𝕸𝖊𝖑𝖔𝖉𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕰𝖓𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖐: 𝕭𝖔𝖔𝖐 𝕺𝖓𝖊

The Opera's Disaster I (ᴅᴏɴ ᴊᴜᴀɴ)

The morning light filtered through the grand windows of Océane's room, casting a warm glow over the antique furniture and delicate tapestries. As consciousness gradually seeped into her mind, she was met with an unusual buzz of activity in the corridors outside. Confused, she sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. It was then that the memories of the previous night flooded back, along with the realization that today marked the final rehearsal with costumes.

"Mon Dieu," she muttered in frustration, her voice laden with a heavy French accent. She cursed herself for oversleeping, for allowing her exhaustion to carry her into a slumber that seemed to have lasted too long.

Pushing aside the covers, Océane swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, the wooden floor cool against the soles of her feet. She wasted no time in dressing, selecting a simple blouse adorned with ruffles and a pair of fitted black pants. The garments clung to her form, giving her a sense of professionalism and urgency all at once.

Rushing to the corner of her room, her gaze fell upon the black violin adorned with delicate roses. It was a beautiful instrument, its dark elegance perfectly in line with the theme of the play. She carefully lifted it from its resting place, cradling it in her arms like a precious relic. As she moved about her room, her swift actions mirrored the urgency she felt within.

With deft fingers, she arranged her vibrant orange locks into a hasty yet artful twist, securing it with a few pins. A touch of light makeup adorned her features, enhancing her already striking appearance. In a matter of minutes, Océane had transformed from a woman just roused from sleep to a musician ready to command the stage.

As she bolted out of her room, the vibrant energy of the opera house enveloped her. She navigated through the labyrinthine corridors and flights of stairs, her feet flying over the steps as she moved with the grace of someone who knew these passages intimately. The wind caught her fiery hair, causing it to sway like flames dancing in the wind.

Finally, she burst onto the main stage just in the nick of time. The sight before her was a whirlwind of activity—Monsieur Reyer directing the orchestra pit with precision, the cast members bustling about in their elaborate costumes, and the palpable sense of anticipation hanging in the air like a delicate melody.

Her heart raced as she took her place to the left side of the backstage, her gaze locking onto Madame Giry, who stood nearby with an expression that mingled relief and worry. Océane rushed over to the older woman, her breath coming in quick bursts.

"Madame Giry," she began, her words coming out in a rush. "I apologize for my tardiness. It was... unforeseen circumstances."

Madame Giry's lips curved into a gentle smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "No need to fret, my dear. You're here now, and that's what matters. The opera must go on."

The tension in Océane's shoulders eased at Madame Giry's understanding. With a grateful nod, she followed the woman to a small alcove, where a rack of costumes stood ready. The anticipation of her moment on stage mixed with the excitement of finally wearing the ensemble specially prepared for her role.

Madame Giry carefully selected the garments, her experienced hands gliding over the rich fabrics. She handed Océane a long-sleeved blouse adorned with intricate jeweled roses along the sleeves and ruffles framing the neckline. The blouse felt cool against Océane's skin as she slipped it on, its weight a reminder of the importance of the day.

Next came the corset, a masterpiece of black fabric adorned with deep-hued jewels that sparkled in the dim light. As Madame Giry expertly tightened the corset, Océane couldn't help but let out a sharp curse in French. "Sacré bleu," she muttered, the expletive slipping out as the corset constricted around her waist, sending a rush of both discomfort and irritation through her.