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Chapter 2 - Angel

Kerkera, a young orphaned child is left in the care of Madame Florie, the Paris Opera House Mistress. But when she receives a black ribbon rose, the mysteries of the old Hall being to take hold. Has some new songs and some original. The names are differen

Chapter 2 - Angel

Chapter 2 - Angel
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Working at the Opera house wasn't the glitz or the glamour that I first believed
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Working at the Opera house wasn't the glitz or the glamour that I first believed. I was to watch the star performer, Miss. Maria, so that I could learn and understand what it meant to be a singer. Though I was thrilled at the idea, I soon learned, to my own expense, that Miss. Maria was not the most pleasurable person. In fact, from the moment we met, she seemed to loathe my very existence. She ignored me almost completely, apart from barking the occasional insult or order at me. I learned to deal with it for, no matter how much she despised me, she was my teacher and the only access to information and experience that I had available.
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Miss. Maria was an extremely grand and obvious woman, with a head full of long red lock, a face coated in a hundred different types of makeup, a voice that could reach notes that I didn't even know existed, and a fierce and fiery temper. She was extremely proud and spoilt rotten by her servants, mangers and fans. She had access to the most brilliant and beautiful dresses, but constantly demanded more. I, however, was not allowed to wear any of the pretty frocks that I had brought with me from my father's house, and, instead, had to continually wear my simplest dresses. My hair was not allowed to me down, nor placed into a fashionable style. Everything about me, by order of Miss. Maria, had to be plain and ordinary.
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For the next year I spent my time following Miss. Maria about the Opera House, watching the rehearsals, attending the staff meetings, and any other occupations that came with the job. During this time I became friends with another student. Rosetta was a small pale child, with long fine blonde hair, and large pale blue eyes. She was a shy little thing, who only spoke when spoken to, and tried hard to stay out of everyone's way. She had been assigned to the Opera House's leading male, Jean Christophe. He was a large, booming man, who didn't seem to know that his apprentice even existed. Poor Rosie had to follow him around, never getting a single word spoken to her. If he did address her, him called her “you” “thing” or “it”. She and I would have to continually walk to and fro from the kitchens, normally to fetch lemon water for Miss. Maria, or an assortment of savoury snacks for Jean Christophe.
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However, one day Miss. Maria and Jean Christophe had to go into central Paris for some all day party. As it was outside the Opera House, Rosie and I were not allowed to attend. This suited us very finely, as we spent the day in the kitchens or on the stage with Mort. Mort had become a good friend to me, and I valued both his and Rosie's friendship. They words, apart from the few I had with Madame. Florie, were the only kind words I received since I left my father's.
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We had spent a good few hours running about the set, which was set up for the performance that night. We had been playing in amongst the wooden tree props, when Rosie began to complain of a headache.
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“I'll go get you a glass of water, Rosie,” I said, seating her on the edge of the stone bench prop.
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“Don't worry, I'll get it,” Mort insisted, looking at me.
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“umm…alright,” I smiled, “If you insist,”
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“I do,” he smiled back, turning and running backstage.
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I looked out at the hall. The candles where being little by the old women who where the more general servants. The seats shone a brilliant red in the bright lights, and the god tinted banisters shimmered and sparkled. My eyes, once again, lay upon the furthest box. Even though the whole Hall was bright and sparkling, the light seemed to stop at the dark cherry wood banner.
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The orchestra below the stage, who had been getting ready to rehearse, suddenly struck the long shimmering note that began the ballet piece.
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“Oh Rosie!” I called to her, “It's the ballet! Please, come dance it with me?”
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“Oh, Kerri,” she sighed, shaking her head, “I couldn't! I don't know half of the steps! And anyhow,” she smiled, “My head still hurt!”
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“Fine,” I laughed, “I'll dance on my own! But so help me, if you laugh at me, I will drag you up here and make you do it, headache or not!”
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“Alright,” she laughed, “I won't laugh at you!”
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I stepped into the centre of the stage, and plid. Then I reached up, then leapt across the stage, my long legs stretched as far as they could go. I landed on my toes, then pirotted to the left, trying not to let my plaits hit my face. I leapt high and crossed my legs, taking me to the floor. I swept my arms across the floor to above my head, sitting one leg bent, the other sraight and poitned along the floor. The music stopped there becase they need to adjust some strings. I smiled and fell out of the postion to the floor. I heard a clapping from behind me. Mort had returned with drinks for us all.
