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JOIE DE VIVRE , chapter two ೃ⁀➷
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A CHAIR HAD been left empty at the dining hall's table, and the meal sat untouched in its place. Genevieve could see it as she walked: the girls would be casting hungry glances to the door, the chair, the food, and back again. They would be praying on her absence. As they ate, the girls would pass a rumour across the barren seat to each other's waiting ears.
Genevieve had heard them talking about it as she woke: they mumbled in the beds next to her's, casting careful glances towards her to make sure she still slept.
"Have you heard?"
Genevieve had been stirring as the first whispering emerged.
"Clarisse Brodeur is coming to the opera."
In the week following the gala, the rumour had spread and the story had grown. Suddenly, Genevieve was hearing that they were all being replaced with a troop of Italian ballerinas led by a circus performer. Genevieve was certain that one of the younger girls had started that particular version and only the foolishly gullible believed her. The brunette held little concern for the fact that the majority of the company were now telling the tale of a lion tamer turned ballet teacher.
Her thoughts were otherwise concerned with images of a darkening future - one far away from the comfort of the opera house. Genevieve was already beginning to feel the theatre slipping through her fingers like sand.
She supposed that this was the reason she found herself ignoring the rumbling deep in her belly as she marched down the winding streets to the theatre. The early February air whistled through the city, and Genevieve found herself pressing her gloved hands to her flushed cheeks. Wretched creatures reached the skeletal hands towards her as she passed. The girl brushed past; even if she had the means to support them, she wasn't interested in funding the idle.
Turning a corner, Genevieve faced the opera house with building certainty. She would prove her worth to Dubois and Madame Garnier and all of the fools who had doubted her. The theatre was her home, and she would never allow anyone to ruin it.
"Je suis désolé," Genevieve heard someone yelp as something knocked into her and she stumbled forwards. A warm hand gripped her upper arm, and she was pulled upright. "Are you alright?"
Genevieve turned to berate her attacker, but the words were suddenly lodged in her throat. A girl, not much younger than herself, stared with wide-eyed concerned. Her blonde hair lifted in the wind, and she cocked her head sideways.
"Are you alright, mademoiselle? I'm ever so sorry, I wasn't paying attention to where I was going. I can be ever so clumsy you see."
Genevieve interrupted the girl's rambling, "Yes, yes I am quite alright, merci."
The girl's blue eyes softened in relief, and she finally let go of her grip on Genevieve's arm. As if she wasn't quite sure what to do with hands now she wasn't holding on to the singer, she brushed them over the neat folds in her dark skirt.
"I must ask - have we met? Your face is familiar to me," the girl continued. She seemed almost nervous, and her hands kept smoothing the fabric of her dress. As Genevieve began to reply, the blonde's eyes travelled towards the opera and back again.
"Oh my! Of course, you're Genevieve Bisset!" she exclaimed, "My father and I came to the opera only last week - you were simply splendid."
Suddenly, a lump formed in Genevieve's throat, and she bashfully looked towards the cobbled floor. After a week of criticism at the hands of strangers and those around her, it felt quite nice and almost foreign to have someone appreciate her work.
"Merci beaucoup," Genevieve smiled at her - or what she hoped was a smile. It had been a while since she had had someone to genuinely smile at.
It was just as she was about to ask the girl for her name that somebody called across the square, "Cosette! Are you ready to go now?"
The girl looked in the direction of the voice and turned back to Genevieve apologetically.
"I must go. It was a pleasure to meet you Mademoiselle Bisset."
She rushed away, holding her skirts and petticoats above the muddy grounds. Soon, her bonnet and golden hair were hardly visible in the busying street.
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The sun was setting and Genevieve's body was cramping. Her fingers were stiff from hours at the piano and her head hurt from staring at sheet music. Outside the room, the ballerinas were talking loudly.
"I heard that Clarisse Brodeur is nothing short of a prodigy."
"I heard that she can pick up an aria just from listening to it once."
"I heard-"
Genevieve slammed the lid of the piano. The sound reverberated off the yellowing walls,and the ballerinas quietened. A sudden scamper of movement alerted her of their departure.
The singer ran her hands through her dark hair. This wasn't supposed to happen - not yet. The thought that she might be doing something wrong crossed her mind; she supposed she had been taking Dubois' loyalty for granted. There was always more that she could do, and maybe she'd just have to start doing it.
She stood and crossed to the window. Her bones popped after nearly a day without use. Genevieve pulled the curtain back slightly to reveal the darkening street below: small groups of ballerinas were rushing to dinner, pulling their thin coats around their bodies, chattering excitedly. Genevieve knew her name would be falling from their lips. Even without the rumours, discussions of her cold demeanor and ruthless work regime would be the topics of their conversations.
She rolled her neck, and the curtain fell back into place. Returning to the old piano, the dark-eyed girl adjusted the tall candle and sheet music. She cracked her fingers and prepared herself for several more hours of work. Her stomach's furious rumbles fell on deaf ears.
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ੈ✩‧₊˚ erin speaks ✧ ˚ · .
[#] oh my gosh, how has it been a month since i uploaded chapter one? i'm so sorry, im honestly trying to update regularly but ive been so caught up with exams!
[#] cosette is my absolute favourite les mis character, so i was desperate to include her in this story! i can't wait for you to meet more of her :)
