Scrawling notes furiously across the page as the notes surrounded her in a whirlpool of emotion always seemed to calm her. Finding the proper note of what it sounded like when played was the problem. She had to rack her brain in order to find the perfect sound and note combination but at other times the notes just flowed.
"Emmy!" A stern familiar voice snapped her out of her concentrated composing.
Her head swiveled to the side to come face to face with the man who raised her and the manager of the opera house, her father. She bit her lip and frowned as she tried to give him the most innocent look she could muster.
"Oui, papa?" Her voiced called like silk in response to his scolding features.
"What are you doing? You should be rehearsing with the ballerinas and chorus girls!" His face was flustered and sweat beaded on his brow.
Immediately she could tell he was hiding something. He never yelled at her and never cared if she made it to a rehearsal. She always made up for everything in the performances, Madame Giry had informed her, her dancing was exquisite. Meanwhile the chorus director didn't even notice how much her voice had changed over time, not just due to puberty and growing.
"Désolé, papa. I was just working on writing a new piece." She explained quickly. "But forgive me, I will go practice now."
Emelia was preparing to walk away when her father grabbed hold of her arm. She frowned and watched as the anger faded from his features when he saw her bright face. His grip loosened and she searched his face to figure out why he was so on edge.
"No, Emelia, I'm sorry. I just...I mean..." He let out a long sigh. "Things have been very stressful lately and honestly I just want at least one performance to be good so..."
When her father didn't finish his thought she sighed and went to go towards the other ballerinas, she usually practiced with them first, but heard a commotion.
La Carlotta had begun yelling, again, this time only God could know what it was that had made the aged Prima Donna yell so loudly. Her yelling was common and everyone knew she planned to retire soon, let's just say she was getting old and had not aged gracefully.
When her and her father walked on the stage to see what the commotion was about he stopped mid-stride forcing her to stop behind him. Carlotta was yelling with her thick Spaniard accent and could barely even be understood. As much as Carlotta annoyed everyone, Emelia couldn't help but think of how much she would miss the drama queen when she retired.
"Signora, what is going on?" Emelia's father had to nearly scream to be heard over Carlotta's yelling.
"No! None of dis supposed sweet talk! I'm done! Zis is my last performance and zen I am done wis you! All you do is sit around and do notsing! Well I am done! For real dis time, you get dis NO MORE!" She yelled and stomped to her dressing room with her troupe following behind.
Emelia watched as her father ran quickly and irritatedly after her. She sighed and went to follow after him, to tell him it wasn't worth it, when suddenly a voice called for her causing her to stop dead in her tracks.
"Emelia, come here." Called the all too familiar accent of Madame Giry, the ballerina's teacher and box keeper.
Emmy froze and looked down at her ballet slippers, they were worn and used, her second pair since she had come to live here. The sixteen year old strawberry blond turned to see Madame Giry standing behind her with her arms folded over her chest. Emelia could see the frustration basically rolling off her in waves.
"Come on, you need to practice like everyone else. You may be talented but you cannot just shirk your duties like this...daily! I will be speaking with your father about this. Understood?" All anger left Madame Giry's voice.
"Oui, Madame. I would like to apologize, my papa was allowing me to work on composing...I will go now." She looked at the ground and walked away.
Sighing, Madame Giry watched the teenager walk off with her head hung low. When Emelia was little, her mother had been killed and now all she had left was her father. Giry couldn't help but pity the poor girl, she never had a mother to tell her right and wrong and her father was always too busy to pay any attention to her, either that or he was drunk.
She knew the child meant well, but she didn't know how to express it. Emmy didn't have many friends, if any at all, and Madame Giry had at least tried to make up for it by being like a motherly figure to her. Her attempts were in vain though, the lonely child refused to accept her actions and was left trying to figure out the world for herself.
"Madame Giry, Madame Giry!" One of the stage hands came running towards her in panic.
"Oui, monsieur?" She whirled on him, still irritated with Emmy's actions.
"Um...I just wanted to inform you that I found this near some of the props..." He held out a note towards Madame Giry.