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“Thank you Mort!” I called, running upstage to the stone bench.
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“My pleasure,” he smiled, holding up a glass of milk. We sipped quietly as the orchestra began to rearrange itself.
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“Can you sing?” asked Mort, taking the glass from his mouth,
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“Oh hardly,” I laughed into my glass.
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“That's not true,” called Rosie, “Mort, you should hear her when she's in our dorm. Before she leave to go to her bed she's always leading a sing-song of some sort! Oh do sing Kerri!”
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“Rosie, please,” I giggled, placing my glass down on the bench, “I've never heard you talk so loud and freely!”
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“I've never believed in something so passionalty!” Rosie insisted, looking straight in my eyes, “Do sing when the music starts,”
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“Oh alright!” I sighed, turning from them and walking towards the centre, “But don't laugh if I forget the words!”
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Mort chuckled and sat next to Rosie.
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I stood and listened for the music to begin. The piano forte began a slow steady pace.
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“The dancing in the night,
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The softness, of your voice in the darkness,
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Reminds me and my senses,
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Of a world, once lost to an unknown force.
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What little things I do remember,
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like your footsteps on the sand,
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Are all lost in a silent dream,
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And banned from day.
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Desires, once fiery and passionate,
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Lie as ashes in a light wind,
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Scattered across the seas,
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Gone from my mind.”
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The violins came in like a swooping blanket of noise,
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“We always said our love would last,
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That we'd be together till the end of time.
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How strange, those dreams are gone now,
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You left so fast.”
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The music grew stronger as the notes made a crescendo.
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“But do you still think of what we had?
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What we might have seen?
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What we might could have been?
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Do you sit, alone at night?
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And gaze across the sea,
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Do you still think of me?
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But it will never be!”
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I smiled as I hit the last long note, letting the noise vibrate through my whole body. I could hear the people in the orchestra scrambling about below me. I saw some of their faces appear in front of me where the conductor stood. I heard clapping and looked back to smile at Mort and Rosie. I turned to look at the seats again.
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White.
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The man, he was there. I froze. I hadn't seen his face again since I'd arrived. I stared at him as he stared at me. Then, slowly, he lowered his head in what seemed to be a slow nod. Then, with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.
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“Kerri!” called Rosie, running up behind me, “Well done! See, didn't I say that you could sing,”
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“Yes,” I said dreamily, still transfixed to the box.
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“That was really good,” smiled Mort, appearing on the other side of me, “No one would guess you were 11 with that voice!”
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“Thank you,” I said, slowly looking from the box. I wasn't sure whether I'd said that to Mort or to the man.
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“Argh!”
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We all turned to look back at the noise. Miss. Maria's skirt vanished behind the curtain.
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“Oh dear,” I said, looking at my friends, before running after her.
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I watched her running through the throng of people, pushing them over as she screamed and complained. I apologised to the dancers who had been mercilessly crushed or thrown about by my teacher.
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“Miss. Maria!” I called, trying to reach her. Through I did not care for the woman myself, if she said any bad enough things about me, I could be thrown out of the Opera House onto the street.
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“Miss. Maria!”
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I ran up the steps, but got caught in the group of ballet dancers. When I finally pushed through, I followed the sound of loud complaining till I heard the slamming of a door. I ran along the corridor until I reached her door. I could hear her moaning to Jean Christophe and her handmaid.
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“Miss. Maria?” I called through the door, “Please, I'm sorry,”
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All I could hear was her shrill screeches. I didn't realize that they had returned so early!
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“Miss. Maria!”
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I let out a sigh, and slid down the door to the floor. If she told Madame Florie or the House manager that I did something bad…
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“Father?” I whispered, “What do I do?”
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I stood and wandered through the corridors. This was the one where all the visiting stars stayed, and all the important dressing rooms were, so it had the very best cherry wood flooring and flowery wallpaper. I reached a sofa and slumped onto it.
