Crescent Angel (A Phantom of the Opera Phanfiction)

Chapter 1: Inconvenience

This is my first Phantom of the Opera fan fiction, well, phan fiction, and I hope it goes well! I've got plenty of ideas in mind, and feel free to give some of your own! :) Requests are welcome! Voting, commenting, and constructive criticism is also very welcome at the doormat of writing!

Enjoy the first chapter!

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Paris, 1870

Charlotte Victoria de Maupassant. That's my name. I have lived in France nearly my whole twenty-two years of life. It's a beautiful place, and Paris happened to be where I held residence. A settle city, full of different entertainments and enjoyable works.

My job just happened to be at the Paris Opera Populaire. My love for music and the art of dancing brought me here. Ballet was one of the arts I learned growing up. My mother Helen was previously a dancer in her former childhood and adolescent years. My father told me of her life and events, like her love for dancing, before she suddenly left us.

I wasn't the only one who loved ballet, though. Meg Giry was one of my best friends, along with Christine Daaé. They were my first closest friends and dancing partners. Today was a normal practice at the opera house, with Carlotta Giudicelli, our leading lady, complaining and Piangi attempting to calm her down. Hannibal was the performance we were rehearsing for. Carlotta acted like the world was hers as she shone in the light as Prima Donna. She was the most annoying woman I've ever met. And I've met some annoying women!

Music started playing, and we all got into place again. The sway of the rhythm began to move me, my feet carrying my body to the beat. The ballet dancers all moved in sync as we preformed the routine. I leaped gracefully, landing gently on my feet. My body twirled with the music as Carlotta sang terribly in the background. Though, I tuned her out completely as we elegantly turned, leapt, and fluidly moved to our rehearsal number.

A familiar voice broke me from the trance of music I was in. Madame Giry's eyes were set on mine, a beckoning in them. "Come here, Charlotte," she called, her face softening. It was a rare sight, seeing her face anything but stern. But Madame Giry was like a mother to me, partly because she mentally adopted me, ever since my mother left...

Normally, I would address her as Maman. She was very motherly towards me. I walked timidly and gracefully over to her, my hands clasped together. My skirt trickled and moved on my legs as I advanced towards the ballet instructor. Our outfit was a cropped top that did not cover our stomachs. The waistband and the neckband were both made of thick material, stones and gold accessories placed symmetrically on them. Our skirts were sheer and near floor length, but never have I tripped on it before. The material was light enough to flow with the movement.

"Maupassant did you say? N-No relation to the French author?" I heard one of the two men say. He had darker hair, a mustache growing upon his upper lip. He looked like your typical Frenchman. Though, he seemed a bit more...quirky.

I bowed my head respectfully as I sided with Madame Giry. She raised her chin higher in what looked like...pride? "His only child," she informed the men. "Left for our care after her father passed and her mother left. I think of her as another daughter." Her hand lightly touched in between my shoulder blades.

I remembered a faint image of my father. He was a classy man, near black color for his hair. A mustache much like the one man's was on his face. It was full of volume too. I inherited his raven hair, but my eyes weren't brown like his. I had an oddball pair of piercing green eyes. It was unusual for the pairing of hair color and eyes. Normally it was dark hair and dark eyes. Or an occasional blue eyes with a brunette. But not green and black. Never have I seen a person with green eyes and black hair. For the French community, anyways. It was truly unusual for me.