the organ bench. 

He begins a haunting overture on the organ, the sound reverberating off the walls and echoing into your chest. “You have come here, for one purpose and one alone. Since the moment I first heard you sing, I have needed you with me to serve me to sing...” His voice reverberates in your chest. 

He sings with such a passion you have never heard, this isn't merely a song, he is speaking to you. His hand takes yours, pulling it to his face, the right side which is bare from any mask. You feel the slight prickle of stubble adorning his cheek, but his skin is soft. Your eyes don't move from him. “...Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation, let the dream begin, let your darker side give in to the power of the music that I write, the power of the music of the night.”

Your eyes feel heavy, the energy from the performance above and now here below begins to ebb and float away. He notices, without a word he stands from the organ bench, lifting you up, you don't fight it. He carries your almost limp body to a bed. The bed is a bronze peacock, the head at the foot of the bed and its plumes going towards the back of the bed. It is lined with rich red velvet sheets. He gently sets you down as if you were a fragile flower, breaking at the wrong glance. Your body is consumed by the rich plush of the sheets and your eyes grow heavy. “You alone can make my song take flight, help me make the music of the night” His words are soft, tender as a gloved finger caressing your check. The touch is feather light. He then pulls a rope and a velvet curtain falls over the bed, plunging you into a dark world of sleep.

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You Are My Way of Life

Triggers: Stalking (Still a given.) Chapter 2: The Gilded Mirror The rehearsal whizzes by you, it still almost feels like you are dreaming but you know it's real. You are no longer a ballerina or chorus girl in the back, you have been thrusted to the front of a stage on the pretense of a prima donna throwing a fit. You find yourself wandering the halls of the opera house, occasionally glancing out the window while you wait for the show to start.

The words Madame Giry spoke to you earlier has left you looking around, looking for shadows that aren't there. “These halls have eyes ... he is pleased with you.” 

The words spiral in your mind. Who is he? Why is he watching? Is he the fabled opera ghost? What does he want with me? All these questions which lack answers at this moment. Madame Giry’s cane raps on the ground, pulling you out of your thoughts. “Everyone curtain is in 5, be ready.” She barks, commanding the company to start taking places. Her eyes fall onto yours, steadily making her strides towards you. 

“I know you are nervous, but remember, he chose you for a reason. This is all his doing.” She says fussing over your hair, making sure it is perfect, occasionally making a glance to the rafters above.

Before you can ask what she means you are being ushered to your place. You stand on your mark, looking at Meg with a nervous smile. She beams back at you giving you an excited nod. The curtain rises and the light is blinding. Your nerves creep up from your chest to your nose. The faint feeling of panic pricking at your nose. You know all the words, the movement but now being here, with an audience that isn't just the fellow company of the opera, it's daunting.

The first notes out of your mouth and sweet, melodic, before the aria swells you are completely lost into the role. The audience becomes a blur beyond the lights, almost as if you were alone performing on an empty stage. But even in this trance the hairs on the back of your neck stick up. Eyes, not eyes from the peering audience, but eyes from box five peer into your soul. You look at the box, but you see nothing... All that is there is shadow.

 As the performance comes to an end the reality comes back to. You stand there as your final note drifts off in silence. The silence doesn't last long before a roaring, thunderous applause echoes across the theatre walls. Roses and flowers pepper your feet. The curtain falls, you stand for a moment wondering if it was even real or if you are having some sick twisted dream, playing at your hopes. You stand that way for a few more seconds before Meg embraces you, grounding you back down to the earth. “(Y/N) that was stunning! You really crushed it!” She preaches to you pulling you aside to prepare for the final bow.

After the gala, Madame Giry is guiding you to your room, pushing past the adoring patrons and fellow company. Once you are in the room her eyes notice another rose on your vanity.

“You did superb tonight, and he thinks so as well.” She nods to the rose, a blush falling on your cheeks. “Thank you Madame Giry, I am at a loss for words.” You admit, before looking at the rose.

“You must rest now, for I am sure you will be needed again tomorrow. Goodnight (Y/N)” She says going towards the door, shutting it.

You finally have a moment to yourself, sitting at the vanity. You pick up the new rose, admiring its beauty and scent. But, before you can relax a knock comes at your door.

A man walks in, holding a mixed bouquet of flowers practically beaming. You do not recognize this man. His hair is blonde tied back neatly into a ponytail. His eyes are a deep emerald green, he is a bit slender, and dressed very elegantly. You wonder how he got through the crowd, through Madame Giry’s protective gaze.

“Mademoiselle (L/N), you were absolutely stunning tonight, words cannot even begin to express it.” He says walking towards you with the bouquet, handing it towards you. He must see the shock or confusion hit your face as shortly after he resumes. “My apologies, I am Cecil, Cecil Learmonth, I am one of the opera patrons. And you absolutely captivated me with your performance. I am hoping we can get to know each other better.” He states still extending the bouquet towards you.

