The Art of Manipulation || Phantom of the Opera & Loki the God of Mischief ||

1. A Goddess Returns

I laughed and brought his hands further up my lap, pressing my back against the backrest of my chair, "The Met needs its Don Juan, Samuel."

He scrunched his face and buried his face in our joined hands, a fake sob shaking his body. I raised my head to Tess who giggled when I sarcastically mouthed, "Actors."

Taking a deep breath, Sammy raised his head, his eyebrows still pushed tight together in sorrow; only now they held more seriousness than before, "You're right, as always." He cracked a half smile, his face relaxing back into his normal boyish look that made him handsome, "Must you leave before Don Juan Triumphant opens?"

In spite of the dull pain I always felt in my chest at the mention of that opera, I smiled, the corners of my lips raising only slightly. I pulled free from Samuel's hands and busied my eyes and my hands by resuming the task of clearing my desk, "That opera has been around for a hundred years now.It's not like I haven't seen it before."

Sammy remained on his knee beside my chair, his brows knit close together in protest, "You haven't seen this production! What if we don't perform it like you told us to?"

"Has there been an opera I have put together that has flopped?"

He blinked, trying not to show his defeat, "No."

"Exactly." Winking at Samuel, I stood from my swivel chair and brought a stack of music to a half full box; my only box. One small box was more than enough to hold the items I couldn't bear leaving here on Midgard.

As I bent down to place the music in the brown cardboard box I said, "You needn't worry, Samuel. I'll be with you in spirit. I promise." I smiled over my shoulder at him and he returned it reluctantly.

I scanned the room once more for anything else I might have missed. My eyes going over my desk I spotted one more thing: a red rose encased in a clear glass box to keep it safe. I placed this in my box with utmost care, shutting the two flaps on the cardboard box once everything was securely inside.

Tess spoke up from the other side of my desk, her phone still in her hand (I have a conspiracy someone glued it to her as a prank and she has yet to get the phone removed.), "We're going to miss you, Ms. Alouette. You're one of the best music directors The Met has ever had."

Sam then stood from his place on the floor, "No, Tess. Alouette is the best music director The Met has ever had." Samuel looked from Tess to me and gave me a grateful and mournful half smile, "Without you my voice wouldn't be what it is now."

Picking an invisible particle of lint off of my black work pants, I smiled to hide my welling tears and heated cheeks, "Come now. You all flatter me." Before they could say anymore I tugged on the bottom of my blazer and picked up my box, "If you both don't get to work, Don Juan will be a disaster tonight."

Samuel followed Tess to the door, the both of them waiting for me to go first. I took a deep breath and stepped out of the door to my office here at the Metropolitan Opera House for the last time.

I said my farewells, keeping them brief to avoid prolonging the heartache of goodbyes. With my box balanced on my left hip and my half eaten piece of going away cake in my other hand, I walked out of the grand Metropolitan Opera House; my home away from home for more than four years.

Instead of calling a taxi for my three and a half block commute, I chose to walk. It made it easier for me to listen and enjoy all the sounds coming from New York City, the Big Apple.

I hear everything. A drop of a pin. The boom of a grenade. I hear the watch ticking on the man's wrist across the street. I hear the woman's stomach growl the next block over. I hear the couple making love in the apartment building I'm passing. Apartment 395, third floor, to be exact. In the next building there is another couple arguing over the higher phone bill. If their yelling wasn't so loud they would be able to hear their baby girl wailing in the next room.