Mirrors

A/N: Hey guys! So this isn't really in the norm of what I usually write, so please go easy on me! I've always been kind of a nerd for the Phantom of the Opera (seriously ever sense 3rd grade), and for some reason this idea has always been in my head (maybe not ever sense 3rd grade). It's just a short little drabble/one-shot thing I wrote with an OC with not really much to it. ***If you're just one of my readers popping in to see what this is, but have not seen/read/heard the Phantom of the Opera, that is totally okay!*** You can probably read this and understand, but if you're curious, it's a beautiful story and you all should check it out (it's on Netflix though my personal favorite is the 2004 movie with Gerard Butler)! Anyways, I hope you all enjoy! Please leave reviews so I know what you guys think!

(I do not own The Phantom of the Opera)

I didn't like to believe the stories: the stories about him. I wasn't the type to spread rumors, or rather believe them. But, working in a place as big as the Paris Opera house, rumors were inevitable. Being a maid in the opera house, I often heard many dark stories about murderers, ghosts, and phantoms. Although I didn't believe that the infamous phantom of the opera had yellow skin and lacked a nose, I did truly believe that he existed. I wasn't as skittish as the ballerinas, no, but I was always curious. I worked alongside older women- tough women. If any of them ever saw me squeal at the sight of a shadow, I'm sure they would have laughed till no end, and would have never let it go.

Though the other maids didn't often gossip, I would sometimes get to clean the auditorium seats and floors during and after rehearsals, where I could overhear the whispers and murmurs of the ballet and chorus girls, speaking about the phantom of the opera. Oh that poor phantom! I often wondered if he knew he was talked about. Perhaps that was how he liked it. Perhaps he liked the fear he induced upon the Paris inhabitants. That was what often sparked my curiosity. Fear couldn't be the soul motive for someone. Could it? I refused to believe that rumor. I also refused to believe that this "phantom" was a ghost. I did not believe in ghosts. I believed in crazy people- people that could haunt other people. Honestly, it made more sense than a ghost floating through the walls of an opera house, and scaring the head soprano.

While it was possible that this "phantom" was truly just a man that thirsted for blood, I couldn't help but feel bad for him. Perhaps it was pity. I don't believe that anyone truly enjoys people talking about him or her behind their back. We often say that we wouldn't mind, but deep down, we all feel that pang of hurt when we know someone thinks negatively of them.

I think all of my curiosity about this phantom came from the boredom that lingered with being a maid. Yes, I was always busy, but I would much rather be dancing or singing than polishing a mirror, even though I cannot dance or sing. Anything seemed more interesting than dusting, trust me.

Although my curiosity was spurred from my boredom, my interpretation of this phantom's feelings, and my knowledge of his existence were very much true. The feelings of the phantom could be false, as I've never actually spoken to this opera ghost, but I don't think what I've witnessed was a façade.

As I said before, I would often clean and polish the mirrors in the opera house. The grand mirror in the prima donna room would take me the longest, and would often require a footstool. Sometimes, while I'm knelt on the ground, trying to wipe away a pesky smudge on the bottom of the mirror, I'll sense something. A presence. It wasn't necessarily a bad presence, but I had to admit that sometimes I would give a small jump at the sudden feeling. I wouldn't mind though. I knew that it wasn't just some performer sneaking in through the entrance of the prima donna room. I always knew that this person was right in front of me. No, it was not my reflection, but the person that lay behind it. Sometimes the person would just be there. They would just be present. Other times, I could tell that the person had shifted to meet my height kneeling on the floor. I could always tell by the sounds of fabric moving. I was never frightened. Sometimes my heart would race in the excitement of the thought that there was someone else there, but other times I would just accept that there was someone else. I always knew that this was the opera ghost. Who else would hide behind a mirror, in the walls of an opera house? It just made sense.

Of course these actions confirmed the existence of a phantom, but they didn't tell me of his emotions. Later I did deduce that the possible reason for his continuous returning to that specific mirror while I was present could be due to loneliness, but I didn't know right away until one day. I will always remember that day. That day when I was knelt on the ground and I felt that presence. I heard the shifting of fabric behind the glass of the mirror. I remember longing for more interaction with this phantom- wanting to know what he looked like- wanting to hear his voice. But, I knew that if this opera ghost wanted to stay hidden, he would. I remember staring into my eyes in the reflection, but knowing I was really staring into his. I was almost lost in a daze, thinking about the phantom of the opera, so I didn't even think twice before I placed my hand on the cool mirror. At first, I could only feel the mirror, but as time past, I could feel the glass getting warmer under my palm. And that was when I knew he had placed his hand on mine on the other side of that glass. And that was how I knew he was lonely.

A/N: So, what did you guys think? I'm not really much of a romantic nor am I good at writing romantic stories, and I'm not sure yet if this was made to be romantic. But please tell me what you guys think! What did you guys get from it? Please let me know your thoughts on this! Thank you guys so much:) i hope you enjoyed!