The Phantom's Melody (The Phantom of the Opera)

01. Rumors

Paris' Opera Populaire. It was one of the finest and most notable opera houses in France. It employed the best dancers and singers that money could buy, and each opera was unforgettable to anyone who saw it. Not to mention the secrets and mystery that surrounded it.

The Phantom of the Opera. A man, or to most people, a ghost. A shadow that loomed the halls and rafters of the Opera Populaire. The stories were very hard to believe. Especially since each one was entirely different from the next. Some speak of a man with no nose and skin so unlively and sick that it could make even the most mature of men's stomachs churn at the sight. Others speak of simply that; a phantom, a ghost.

Right now, however, my attention was more focused on the red haired diva who was currently...singing for the new opera Hannibal rather than ghosts and goblins. And by singing, I mean quite possibly trying to shatter my eardrums.

Remember how I said the shows were unforgettable? Well maybe I should have clarified why.

Taking a deep breath, I blocked out the sound of her voice and concentrated on the orders being given to us by our dance instructor Madame Giry. She was nice enough, but strict nevertheless. Though she seemed a bit softer towards the dark haired young girl standing next to me.

Christine Daaé. The daughter of the Swedish violinist and one of the other chorus girls. She also happened to have a wondrous voice, one she didn't share much with others all for a special few that included Madame Giry, Meg Giry (her best friend), and also me. Or at least whenever I had heard her when passing by the dormitories.

There was also of course, her music instructor. Or as she put it, her Angel of Music. I didn't actually believe in such fantasies or illusions, but I wasn't in any position to judge. Grief could do a lot of things to someone.

I was pulled from my thoughts once again, but this time it was by Madame Giry and not the horrid voice of Carlotta Giudicelli (though it was becoming rather hard to ignore.) "Lucille! Pay attention!" She ordered, not leaving much room for argument. With the curt gesture of her hand, I, along with the rest of the ballerinas, went off onto the stage.

From years of practice, it took little guidance to direct me in the way of dance. Somehow the music just spoke to me, carrying my limbs off into the direction and form that was deemed necessary. I had always loved music. Probably since the first day I heard the sweet sounds of the piano hit my eardrums or the beautiful symphony of an operatic voice. Maybe that's why I was drawn to the Opera Populaire all those years ago. Who wouldn't want to work at one of the most musical places in the world? Even if I was only just a chorus girl.

So lost in my trance of the Hannibal dance, I hardly noticed the abrupt interruption of the two men who now stood in the room with Monsieur Lefevre. With an abrupt stop, I came to a halt along with the other dancers to see what was going on.

"Monsieur Reyer, Madame Giry, ladies and gentlemen, please, if I could have your attention, thank you. As you know, for some weeks there have been rumors of my imminent retirement. I can now tell you that these are all true." Lefevre spoke once he had everyone's attention, which he without a doubt had now.

Everyone in the room trailed off into a collection of hushed whispers between one another, most likely speculating why the dear owner of the Opera Populaire had chosen to leave.

"And it is my pleasure to introduce you to the two gentlemen who now own the Opera Populaire: Monsieur Richard Firmin and Monsieur Gilles Andre." He continued and gestured to the two men standing next to him. One had darker hair, with greying sideburns, and a mustache to match. The other was shorter with a full head of grey hair and the same almost whimsical looking mustache.