This Phic is dedicated to my Uncle David who inspired Carmen when he came and yelled at me for listening to my music too loudly, Thank you Uncle for your inspiring words.
"Turn that crap off!"
"But you can't hear it! Your deaf!"
"I can feel the fucking Music!"
Little Lotte- thanks with the title help, I love you so much!
As I have so many nights before, I watch this young women sit here, in this damp hell, engrossed in her art. I don't watch her the way I watched my Christine, My dear Christine. This girl is different. She is beautiful yes, she could challenge the goddess Venus with her raven black curls, haunting ice blue eyes, soft pink lips, and pale flawless skin, but that is not why I watch her. I could never look upon another women as I did my Christine, but something about this girl, draws me to her.
Something about her forces me to return to this hidden world of shadow, to watch her silently sketch images out from her mind. She was talented no doubt, but she was young, no older that seventeen. She needs proper training, to perfect her skills. She needs a tutor, and angel of the arts.
No, not again. She will find a real teacher, not some old, hideous monster.
How carefree this child looks, all her senses focused on her paper, and pencil. Curious as to her subject, Silently I slipped out from my hiding place, stalking up behind the girl. She pulled her hair off of her shoulders, the dark locks catching the warm glow of the candle that sat illuminating her work. Upon the white paper, a familiar world of solitude sat among the lead of the pencil. Although her rending technique could be improved, her passion for art bleeds through each dark line of the morbid drawing. The sunken women hiding behind her knees, burring her face in her hands, brilliant white tears running between her fingers. The world around the women didn't fit, or as others might see it, she didn't fit into the rest of the world. The girl changed styles between the two. The women was drawn softly, voluptuously, the lead seemed to glide over the paper, while the world, on the other hand, was sharp, and angular, forcing itself into her work, consuming the peace of the women.
Suddenly, the girl dropped her pencil to the ground, tossing her sketch book in frustration. She cursed in what seemed like another, harsh language, running her delicate hands thought her soft hair.
The poor girl, she has been sitting here for hours, simply working on this drawing intensely. I know the pain and frustration she feels, I have on numerous occasions done the same thing with my music.
Taking a deep breath, the girl gathered her supplies, packing them into a simple bag she always carried down here. She approached her sketchbook, with caution, as if approaching a wounded animal. Picking it up tenderly, she brushed the picture off as if it was a precious child, before packing it along with her pencils, and headed back up to the world above. Curiosity got the better of me, as I silently followed her, determined to find out about her.
He was there again today, the man in the shadows. He comes to watch me draw, although I can't comprehend why. I am no entertainer, no great beauty, no great artist, but he comes anyway, watching my work, watching me fail. I can't recall when he first watched me, for as long as I have lived in the Opera House he has been their watching me. They say a ghost lives in these lower levels, he sings to his unknowing victims, leading them further and further into his dark domain, before taking their lives, but I have no need to worry, now do I?
To my surprise, the man followed me, stalking far enough away so that his shadow wouldn't catch my glance. He is a smart man, he knows how to be unseen to the normal occupants, but I know he is there, I can feel soft movement of the air as his cape flutters behind him, the faint vibration his feet make as they hit the wet stone.
I continue on as if he wasn't there, as I have always done as he watches me. How lonesome it must be for him to travel behind in what I assume to be in silence, dodging from shadow to shadow. Mustering what little courage I have, I decided to have a little fun with the man.
Without warning I stopped, spinning around to face him. I must have caught his by surprise, because he stood dumbstruck for a moment, before the faint out line of the man disappeared into the darkness.
Does he really think my that stupid?
"M. why don't you walk beside me? Instead of trying to follow?" I called out, hoping he would step into the light.
Her harsh, slurred voice carried over to me, nearly knocking me over. I must say I wasn't shocked at the fact she knew I was following as to her voice. If I had not known better, I would have thought her an old drunk German woman, stumbling out of a bar, instead of this sober, beautiful youth that stood before me. I remained silent, pressing myself up against the wall, praying she would believe herself to be dreaming.
"M. I know your there." She called out again.
"Step out into the light..." She commanded.
"I can see you M." She added, just trying to taunt me. Slowly, I stepped from the wall, facing her, but staying hidden in the darkness.
"What is it you wish Mlle.?"
She remained silent, staring directly at me.
"Mlle.?" Once again, cold silence.
"M. did I not ask you to step into the light?" She spoke even louder. Sighing heavily, I approached her.
"You need not shout, I am not deaf." I snapped at her, whilst a wicked smile crept across her lips.
"You might not be, but I am."
He is a hard man to read, this stranger in front of me. A black mask lay on his face, just above his lips, on any other person, it would interfere with his lips, but not this man, he would make a great ventriloquist, for he barely moves his lips, just enough that I can depict his words. Despite his mask, I could see the shock with my words. His eyelids picked up, the corners of his mouth turned up, and his bottom lip separated from the other ever so slightly. He took a slow, almost rocking step back, his face returning to the shadows. Aggrivated with his naïve behaviour, I reached out for him, taking his surprisingly thin arm into my grasp, dragging him forward a bit.
"I can't understand you if you hide you face!" I must have spoken loudly, for he drew back for a second, as if I frightened him.
"I have to see your lips." I commanded, looking up into his face. I tried to speak slower, and clearer, but I have no idea if I was successful. With a deep sigh, I pulled him back into the light.
"Forgive me." He bowed his head slightly, the tips of his ears turned bright red from embarrassment. Typical.
Deaf? The poor unfortunate girl. For once in the longest time, I felt a stable of pity in my heart for her. How could one go through life without experiencing the simple fuel of my pathetic life, The sweet ecstasy of music?
"M. Why is it you are following me?" She took a step towards me, to close for comfort, but I didn't back off.
Honestly, I have no answer for her, There is no reason for my behaviour.
"I admire your passion for your work, Mlle." She doesn't know, but that is only a small thing that draws me to her.
"Carmen, if you don't mind." She corrected me. I couldn't help but chuckle at her name.
"What?" She stood dumbfounded for a moment, not understanding my enjoyment.
"Your parents must have had a sense of humour." I have never seen another human being keep such a deadly glare as she glared at me now with, but I continued, enjoying her torment.
"Latin for Song? Of all the things to name a deaf child."
"Stop." She hissed, her hands curled up into small fists.
"After an opera as well. Last time it was preformed here the part of Carmen was played by a wonderful women, a Mlle. