Phantom Portrait || Phantom of the Opera Fanfiction

8. "But you're drunk."

Farren

It was late into the afternoon when Farren had brought up all the plans and drafts that Emil had helped her with, and was heading to her room to take some clothes with her to bathe. She would meet the managers the next afternoon.

Upon leaving the washroom that was typically reserved for the ballet girls, Farren ran into Meg.

"Farren!" Meg greeted in surprise. "My mother and I had hoped to go out with you, but I hadn't seen you in your room this morning."

"Oh Meg I am so sorry," Farren began, apologizing to buy her time to come up with a viable lie. "I went out for breakfast with some painters here in the city. You remember I told you about them exhibit I was planning, right? I wanted to invite them."

"Where any of them handsome?" Meg asked with a grin.

"One of them," Farren answered, thinking back to one of the painters she had met during an impressionist exhibit. "But he is already married."

"Shame," Meg laughed. "We went to Jean-Pierre Saens' shop today," she began, her eyes bright. "Old Pierre told us your dresses were ready."

"Should I pick them up now?" Farren absentmindedly touched her wet hair.

"Oh yes!" Meg's smile became sly. "They were very passionate colors."

"I thought I could use variety," Farren simply replied.

"Well before you go, my mother wanted to see you," Meg informed. "She has a letter for you, from a man."

"A man?" Farren gave Meg a quizzical look.

"From Spain," she added.

"And where is your mother?" Farren asked, her eyes narrowed.

"She was reading in her bedroom," Meg recalled, stepping away from the door so Farren could leave. "At least that is what I last saw her doing."

"Thank you, Meg," Farren said, and gave the blonde a nod before she left.

Farren picked up the letter, then left Madame Giry to her novel. When she was leaving the Opera House, she spotted Shion as he was walking in, and she simply assumed that he was hoping to see the managers or Giry about his job. She paid no mind to it; she didn't feel sympathy for him.

Farren opened the letter and read it on her way back from the dress shop.

Dearest cousin,

How do you fancy Paris? I would like to visit the city myself as soon as my French is as good as yours.

Until then, I must warn you about who will be arriving in Paris some time in the following month. I take it that you have not forgotten the incident on that messy Christmas, a few years ago. The man your mother wanted you betrothed to, Raul de Cotán, is intending on courting you soon, but I know not yet of when.

Write me if you need my aid, I'll disregard my pride and come to you with deficient French.

Forgive the curtness of this letter.

Your favorite relative,

Francisco Battista

She threw away the letter in a hall trash bin as her heart sank.

The "incident" that Francisco had referred to was the first time Farren tried to run away from home. During the family Christmas dinner, it had slipped from someone's mouth that she was supposed to marry Raul as soon as he would have her. The news had infuriated her.