The Daughter Of The Vicomte

~ o n e ~

I stood in front of my vanity and thoroughly checked my decency one last time. My long light brown wavy locks fell at my middle ribcage and were complimented by delicate natural caramel highlights. I wore no cosmetics. I believed they projected the people we try to be instead of the people we are truly. My skin was alabaster porcelain that held no flaws, and I wear it with pride. It was the one part of mother that I truly had of me. Otherwise, I was a doppelganger of my father. At last, I glance at my dress. A small smile forms across my lips. It was a beautiful gown made of grey, dark cream and beige accents. Small sleeves were made to maintain modesty, which was my wish. Most of the girls my age enjoyed the simple pleasures of baring cleavage and no straps on there gowns, but for some reason, I resent boys taking advantage of me. I was confident enough to know that I don't need to dress like a prostitute to get people's attention. I smooth out my dress and pat my hair and I let out a sigh. I smile and I walk away from the mirror. I blow out the candlelit light that gave my room a golden shimmer and glow. I descend down the spiral staircase that lead down to the dining room of our beautiful French estate. Standing at the bottom of the stairwell is my parents with smiling faces. My mother gently takes my hand and draws me into a loving and admiringly hug.

"You look beautiful, my dear." She whispers, smiling. I smile and kiss her cheek.

"Merci, mother. As do you." And I was not just saying it as a reply. She truly did look beautiful. Her beautiful long chocolate brown curls were pulled up into an updo with some strands down. She wore no cosmetics either. Her natural beauty was stunning to begin with. Her dress was a delicate rosebud pink that held beautiful lace accents at the collar as her sleeves slid down her shoulders. She nods and swiftly walks away out of the room, leaving me and my father. He has tears in his eyes. My father never cries. I begin to worry.

"Father...are you okay...?" I ask softly as I touch his arm gently. He looks up at me and smiles.

"My little girl isn't a little girl anymore..." he pulls me into a protective embrace, his lips planted to the top of my head. We remain this was for a few minutes until I figure out what to say to put my distressed father at ease.

"Father...my age is just a number... I was born your little girl and I will remain as such...forever..." I give him a reassuring smile and he returns a relaxed one.

"Adelina! Raoul!" My mother calls from the family room. Father and I smile at each other and walk to the room. She holds two medium sized boxes. One from mother, one from father, I suppose. I smile. As the daughter of a french nobleman, many would expect that I'm constantly showered in riches and spoiled with gifts. I was to a point in time until I decided to find a better use for the other gifts. When I turned the tender age of 13, I requested that a donation made by our family was to be made to the Opera Populaire Theatre, the place my mother performed and met my father years ago. Though I've not ever been to the Opera Populaire, it holds a special place in my heart. I smile at my mother, which fades after I notice something odd. Something very...peculiar. On the table behind her lies a large box that is contrast to the others with the box being all black. I don't think anyone has noticed it but me. I sit on the red velvet sofa, in between mother and father. My father smiles

"I want you to open mine first, dearest." He says eagerly. I let out a small laugh and I pick up the box. I undo the dainty ribbon. I could tell mother wrapped this one up to. Nice try, father. In the box is another smaller box. I open it and my eyes light up and my jaw drops.

"Father...it's beautiful...you shouldn't have..." I say softly. He smirks

"I did...do you like it...?" He asks hesitantly as he attempts to read my face. Did he have to buy me this chocolate diamond pendant and matching earrings? No. But did he? Yes. Why? Because he's Vicomte Raoul de Chagny and he can. That's why. I look up at him.