You hesitantly take the bouquet in your hands, giving a small nod. “Thank you Monsieur,I am-” Before you can finish your sentence Madame Giry is in the room, her eyes practically burning a hole in the back of the man's head. “Monsier Learmonth, our star needs to rest, no one is permitted in her room.” She extends her arm keeping the door open, her jaw tight in... anger? No in annoyance. Before he leaves he takes your hand, giving a chaste kiss to your knuckles. “Until we meet again mademoiselle.” He says before being ushered out by Madame Giry.

The door shuts again, this time a faint click is heard as it is locked. You let a breath out you didn't even know you were holding. Before you are interrupted again you move to  the dressing divider, removing your silken gown. You tie a robe around your waist moving back to the vanity, but your eyes don't look at the fancy bouquet before you, they are still affixed on the dual roses left by your admirer. You smile to yourself as you sit down again, removing the pins from your hair before a brisk chill passes through the room. “Do not be afraid, my nightingale.” A voice booms through the room. A bit startled you jump, searching for the source of the voice. “Who is that? Where are you?” You ask, unsure if you are just hearing things.

“I have been called many names... The phantom, the ghost, the shadows at night. But tonight, I am your angel of music.” His voice practically hums against your chest.

The voice sounds like it's from the mirror, you stand from the vanity, searching its glassy silver but you only find yourself. “Look, look at your face in the mirror, I am here inside.” He says as the mirror begins to move, and open.

You realize, this isn't just any mirror. This is a door, a passage. Into a world beyond the opera house. Dark pathways lit by dim candles going deep into the opera house. Inside that passage, a man stands before you. The man is dressed in a cloak. His hair is dark and slicked back, and his eyes are a piercing blue. But that isn't the most curious part. On his face is a half mask, porcelain white. His hand, clad with dark leather gloves is extended out to yours. “Come with me. Sing with me.” He whispers, his eyes never leave you.

It's almost as if his voice is hypnotizing you, before you know it your feet are moving before your mind can. Your hand extends out, finally reaching his as he leads you through the mirror. Leaving the bright dressing room behind, you follow an unknown man, perhaps even a ghost through your mirror.

[mortisscribere]

You are my way of life.

Heyyy so I've never published any of my work, like ever, hence the new account. I've decided to start this piece as I feel there isnt enough love for Erik! This work is based on the 2004 film as I have been obsessed with it. Some liberties will be taken. In this work Christine and Raoul are together, the phantom was never involved with her. I am also going to start taking requests if people would like that! Currently only going to write for the 2004 movie, 1990's mini series and the musical. So now without further ado, I present My way of life. Triggers for this chapter: Stalking (Kind of a given?), Unwanted physical touch (dw Madame Giry handles it) Chapter One: Very Promising

The theater sings with life, stage hands setting the stage, dancers beginning to take place. The orchestra starts its music. You take your place besides Meg Giry, a long time friend since you arrived at the opera house all those years ago. You begin your part, chained at the hands. You move as one with your group dancing with fluidity and grace before having to stop abruptly.

“No no no! We say Rome Not roma! Monsieur Piangi!” Monsieur Reyer states halting the practice. “Ah Monsieur Reyer! Seems we have come at a good time. A moment if you would.” Speaks Monsieur Lefèvre, the manager of the Opera Populair. Monsieur Reyer sighs in defeat between the pronunciation and the new interruption. “Ladies and Gentlemen if you would, I have come to make an announcement. It has been rumored for the last couple of weeks of my imminent retirement, I have now come to announce all those rumors are true.” He pauses, gauging the reaction of the audience before him. “I can now happily introduce your new managers, Monsieur Gilles André and Monsieur Richard Firmin. You may have heard of their new wealth amassed in the junk business.” A few grumblings can be heard between the men, something about ‘scrap metal’ “Thank you for your time, gentlemen!” Monsieur Lefèvre states pulling the new managers aside to discuss business. The practice continues, you sing your part with the chorus, dance and follow your part. The new managers and Madame Giry are talking, a few glances come your way and Meg's, but the words are unable to be heard over the music. The time comes for Carlotta’s ear ringing aria. Sharing a look of displeasure with Meg, but still playing your part. Once the aria ends Carlotta immediately begins her complaints to the new managers, in an uproar claiming she won't sing. Everyone in the company has already been a part of this song and dance time and time again. Monsieur André suggests she gives a rendition of her aria from act III. She begins her part, you’d say she begins singing but it is hardly that a loud SNAP is heard from above. A scene begins falling directly onto Carlotta. You stand in shock, unable to speak, holding on to Meg as the sudden shift shocked you.

