The Angel's Shadow || The Phantom of the Opera || Book Two

9. A Night At At The Opera Part One

Hello dear readers!

I was watching "Perfume: The Story Of A Murderer" and thought "VIOLETTE" the minute I saw Laura. The dress she wears even fits the dress Violette gets as a gift. Who gives Violette the gift? We shall see in this chapter *winks*.

Chapter Nine || A Night At The Opera Part One

Erik

Violette came to visit almost everyday. During Violette's visits was the only time Mélodie seemed herself. Then after Violette left, Mélodie would return to a blank state, looking tired and fatigued, the dark circles reappearing beneath her eyes. I worried about her. Whenever I tried to question her she would either not hear me or shrug them off, saying it was nothing.

The days Violette didn't come to visit Mélodie sat in the library, her sketch book untouched, her voice unused. Her eyes no longer sparkled but looked dead, vacant.

That boy, Raoul, has been the one who brought Gustave to our house. Raoul didn't know that the man of the house is me. If he knew it was me and that I wasn't dead like he presumed surely he wouldn't allow his boy or his wife to come near this place.

I remained hidden away in my music room whenever they came. Dantes seemed to be the one who entertained them more. If Mélodie did laugh or speak her voice sounded hollow, worn. On one afternoon Gustave had coaxed her into singing. When her voice floated up to my room it sounded empty. It wavered now and then, making me want to come down to her and hold her, strengthen her.

On this sunny Sunday afternoon Mélodie and I walked through the blooming garden in silence, both of us drifting along like ghosts. The sun made Mélodie look pale, the auburn streaks that appeared when the sun hit her hair were gone. She tilted her head up to look at a flower that bloomed on a hedge, the crystal rose around her neck sparkling in the light. Her long fingers met the soft pedals of the flower and for a moment she looked like a swan stretching her wings. So elegant, so beautiful.

"Mélodie." I stood a few steps away from her, watching her face. There wasn't that hint of a small smile that was always there like she was waiting for something to laugh or smile at. Instead there was a melancholy ghost of a frown. She didn't reply or give any sign of recognition when she heard her name. I spoke louder this time, "Antoinette."

The muscle in her neck flinched, her head turning to look up at me, the corner of her lip twitching into a half smile, "Yes, my love?"

I closed the two step gap between us and lightly ran my fingers down the back of her arm, "I was thinking..." I licked my lips, my eyes subtly focused on her ghostly completion, "I was thinking maybe we could go to the opera tonight. It would be good for us to go out and do something."

I saw a glimmer of that lost twinkle in her eyes. Her lips spread into a full smile, a real smile, "I would love to." She took both my hands in hers and I was distracted by how thin and bony they felt, "We could take Dantes, too. He hasn't been there since-" Mélodie's smile dropped, "since mother and father took us."

That was the night Mélodie had first seen me. That was the night Paris had seen me. The man playing Don Juan and then the monster with the grotesque face. The man and the monster, the Opera Ghost, The Phantom of the Opera.

That was the night I burned the first Opéra Populaire to the ground. The night my soul died as I watched Christine fade away with Raoul.

It was also the night Mélodie's parents died. She told me she had hated me for causing the fire that consumed her parents. I couldn't blame her. I, too, hated me. I always hated me. Everyone hated me. Then, she said that over time that hate had morphed into obsession which, in turn, morphed into love. Mélodie was the first person to really, truly love me. My own mother hadn't even loved me. And Christine...Christine said she loved me. Or was it present tense? Did she love me?