Spanish Angel (Phantom of the Opera)

Chapter 1

"I am very sorry, Mademoiselle, but now that my brother is gone, I'm afraid I have no other choice but to let you go." The Vicomte, now Comte, looked up from his ledgers at the maid, a young girl of eighteen, beautiful despite her poor station; dark eyed and black haired with a darker shade of skin, all of which spoke of her Spanish heritage almost more than her name.

She had been a sort of pet of his brother's. Attracting the attention and pity of the older de Chagny, who's patronage had been the only thing keeping her off the streets. He couldn't say she didn't work hard, for she truly did; often until her hands were bloodied. But, there was simply no space for her. She wasn't needed and the other servants didn't care for her odd ways. Tossing her a small bag of coins, he continued,

"My late brother would have wanted you to have something. Goodness knows what he saw in you." He glanced over her scant form, the black and white maid's garb not hiding any of her protruding bones. Phillipe, despite having pitied her situation on the streets, hadn't offered much more than a roof over her head and two meals a day so the girl hadn't ever truly blossomed.

Candela merely nodded, aware any arguing might take away the coins she had received.

"Yes, Comte de Chagny." She rose, curtsied and walked towards the door, not casting a glance back and fixing her gaze instead on the floor. That action nearly caused her to collide with the Comte's fiancé, a young singer by the name of Christine.

Hasty apologies were exchanged between the two women before Candela left, closing the study door behind her though not before she heard Señorita Daae, sobbing in the arms of the Comte over some dream she had had again. No doubt another nightmare about the Phantom of the Opera.

Candela surpassed the urge to roll her eyes. The Comte was a fine man who she couldn't despise despite having thrown her out of his house before his brother was quite cold in the grave and he deserved a finer wife than the sniveling girl who couldn't get angels and phantoms out of her head. Having been assigned her temporary maid before her dismissal, it had been Candela who was sent to fetch the Comte at ungodly hours of the night to calm her fears and chase away a nightmare.

"She may be sixteen but she doesn't have to act like a child." Candela muttered under her breath as she went to her small room and changed out of her black and white dress and laid them down on the bed before slipping on a plain, dove gray frock which hid much of her natural beauty, the stark color muting her dark skin and clashing horribly with her dark eyes.

"Talkin' about the future Comtesse, are we?" Asked a rather vulgar voice from the doorway. Candela didn't even deign to look at the drunkard behind her.

"Who else would I be talking about? Do we know any other blond children who are marrying my former master?" The man behind her staggered up and laid his hand on her waist, trying to pull her towards him. Shrugging him off, she grabbed her bag and tucked away the small purse of coins.

"Keep your paws off." She muttered before walking out of her room and down the hall to servant's exit. At times, she wondered why he wasn't dismissed from the mansion. That thought was quickly followed up with a mental image of his wife, the meanest fiend and the best cook the French side of the Channel. She earned the money and he drank it.

"Aw, not just a little feel." He slurred as he followed her, too drunk to really do any serious damage. For five years she had withstood his drinking and groping habits and was quite accustomed with how to deal with them by now. Stopping at the door leading away, she turned to him.

"Not even a little. Need a woman? Go find your wife." She said, struggling not to laugh at the thought of snuggling up with that holly bush he was wed too. Perhaps that was the reason he sought warmth from other women.