Chapter 1
Paris
1919
In a forgotten opera house, full of forgotten names, faces, and stories, lies a music box. It is engraved with moons and stars, shining in the dim and dusty light of the broken windows.
The walls are dusty and bare clear signs of flames. Statues that line the walls, all in intricate positions indicating a vast variety of emotions. Lust, power, beauty...love. The remaining windows shine and dazzle with colors and pictures. Perhaps it would have been more grand if there had been more light. But a dark cloud seemed to hang over the house that once illuminated light and wonder. Passion and love. Lust and tragedy. Power and death.
The buzz of a small auction fills the large space. The auctioneers suspect the lack of people is due to the poor marketing. But everyone else knows that no one has stepped foot near the opera house since the dreaded accident and the fire that led to its early downfall.
Two visitors stand out from the rest.
A much older woman, though her stance and expression seemed younger, stood in the center of the room. As though she was in pursue of something at this action and she was going to get it under all circumstances. She wore an old dress and a hat that covered most of her face with lace. Her hair was white but tightly pinned into a high bun under her hat.
The other woman has dark skin, watchful eyes, and her curly hair was a darker shade of silver and shined with jewels and diamonds. She had clothes bursting with color and her wrists were covered in bracelets.
The auction began and the majority of the items sold off with no struggles. But after what seemed to be ages the actioner announced they had reached the last few items.
"Now. This next item is one of the most prized items found among the rubble of the once alive theater." An assistant from behind brings the music box to the front and holds it out for examination.
The air in the room became thick with tension. The three mysterious attendees' interest had finally been sparked.
"Now we will start the bidding at 15 francs."
The woman in the color full clothes raised her hand.
"25 francs"
The woman with the hat raised her hand.
This went on until the total had reached 50 pounds.
The old woman with the bun attempted to raise her hand but stopped herself half way. She looked at the woman in the bright clothes and lowered her hand. Face covered in painful defeat.
"35 francs? going once. Going twice. Going three times. And sold, to miss McDonald"
The music box was brought to the woman and she looked at it longingly. Her eyes seemed to grasp a hidden story behind it.
"Is this why you brought me here? After all these years. Lying in the rubble of the ghosts' rule? But will you still play when the rest of us are dead?"
The old woman with the bun looked away from them, returning her attention to the stage.
"Our last piece of the night," The actioner shouted. "a chandelier formally in pieces. Some of you may recall the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera: a mystery never fully explained. we may get a hint of what it may look like when re-assembled. Perhaps we may frighten away the ghost of so many years ago with a little illumination, gentlemen?
A loud bang and a bright spark filled the room and the chandelier began to move, seemingly on its own. A strong wind pulled at the hanging diamonds hanging off the gold twists and new lights.
As the magnificent piece of history rose in the air, memories flooded the women in the room.
The room itself seemed to change and shift into another. The dust began to disappear, revealing the shiny gold of statues. Fire burned in the old lights on the stage, which seemed to be shedding its skin showing beautiful paintings and elaborate carvings. Seats began to appear and curtains hung from the stage, its damage withering away.
Color seemed to be flooding in as if years of dust had stripped it bare.
Music, so beautiful you could have tasted it like sugar, echoed throughout the halls. Dancers and singers began to be seen scrambling around backstage all filled with excitement.
The action, its prizes, and the three women were gone, vanishing as the past filled the now redefined opera house.
And the most magnificent of all, the chandelier. Its gold arms dangling extravagant crystals and diamonds over seats; Its lights flickering every so slightly, as if to catch guests attention if it drifted away. It hangs just low enough to make it seem real, but far enough out of reach so that visitors longed to look at it. Study every inch of the magnificent beauty hanging just out of reach.
Just out of reach. At the edge of their fingertips.
Just grazing their fingertips.