The envelope was a whitish cream color, almost manilla but not quite. It was sealed with a blood red wax seal in the shape of a skull which struck fear into the heart of anyone who saw it. The letter itself was on an old worn piece of parchment with slightly burnt edges. On it, were words scrawled in red ink in an almost childish hand, but at the same time it appeared as calligraphy.
"Oh my..." Madame Giry pressed a hand to her lips as she read the letter. "The Monsieur is not going to be happy with this. Perhaps we can hide it from him--"
"Hide what from who?" Asked the voice of the manager who had silently walked up behind them.
The stage hand made haste back to his position so not to hear the Monsieur's rage. Madame Giry quickly hid the letter behind her back in hopes that he had not seen her holding the demanding letter in her now shaking hand.
"We were just discussing...a...uh...surprise party for your departure in two weeks but please don't let anyone know. They will be furious when they discover that you have been told about it!" She stammered helplessly.
"Hand it over." His outstretched hand waited impatiently for Madame Giry to give up what she was hiding.
Sighing she caved in and handed her manager the angry letter in which she had already read, but was meant for him. He looked at it cautiously and then his face became distressed when he discovered the seal which had held the letter closed. Slowly he began to read the letter only to find himself rereading it four, six, ten times!
Dear Mr Manager,
I know the deal which we had made, but I must inform you of the changes which have taken place. Your time here at the Opera Populaire has diminished. As of tomorrow you are no longer welcome at my opera house. Your two weeks have been reduced to twenty-four hours. If you choose to disregard this then you will fully regret it and will deserve all repercussions which come your way. You must leave, but I sense potential in your daughter. She is to stay here and continue learning in the arts which are performed here. There will be severe consequences if orders are not followed.
Best regards,
O. G.
After finally grasping exactly what it said the manager stood there in silence for awhile. Madame Giry believed his reaction was very calm compared to his usual response to any letter from the Opera Ghost.
Suddenly, he began yelling loudly and Madame Giry began working on calming him, so not to frighten the actors, singers and ballerinas. He calmed slightly but his angered yelling continued.
"He lied to me! I can't believe he would do such a thing! After I treated him with the utmost respect, this his how he repays me? I can't believe him, what does he expect me to tell Emelia? I'm abandoning you!?" He slammed his fist down on the small table which just so happened to be right next to him.
The delicate wooden table shattered and sent splintering wood everywhere. The wood chips were all shapes and sizes and he cursed under his breath after realizing what he had done.
"Monsieur, you cannot just ignore what the Opera Ghost tells you, he will surely have you killed if you disobey his orders!"
Madame Giry did her best to coax him to calm down.
"I don't care! This is our home! What am I supposed to do? The new managers won't be here for another two weeks and I have nowhere to go until then! I can't just leave Emmy on the streets, and I certainly will NOT leave her here, not with that thing lurking! I cannot leave, not now!"
"You have to leave! You're supposed to be gone and leave her! Would you prefer her to get injured too? If you irritate him anymore than you already have the consequences could spread to her!" Madame Giry scolded him.
Slowly and weakly he slid against the wall and onto the floor. He held his head in his hands and quietly began weeping for the tragedy which was bound to happen.
"Can I trust you with a secret, Madame?" He peered up at her through his fingers and she nodded slowly. With that,he shared his secret to Madame Giry, knowing if anyone overheard them he could be in a lot of trouble.
"Oui, Monsieur. I already know of this, I was in fact contacted when it happened." Her voice was gentle to the man who sat on the ground, flustered.
"Yes, and I have failed...what am I to do? I can't let Emmy get hurt and I promised he would never find out she exists and vice versa."
"Well, Monsieur, you could manage from a distance and stay in a hotel until the new managers get here to take over... Just don't let anyone find out and all should be well. I will help you take care of the child, I promise." She negotiated with him.
"I don't know I...I will have to think about it..." He sighed.
"Speaking of which..." They both paused and looked over at the small girl who was stretching with the rest of the ballerinas. "We need to have a discussion on your daughter's behavior and tardiness."
With that he laughed heartily and they made way to his office to discuss these issues which Madame Giry had.