The Phantom's Daughter

Chapter Three

Stupid Joseph Buquett had done exactly what I wanted. He was always abandoning his post to wander. Peak through the holes and cracks that looked into the girl’s dressing room. His lurking only advertised me more so please go on Monsieur. Help yourself to those peeks. To stolen sips of ale from your work mates. To your wandering hand at passing skirts, and then to itch your drawers. Your incompetence is my advantage.

I don’t know why they didn’t fire the olaf after proving himself multiple times again and again how unreliable he was. His work was not worth to keep him on, but his low class was not worth the second glance. He couldn’t fool me though. He was smarter than he let on, keeping track of his repercussions. Keeping them high enough to blend into the background and idle in his time, but low enough to be a constant stage hand who was semi reliable.

But you screwed up Joseph Buquett. These new managers are not as well in step with theatre life as now retired Monsieur Reyer was, and you will be one of the first to go when they wet their feet and grow more into this role.

Or I will get rid of you myself.

I see him looking at the ballet girls, and while it disgusts me to see men view women as just for what’s between their legs, I usually ignore it. That’s the way the world is. No one stepped in for me…poor little boy with a sack cloth over his head. So no Opera Ghost will step in for the poor harassed ballet girls. It is the way of the world.

But there is one pretty little ballet girl that he’s looking a little too fondly at. My dearest Christine. She does not know me in person yet, but she will. I have been helping her get to this spot now…where she will finally sing on the stage, and use that beautiful gift God gave her. I have been her teacher, and soon she will meet and adore her teacher.

But Joseph Buquett is looking a little too closely at her. Her perfect frame, a modest bust, her long, curly dark brown hair. She was a perfect angel, so soft and sweet, quiet and shy with big brown doe-like eyes and beautiful pink lips, pale skin from staying indoors too much. Bone structure that revealed her Swedish origins. Oh she was just an absolute doll, quiet, pretty and demure. She stayed close to Meg Giry, little Meg, small but fierce. Of course, the two young women were of the same size that they could swap out clothing, both of average height with the strong frames of dancers but Meg Giry was the tomboy of the two; she wore her dresses, walked and talked and stood quiet pretty like a lady should, but she made her soft voice be loud and wasn’t afraid to fight with the boys if needed and could well hold her own against any advances of men—as her mother made sure to teach her.

With little church-mouse Christine, sticking by my friend Meg—my almost sister Meg—she was safe from Joseph Buquett at the moment. But the man was greedy for but two things; alcohol and lust, and I knew that soon that greed would take over common sense as I’d seen in many men like him.

But now Christine’s voice will be known and her popularity will grow and she will be surrounded and protected more. She will grow to the diva I know her to be, and I will make myself known to her and soon she will see her teacher in his raw human form. I have been her father watching over her…her angel of music guiding her….I will tell her my mask is to keep my divine presence concealed (for none shall look into the face of God and live right? The same can be argued for angels—a divine species themselves) and if she shall ever look upon my face I will tell her that the earthly world has corrupted my angelic face and thus I must hide it behind a mask…oh please don’t run away from me Christine…please don’t see beyond this mask to see that I’m just a man. I’ve got the cunning mind of a cat, the ruthless strike of a serpent, a voice stolen from Heaven, but the aging body to remind me I’m mortal. Oh please dear sweet young Christine, yours is the only voice that makes me feel close to God. Your voice brings back the art in music, without you, my song has no rhythm.

I am too fallen,

but you can rise…

...and hopefully…

…take me with you….