At the Opera House

Chapter 5: Early

Christine rose from her bed, gasping with fear, the ceiling had been caving in on her.

Ten minutes later, she still hadn't calmed down, it was only after that she remembered her breathing exercises and implemented them. Soon after her beating heart settled, she sighed and laid back down uncomfortably in her bed. It was a thin hard mattress, a far cry from what she had used to have. But feather mattresses were expensive, and she couldn't afford one. No matter what the ballet girls said.

In another fifteen minute she realized she wasn't going back to sleep, so she sat up and fumbled in the dark for her lamp. She found it on the shelf next to her bed, and quickly found the matches next to it.

After it was lit, it filled the small space that she called her bedroom.

The apartment she rented was a small one room establishment. Respectable, but hardly luxurious. She had created a bedroom by pushing her bed right up towards the corner of the room where a closet lay on her left side, then directly on her right she had placed two shelves that spanned her bed. They were filled with 5 cent second hand books she had bought over the years. A few brand new books covered the shelf, she allowed herself a fully priced book once a year on her birthday.

There was a small space where her lamp was, it had cost her much more than she wanted, but she thought it safer than a candle. Especially since she spent so much time reading.

Now she yawned, blinking into the darkness, she pushed aside the curtain that led to her closet and picked through her clothes, pulling out a stiff white button up shirt and a brown skirt that just allowed her toes to peak out. She scrambled out of bed, teeth chattering in the cold.

She pulled off her night gown and pulled on her clothes. She folded the nightgown and placed it at the end of her bed. While she did so she pulled out her lamp and checked a small clock on the shelf that Madame Giry had given her several years ago, it was five in the morning. An hour before she usually woke up.

She sighed and turned to the rest of her apartment. There was a small stove, a cupboard, a padded chair and table. Draped on the chair lay a white dress, waiting to be stitched together.

It was a small room, barely ten by ten, she'd measured. It had no window and was a rather depressing box.

There were some cheerful pictures on the wall that fought the darkness. Christine walked to a picture on the wall, lifting up the lamp to gaze at it fondly. It was Madame Giry, Christine and Meg, sitting firmly on a couch. It had been taken during her first year in Paris ten years ago. During that time she had been hopelessly lost, and the steady home of Madame Giry had meant everything to her.

The women had taught Christine to knit and sew and cook and clean. In return, Christine had given Meg, at the time barely eight, lessons in mathematics and reading. She had continued doing so up until about three years ago, Meg had had no more interest in formal schooling. And her mother agreed that she was better learned than most ballet girls ever would be.

Still, Christine sometimes still taught the occasional lesson, normally when Meg was insatiably curious about some topic.

After a year in the City of Love she had felt ready to move out, but Sunday dinners at the Giry's had always been welcome to her.

It took Christine half an hour to finish getting ready, consisting of unbraiding and brushing her hair, finding a pair of socks that didn't have ridiculously large holes and squeezing her feet in her almost too small second hand shoes.

She ate some bread and cheese for breakfast, she finished with an apple while she read. Then she sat down on her chair and began sewing along the pins of the dress. It was going to be a beautiful dress, and it had taken a large portion of her savings. Perhaps it had been foolhardy, Madame Giry had scolded her purchase, stating that if anything happened to her wages, she would become homeless.