𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘰𝘯 𝘥𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘭 [ RE-WRITE ON HOLD ]

iv. | chapter four

Belle

"W-who are you, monsieur," she asks the man whose pearly mask covers the right side of his face. He was dressed in a black robe with the dark clothes of a pianist beneath them. He looks like her daddy.

He smiles at her, a smile that makes Belle feel uncomfortable. Yet she remembers what her daddy told her.

  ' You can trust men like me. '  

And so she did.

"They call me many names. The question is, who are you.. young child? All alone, skipping and venturing in my opera house?"

Belle frowns, until it suddenly clicks. His opera house? He is the new owner, the new boss of her daddy! That means she has to stay formal and nice to him, otherwise her daddy will be in trouble.

"My name is rather long, monsieur, so everyone just calls me Belle. Belle Deveraux," she says.

He nods. "Deveraux? That is one of the violinists. You are his daughter, I suppose."

"Yes I am." "Then what are you doing here instead of in his house," the man asks, walking closer and closer to her.

She shrugs. She probably could not tell the truth to her dad's boss, so she avoids the question.

"I hope you won't mind me asking, monsieur, but what are you doing here? I thought my dad said you would look at the rehearsals and meet everyone.."

The man in front of her lifts his eyebrows in surprise, as if he didn't understand what she had said. Then another thought appears in her mind.

Maybe he didn't know what they had planned? Maybe it was a surprise? Aww, now she ruined it..

"I am not quite sure who you think I am, young one. But that doesn't matter for now. Tell me, how old are you little child?"

"I am six, monsieur."

"Do you do any of the arts, like music, sing or dance?" Belle shakes her head.

"No monsieur, but I do like watching it," she exclaims.

The masked man chuckles. "Of course you do. No one can look at those arts without appreciating them."

She bobs her head quickly up and down, agreeing with the man. "Yes monsieur."

The man takes the last step forward and holds his black leather gloved hand out to her for her to grasp.

" Wandering child,
Give me your hand
Let me guide you your way, " he sing-sangs.

She hesitantly reaches her hand out to his, placing hers in the gloved one.

He smiles at her, his light eyes staring into her dark ones. In silence they walk, slowly, through the dark corridors.

She looks up to the masked man. Belle only reaches to just above his hip and she looks up to see his full, slicked back dark hair and straight posture.

"Monsieur, will you tell my daddy I left the hall," she asks. He abruptly stands still, almost making the child bump into his back.

"Why would you think that, young child?" "Because I defied his order to stay inside the hall and sit in the public," Belle replies, looking at her feet.

It truly was a stupid idea though. She was bound to be caught by someone, anyone. Now she was and she had to face the consequences. That was what her mommy taught her.

"When you do something wrong, you pay for it," she always said.

The man turns around, still holding her small hand.

"I shall not tell your father if you will do something for me too," he says calmly.

Belle nods quickly. "Whatever you ask, monsieur," she replies.

He chuckles, grasping her chin between his thumb and index. "Never tell your father you met a masked man. Never.."

It was an odd request, Belle thought, but he kept her secret so she kept his. Simple trading, easy to understand.

"As you wish, monsieur. Now can we please go back, I'm cold?" He nods, but did not walk further.

He let loose of her hand and unties his pitch black robe. Then he kneels down to bind it around her neck. The heavy fabric gives her immediate warmth.

"Thank you monsieur." "It is no problem, child. Now follow me, child, to the light while I shall stay in darkness."

He takes her hand once again, leading her back through the maze of hallways and corridors.

She follows the man. They stop right before the corner. She wanted to walk further while holding the man's hand, but he stopped her.

"Now is when we will part ways." He takes the cape back, binding it around his neck again.

His brooding gaze follows the hesitant young child, who keeps staring over her shoulder to see if he was still there. He was.

She finally walks inside the opera hall again, sneaking back to her seat. She thinks no one noticed her absence.

And no one did, except one woman. One woman who stands beside the stage, her gaze on the child while the dancers did their routine.

She knew she has met the Phantom. And as always, Madame Giry knows that means trouble.