The Phantom's Daughter

Chapter Seven

I was trying to hold in my tempter, as my forehead sweated from the steam and work, my arms throbbed from already cleaning stalls today (and stealing more treats to Sweet Demon and Maggie) and my ears rung from Castella frantic personality.

I woke up that morning and kept my distance as the other girls and I had our breakfast of porridge and fruit and tried to remember the good grace and favor that Mame Madeline Giry had shown me in keeping me at the Opera House (while also pondering her authority she had at this Opera House; you’d think she was the managers unlike those two other bumbling baboons).

But being in the kitchen stirred a rage inside me…bad memories roared in my head like a sea of storms, my heart pounded, my vision blurred…

And I…

…was….

…….angry!

Oh I hated everything about this, from peeling potatoes, to fetching water, to washing dishes and scrubbing floors and setting out ingredients.

This kitchen maid was not going to work out for me. I didn’t understand why I felt like my life was so threatened in that kitchen again….I didn’t know why so many memories of my past three homes started pouring out of me that plagued me to where I couldn’t breath…

But I couldn’t take it anymore.

I was also about to either stab or slap Castella and that wouldn’t go well either, so when Castella went to the privy, I made a quick getaway, intending to go exploring the Opera and perhaps find out more about where this ghost nonsense came from. Being that there probably wasn’t a ghost, perhaps I could become the ghost and continue to haunt the Opera and keep the tale alive.

I stopped and gasped in wonder at that.

Of course! I was meant to be the new Phantom of the Opera! The reason why there weren’t any ghost sightings recently was so that the torch could be passed onto me! This was why I was drawn to come to the Opera Populaire! I was to be the Phantomess!

And my dark horse Sweet Demon could be my steed that phantoms ride! I could train him and go on goulish-ghostly night time rides to haunt the citizens of Paris, advertising the Phantom of the Opera’s story—making it all that more real! People were so stupid and easily gullible by the strange happenings of this world, it would be so easy to make them fall for this one too!

“Oh this is going to be so thrilling!” I said to myself. In my shoulder bag I have lots of paper and drawing utensils…I’ll leave my little, Rita-drawings around, all mysterious, for people to find and promote the idea of this new phantomess. How much more thrilling and mysterious it will be to have a girl phantom too! It will make much more for the tragic tale and popularity…after all, women were surely tragic figures already! Trapped in a world subjected by men, taught to wear corsets that set their breasts up and their backs straight and keeping their stomachs in. Waving around a fan to emphasize a show of weakness…being talked to and handled like a child all the days of your life. Heavy, layered skirts over hoop rings to exacterate your waist but keep your steps small. Being forced to sit still, talk quietly, and look pretty…and then be subjected to whatever horrible forces a man put on them in the marriage bed.

Yes.

I will be the phantomess.

Because I will be free.

Free from the confounds of society, free from poverty that is shoved on my class, from being a child with no parentage. Free from all the abuses I’d suffered, just because I was there, and too small to defend myself.

Free to wear pants.

I sighed contently and for the first time in a long while, I smiled. Time to go take off this ugly brown rag of a dress I was put in and rib this awful bonnet to shreds. Steal a pair or two of boy’s breeches and shirts, retrieve my shoulder bag and find a way into the basement—the attics here were all used up with either servant’s quarters or costume and stage set storages, and besides a ghost beneath you is way scarier than a ghost above you.

I walked out to where the stage was.

And my eyes fell on little Jammes. I stopped and stared. She was practicing a dance routine. The other girls had finished and were scurrying off to enjoy the rest of their day or go home. But Jammes stayed to work on her dancing. I admired her devotion to art. I’m sure it would take her far, and she would have a diva attitude like Charlotte Dudechelle and her mother’s to match.

I needed to get backstage, to go upstairs where the girls slept, retrieve my bag, and some new clothes. I didn't care if she saw me, because it would give me an excuse to confront her and—wait! I wouldn’t need an excuse!

It would be an entrance to me becoming the new phantomess! Every phantom needed a handful of dark tragedies to sustain their image and fear into people. Jammes can be my first victim. I will sneak up behind her on the stage, and push her off….no one is around to see, and Castella had probably noticed my absence to think that I had run away. Everyone would look for me in the streets or at the stables, neither of where I would be, as I’d quickly make my way to the basement.