“For god sakes Bouquet, whats going on up there!”  Lefèvre claims. “As gods my judge I wasn't at my post, please monsieur there's no one up here, and if there was well then, it must be a ghost.” Bouquet exclaims, weaving his further stories into the hearts of the dancers. “Signora...these things do happen.” André says, in a panic. Carlotta with a huff through her nose like a tempered bull. “These...things do happen! For the past three years these things do happen” She yipes pointing at the fallen scene “And did you stop these things from happening? No! And you two! You are as bad as him! Until you stop these things from happening this thing will not be happening! Ulbaldo! Andiamo!” She throws her hands up calling for her husband to leave with her.

As Carlotta is walking away arms up in a rage Monsieur André fumbling with his words. “Signora Giudicelli, she will be back?” He says fear sprawling across his face. “You think so? I have a note from the opera ghost.” Madame Giry states, opening the note. “God in heaven you're all obsessed!” Monsieur Richard states, his hands at his hips.

“He simply welcomes you to his opera house, and commands you to leave.” She points with her cane to one of the boxes. “Box five empty for his use, and reminds you his salary is due.” She finishes. “His salary!” Monsieur Richard exclaims. “Monsiuer Lefèvre used to pay him twenty-thousand francs a month. Certainly you can pay more with the vicotme as your patron?” Madame Giry states, fixing her braid and handing Monsieur Richard the note. “That was an announcement I was hoping to make public tonight at our gala, but it seems we shall now have to cancel as we have lost our star!” Monsieur Richard exclaims, ripping the note up. After a brief pause he exclaims again “A full house André , we shall have to refund a full house!” “(Y/N) could sing it Monsieurs, I’ve heard her singing, it is very promising.” Madame Giry states, taking your elbow and pulling you forward. Your face heats up at the comment and the sudden peering eyes that fall upon you. The managers look at each other, sharing perturbed looks between each other. “Well we don't have much choice, (Y/N) come. Don't be shy.” Monsieur  Richard states, a hand waving you forward. You give a glance behind you to Meg, she gives you a smile in an attempt to cool your nerves. “From the beginning of the Aria then.” Reyer states, tapping his baton to get the orchestra's attention. Inside you feel a searing burn of nerves. You do sing just not publicly, never in front of so many eyes. You begin to sing, starting soft, nervous, before beginning to soar with the melody. The aria is called 'Think of me' a song of remembrance, of a love that once was, returning to Elissa's memory. Pulling yourself forward, you put your whole soul into the music, shedding your shy, nervous self and becoming Elissa. Once the aria ends, you stand at the edge of the stage, your nerves come back to you again. Until you hear the applause behind you. Your fellow company, the managers applauding your work. A faint blush creeps upon your cheeks. “Brava! Well Madame Giry was not lying, you are very promising.” Monsieur  Richard exclaims, arm wrapped around your shoulder as if he was the one to discover your voice. You are ushered to the costume department to alter Carlotta's costume to fit you. You stand there still still unable to believe this is happening, you were just a ballerina, a chorus girl not even an hour ago and now? A prima donna's understudy, something you never imagined. After the fitting you have to go back to rehearsal, on the way through the hallway you are stopped by Joseph Bouquet. You can smell the cheap liquor on his breath as he corners you. “A prima donna now eh? Such a flowering beauty, don't let this get to your head.” His hand reaches for your hip before a shattering slam of a cane is heard. Madame Giry stand behind him, pulling him away. “Joseph, you know better than this. Leave her alone.” She says while grasping your wrist. Once you are a few paces away you feel as if you can finally breath. “Thank you. Madame Giry.” You say finally getting your voice again. She pulls your wrist, pulling you close. “(Y/N) you must be careful, these halls have eyes. They see everything, you must get to rehearsal.” She ushers you back to the stage. After rehearsal, Madame Giry leads you to the prima donna dressing room. She picks up a rose from the vanity, placing it in your palms. “He is pleased with you.” She states. “You must rest, be ready, this is a grand opportunity.” She says walking towards the door. “You will do great.” She says before shutting the door.

You are stood there in your practice clothing, holding a rose from a stranger, in the prima donna's room. Something,never in your wildest dreams you’d believe. You set the rose on the vanity walking towards the gilded full length mirror. You take in the image of yourself, finding it hard to believe this is happening. A knock raps at the door. The door opens, Meg appears grinning ear to ear. Skipping over to you by the mirror.

“Can you believe it! You did so good at rehearsal I cannot wait to see you at the show!” Her eyes drift to the vanity, spotting the rose. “You already have admirers! Come! Let us get some tea and relax!” She says practically dragging you by the arm from the dressing room. As you leave you take one last glance at the room, in the mirror its almost like you saw something moving, not from within the room itself but the mirror.