The Beauty Underneath ● The Phantom of the Opera

Chapter 2

Coney Island, 1927

◌The Shadow◌

As a child, I couldn't help but look up to my parents. My mother, whose voice was that of an angel's, and my father, who seemed to be built of garnet and steel. My father--god I loved my father more than the world itself. I thought we were one in the same. I thought that if my father, who had the same hardships as me, could be built of stone--could look for the beauty underneath it all, so could I.

As I got older, I found that this man--this man who found the beauty in everything--couldn't stand the sight of me. Couldn't bear to be around me because I reminded him of his failures. Reminded him that he was just as hideous looking as I was. And no matter how hard I tried--how hard my mother tried, we could never solve the problem between us. 

But with age comes exhaustion and I had grown tired of trying. So I set my energy on bigger and better things. Like what, you might ask? Like hell I knew. But even hell knew it would be a life-changer.

"Supper is ready!" But for now, it could wait, for food was calling my name. I wrapped my silk, flower printed robe around my body before rushing for the dining room. 

"Do you ever bother to wear proper clothes?" The voice of my twin brother, Maurice, spoke when I got to the stairs. 

"Proper clothes are for proper ladies of which I am not." I gave my brother the sweetest, most irritating smile I could muster. He rolled his brown eyes, not at all amused.

"You're lucky you being a lady is holding me back from tackling you." I laughed.

"When has that ever stopped you?" We made it to the main level of our home and were met by a cane using, brown-haired man who just so happened to be Gustave, our older brother. A few men carried his things into the house. "Ah, and the war hero returns."

"Hello to you too, Melodie." He gave me a peck on the cheek. "Maurice." They gave each other a little nod. "How's mother been fairing?" My stomach twisted. Just last week, mother had fallen very ill. I had been the only one home at the time to find her sprawled on the floor, covered in ice-cold sweat. The doctor had summed it up to dehydration, but my family knew better. Father had arranged for another doctor to come see her tomorrow.

"She seemed a bit better today, still too weak to stand on her own," Maurice said as we continued to make our way to the dining room. "She should be coming to supper tonight." A bright glimmer of hope shown in Gustave's eyes.

"Good. That's very good." Our older brother looked us both over, sadness and adoration in his eyes. "Come. I heard there was supper to be had." My stomach rumbled in hunger as we made our way to the brightly lit dining room, flowers of all kinds sat in vases around the room. Mother nor father had come to the table yet so we each took up our normal seats and waited. 

"How's Washington?" Maurice asked as one of our maids, Helen, came around and filled our cups with tea.

"Wonderful. Just last month, Elizabeth and I attended a gala held by President Wilson--" I gasped. Elizabeth, Gustave's wife and one of my best friends, hadn't told me about this! As soon as supper was over, a letter would be written.

"What was he like? No, better yet what was Jesse Wilson like? Oh! What was the White House like--" Gustave gave a laugh. 

"How do you expect to answer if you won't even pause to let me speak?"

"The wise Gustave can't keep up?" He went to snap back but the sound of mother's wheelchair floated into the dining room. We all stood upon our mother's arrival, who was being wheeled around by our father.