I crouched down and scurried on the side aisleways, avoiding to be seen. I think Jammes did see me, but she didn’t acknowledge me. Either Mademoiselle Madeleine Giry had gotten through to her, or she was too busy on her steps to care. Actually, I’d prefer if she saw me. I will be my own origin story; the tragic tale of the little orphan with the auburn hair and pale face, haunting the Opera halls, belonging to no one, and loved by none.

Oh this was turning out so brilliant already! I struggled to contain a laugh of excitement as my plan unfolded. Yes this will all work out perfectly.

With light steps I crept up on the stage behind the curtains. Jammes was so focused on my steps, she paid no movement that she would have caught in the corner of her eye. The stupid little thing was practicing up close to stage front anyways it was too perfect—this could easily look like an accident that had a strong supernatural feel to it.

I silently trotted up behind my victim, my hands ready.

Closer.

Closer.

Closer.

I was practically upon her. I don’t know if I made a noise by accident or if Jammes heard me, but she suddenly turned around. Her tone of scolding turned into a shriek as I shoved her off.

Madeleine Giry and Jammes’ mother had just walked on, catching me in the act.

Jammes let out a blood curdling scream of pain, echoed by her mother followed by threats of death at the evil done to her child. Shouts of confusion and rage left the mouth of Madeleine Giry. I sprinted.

Dodging all passerbyers, shoving past them if needed to cause commotion, I forced my way up the long winding stairs to the room where we slept. Ripping off my gown and throwing my boy clothes on, I threw my shoulder bag over me and ran back down the stairs, risking a broken ankle as I took them two by two.

Going back for my clothes and bag put me at a disadvantage, giving Madeleine Giry time to catch up, and might I say, for a woman of her aging years, she could move quite agility. She shouted at me to come to her, but why on earth would make her think I’d abide? Then she got smart and started shouting at people to grab me. Some just shrugged, not wanting to get into someone else’s business, or knew what it was like to be on the bottom of society. Others did make a grab for me, but I was experienced in this, from dodging the older boys in the orphanage, to running away from Ms. Eleanor, running away from M. Meshaw and his family. I was very good at this.

I punched one guy in the crotch when he snagged me, gleefully enjoying his cry of pain and doubling over, but I had no time to celebrate.

I realized I had no way into the basement; I had no idea where the doorway to it was or how to get there.

Blast it! I should have prepared better! But this phantomess idea sprung up last minute and I got caught up in the fantasy of it all, not properly thinking it through. And then with pushing Jammes off the stage and the unlucky streak of getting caught.

I turned and hid in a dark sliver of a corner, my chest burning from refusing to catch my breath so that I may keep quiet. After I heard the rush of angry steps hurry past, I doubled back, turned down a hallway and burst in the first room that was unlocked.

Quietly shutting the door behind me, I allowed myself to sag on the floor in exhaustion, taking in deep breaths. Hearing movement outside, I slipped deeper into the dressing room and crawled to what apparently was a large, full view mirror. It was the size of a doorway, and very fine. The dressing room was dark and unused, but I could tell it had a beautiful decorated wooden frame to it that I traced my finger on.

Something was strange about the mirror.

I could see my reflection, but….it was like this mirror was some kind of portal…when I looked closely, there was no reflection of the room, but I couldn’t make out what was past it…

My curiosity spiked, (not to mention still needing a proper place to hide from the trouble I had caused) I itched my fingers along the inside of the wooden frame, exploring around it to see if there was anything unusual. I could feel the glass shift under my exploring, and it was much thicker than a regular mirror would have been—I knew from having broken a few mirrors in my time, whether on purpose or on accident—there was something more to this than what meant the eye if one was careful enough to pay attention to it.

Feeling no giveaway and seeing no signs of the mirror sliding or getting pushed back, I then felt along the wooden frame, applying pressure to see if there was a hidden giveaway.

And there was.

I jumped back and gasped in surprise…but the mirror slid open to reveal a dark chamber behind it.

Eagerly I stepped in.