The Shadow's Melody || The Phantom of the Opera || Book One

3. Shadows Have Eyes

Chapter Three || Shadows Have Eyes

Such silence. Such quiet. Such calm.

I looked up at the twinkling stars winking at the big moon. Much like the ladies below flirting at the men on Paris' streets. Such freedom.

A breeze cuddled up against me, combing through my thick brown curls. I felt the cold nip of ambitious Winter against my bare arms. A content smile spread across my face as I sat there atop a gargoyle guarding the grand opera house. Such freedom.

I looked down at my sketch pad, comparing my attempt to capture the city of Paris with the real thing. I could never capture its beauty. No matter how hard I tried. I turned the pages back, looking at my older drawings. I drew all sorts of things. Animals, my friends, the Opéra Populaire, places in Paris, and of course - my Phantom of the Opera. I have many sketches of the man I saw onstage those many years ago. I was a child, but I can still see his face. I see him in my dreams.

I went back to the sketch I had been drawing, the one I started before deciding it would be better to draw something else. Something more practical.
Something less - idiotic.

Yes, idiotic.

I truly can be idiotic.

I have dreams about a man who murdered. A man who kidnapped. A man who was hunted by authorities and feared by many.

All these horrible things and here I am wishing he wasn't dead. Wishing I could hear that voice again. Wishing I could discover the man behind the mask. The man behind the deformity.

I'm just a stupid girl unfit for anything more than picking up other people's mess. That's all I am and that's all I ever will be.

I covered my face with my hands, my long hair falling over my shoulders, "Why do you do this, Mélodie? You must stop this."

I peered through my fingers at the drawing in my lap. I can't believe I drew that. I can't believe I even thought of that. Me, Mélodie de l'Obscurité, wanting this dead, masked man to place his hands on her so badly she dreams about it in her sleep. Shame on me. These are no thoughts a young woman should have. What would my parents think?

My parents.

What would they think of me? If only they saw how I am now. And I'm not talking about the impure thoughts I had about a man. Not just any man. A criminal.

Never mind about that. Forget I ever mentioned my parents. I'd rather not discuss it. Not now. Perhaps not ever.

I should burn this sketch. If anyone found out about this, about how I felt about the late Opera Ghost, who knows what they would say. Or what they would do.

I crawled down off the gargoyle and onto the roof, trying to decide what I should do. I could just hide it. It is a shame to destroy something I spent time on. Yes, hiding it would be the best decision.

The next day I went about my daily chores. Mopping the floors, dusting what needs dusting, forgetting to eat lunch, polishing what needs polishing, washing costumes, sorting costumes.

I know what you're thinking, "Quite dull."

Honestly I couldn't agree more. But, I knew what I was getting myself into when I decided to become a maid.

Well, no one could really prepare themselves for Eva's dressing room trials, but still.

We were just finishing organizing tonight's costumes when Violette asked me, "Are you alright?"

"Oui (yes), why?"

"Je ne sais pas (I don't know), you seem more distracted than usual."