Porcelain

03

It was nightfall by the time Fleurette and Eleanor returned. Their father had returned home just as they were leaving. He'd managed to comment on Fleurette taking quite a few books with her. Surely there were other things which she could take, prioritise at least? It wasn't like she was going to have all the time in the world to read, or reread them. Most of her time was going to be between practising and shows. It was a hard life, or would be, but free time was going to be sparse.

"But they were mothers favourites." Fleurette had declared, and defended. If she was to have no control over where her life was going, she was going to have control over what she could pack and take with her. Excuse her for wishing to have something of her mother's with her. She wanted something familiar, something comforting with her that when she had a bad day, and it was likely to happen, she had something she could hold, look at and get lost in that her mother had done the same with. A connection. That was all Fleurette wanted, and wished to keep sacred, and she couldn't do that with dresses, shirts and skirts and dress jackets and shoes.

"Yes and look where reading them fantasy stories got her." Lucien had answered while walking into the drawing room and setting his violin down carefully. Fleurette saw he cared more for that blasted instrument than his own daughters. There was no sacred connection between them, not one she could see of, at least. She was stuck in a life where her sister now took on the role of her mother, and always and sometimes overbearingly cared for her; and her father clearly wished them out the house, to forge out their own path that wasn't chosen for them, not that Eleanor seemed fussed considering she was soon to be married anyway, but Fleurette...Fleurette felt lost in a sea of her life's making, and she was drowning slowly whether she knew it or not.

It made sense to her, that he didn't want them around anymore. Why else would he basically kick them out to live in an opera house? She highly doubted this was for either of their own goods. Eleanor would be leaving soon anyway, then she'd be alone. Fleurette looked sadly down at the floor while her and her sister were getting shown around the living quarters by an excitable blonde whose name was Meg. It latter came out that she was the daughter of Madame Giry.

Dumping her bags on a bed, Fleurette looked around. It was definitely a huge contrast to what she had been living like. There were about four other people staying in the same room as herself and Eleanor. Meal time was an excuse for them to mingle and try and get to know everyone else who stayed here. Meg had stated that Christine wasn't here because she was with Raoul. Fleurette looked to her sister at this point confused, Eleanor merely nodded and smiled. She then turned to her and shrugged confused too. Clearly Meg thought that they had met Christine. No they hadn't, but they were sure to at some point.

After meal time there was a minor practise and then bed. Fleurette laid in her bed and stared up at the wooden beams. Everyone else was asleep yet she wasn't. She was slightly homesick. Sitting up quietly and slowly, she managed to grab one of the books she'd bought with her. Pulling on a green dressing gown she managed to sneak out of the room. The corridors were lit lightly by a few candles, taking one out of its holder Fleurette held her arm out and started walking. Her pace was slow and quiet, if there was anyone still up and about she did not wish them to notice her.

From her earlier tour she'd pretty much remembered the opera in a matter of minutes. Fleurette was the proud owner of a photographic memory, inherited by her mother. Tightening her grip on both the candle and the book she managed to make her way to the stage. Sitting down in the middle of it, she looked up. Darkness looked down at her, lifting the candle up she frowned lightly. It had very little affect on the darkness above her. Putting the candle beside her she flipped the book open and commenced reading.

Every so often she would jump and look around. The sounds the opera house made when it was settling, unsettled her greatly. That and she was extra paranoid about having a conversation with an apparent spirit. Looking at the candle she swallowed slowly, that would be very little protection. Can ghosts even get burnt? Her mind wondered, shaking her head she decided the answer was no. But also, would she even be able to harm someone? She hadn't got a violent bone in her body.