𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑷𝑯𝑨𝑵𝑻𝑶𝑴 𝑶𝑭 𝑩𝑳𝑶𝑶𝑫 (𝑯𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒎)

Chapter Five

Naturally, an investigation soon took its course.

Well, Will was sure it most likely would in the near future. Frederick Chilton had left the canteen with his guards and adversaries shortly after his discourse for what Will could only assume to be an interrogation of sorts. As it turns out, Freddie Lounds wasn't yet dead but gravely injured.
Regardless, murder — even when unsuccessful — was no insignificant thing when it was committed against the upper classes. Now it was all a matter of known motives, witnesses, circumstance, and in Will's case bad luck. It all depended on who claimed to have seen or heard what and who was daring enough as to accuse regardless of it, aiming for the easiest target on whom to pin it all.

Will knew it all to be protocol from the books he'd read. Detective stories, mythos, philosophy — all on the subject of criminology which had sparked his interest ever since he'd learnt to sneak into the Opera's Library at the young age of thirteen.

His memories of it were fond. Nights spent eternally curious, pent up between lavish shelves of dark oak that held the books he browsed and hid him away behind them with legs crisscrossed in sitting over the ground to welcome the pages he read. His fingers, that traced each letter that flickered under the hidden candlelight following each new word and marvelling at the last.

Initially, when Will didn't have a clue, most of what he'd read there were mere recollections of fiction tainted with an overt theatricality that was more common for an Opera. Unfortunate choices. Will's rational mind found them hard to believe, but at least some of various key elements were always present no matter how whimsical the story was. Tragedy, vengeance, grief and justice, hate and love… Then, in the most intriguing of works, bloodlust and desire as one. The perspectives of killers and their desire so large that they're driven to kill by it. To consume and feel righteous in doing so. To love, and because of it, destroy.

Those kinds of books were a guilty pleasure of sorts to Will. He was intrigued, perhaps obsessively so.

With his knowledge of the stories he read, Will wondered how long it would take for a detective to appear on scene in the Opera Garnier. He took into consideration each work of literature he'd ever read, turned over each of the written words in his mind, and He wondered if when the time came to profile and accuse, this awaited detective would lean more towards the world of the fantastical and pronounce the guilt of the opera ghost — or if he would take Will, the easiest target, and pin it all on him to save himself the grief and the Opera's further darkening rapport with the crowds.

Will was certain he knew the answer when he sensed someone coming towards him. Still locked in the canteen, He couldn't bring himself to look up and be sure. Accusation and doubt kept Will's gaze on the ground and through it, the silence that enveloped him was worse than any spoken word.

Pointed shoes entered his viewpoint over the stone flooring. Forced to look up, he soon realised that the person watching over him was none other than Madame du Maurier. It was something of a relief to see her, except she looked… normal? Effortlessly composed with all the poise of a ballet dancer despite their circumstances — which made sense as she too had performed as a dancer for the Opera Garnier in her youth.
Even so, not a feature of hers was out of place and not a single hint of distress could be found through her eyes that might allude to what had occurred.
It made Will doubt. Had she really found him the previous night or had he imagined that as well? She seemed perfectly intact in spite of having been there too, all while Will felt as though he was shattering.

"Monsieur Graham, you're needed in the Salon du glacier"

Her tone was direct, but not severe enough to raise awareness. Careful. The Salon du Glacier was hardly a private enough place to suggest secrecy, and it was chosen deliberately because of it. The underground vestibule in the heart of the palais would have been far more discreet, yes, but it might have suggested that they had something to hide, so it wasn't ideal. On the other hand, a discussion in the Grand Foyer, though far from secretive, would have given the impression of too much importance. This went beyond that, a subject far too significant to spare the subtlety.