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“I don't want to go,” I sniffed. Many people may think I was over reacting. But I had had a feeling that Miss. Maria had been looking for a reason to get rid of me for ages. She must of found one, though I don't know what it was exactly.
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“Father,” I whispered, “Where is the angel you promised me?”
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When my father was ill, he called me to his bedside. He told me about an angel, a spirit that, if he should die, would protect me from harm and guide me towards light. He told me that the Angel of Music will always be with me, and that I need not to be afraid. It was an angel that lived off my mother and his love for me. That was the last thing he said to me. About an hour later he died.
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I leaned forward on my knees, what was I going to do? I needed to find a way of either convincing Miss. Maria to not say anything, or if she does say something, a way of convincing the Manager and Madame Florie not to get rid of me. But how? I was just a little girl no one would believe me.
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Swish.
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I looked up. The sound had come from the end of the corridor. I stood up and stared, but I couldn't see anything.
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“Hello?” I asked, walking slowly down towards the noise. The next corridor was darker, with only a few candles.
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“Oh!” I called out in alarm as I saw a shadow move across the furthest wall.
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“Umm…excuse me!” I called after it. Yet again, I heard the swish of a cloak.
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I ran down the long corridor, following the shadow that seemed to appear on the furthest walls. As I ran further, the corridors got darker and greyer. Left, right, left, left again, until I ran down some stone spiral stairs and jumped into a small room. I looked round and saw the opposite wall slide shut.
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“Wait!” I called, running to the wall, “Wait please, who are you?”
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I hammered the wall with my small fists. Soon though, they became sore and I was forced to stop. I turned and slumped against the cold stones and surveyed the room.
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It was small and square, with a large stain glass window of an angel and a sunset. Next to this marvellous window were two large, black, freestanding candlestick holders. Each one held five or six unused candles, their wicks still covered in wax. The doorway through which I'd entered was made of stone and was without a door. The staircase was nothing more than, what seemed, a narrow hole. I walked across the room to the candles. My footsteps echoed as my heels hit the stones. I could hear the water dripping from a far off corner, each splash a single drum beat. I knelt on the stones and looked about. There was a small box of matches on the windowsill, so I reached out and took them. After the candles were lit, I sat back on my heels in simple thought. There was something calming in the atmosphere that made my thoughts easier to process. I closed my eyes a breathed.
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“I am your angel of music,” came a soft, low voice.
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My eyes snapped open. The room was empty.
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“Listen to your angel of music,” said the voice.
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“Please,” I whispered, looking about the room. Yet again, nothing.
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“Kerkera,” said the voice, so gently it was almost a whisper, “Kerkera,”
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“Please,” I whispered, trembling at the sound.
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“Kerri,” it breathed, “Believe,”
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I looked at the window. The angel, with a dress of white and sparkling halo, had its hand offered out to me. I walked up to it and put my hands against the cool glass, my face level to the angel's.
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“It's true, your voice is good, but still,” it said, with a slight rhythm to the words, “If you want to excel, you must accept me as your teacher,”
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I looked into the angel's eyes,
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“My teacher,” I whispered, my breath making a mist about the face.
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“Heed my warning and what I instruct,” said the voice, “And you are guaranteed success,”
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I bowed my head, and thanked him. Maybe I believed to easily, but the voice… I just felt like I had to believe in him. And I was only a gullible 11 year-old who had been promised an angel. I sat up and called back to him
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“Master, I'm am your student, speak and I listen, please guide me in the ways only you know how. Please, angel, protect me from the darkness of the world outside.”
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I heard a faint laugh that slightly unnerved me.
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“Go, you must return. Those friends of yours will be missing you,” he said. I got up, curtsied, and ran out the room. As I left, a gust of wind extinguished the candles.
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<p style="text-indent: 0.00mm; text-align: left; line-height: 4.166667mm; color: Black; background-color: White; ">
*Hello! Right, I know you're probably thinking that this is just a rewrite of P.O.T.O. However, there are going to be little twists, new songs, e.g. the one above, and a different ending, cos lets face it, the conclusion of the actual play is kinda sucky. (or at least that's what I think!) so please keep reading and review. Just keep the flames to more constructive rather than full out attacks! Thank you!
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Kerri
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~*~
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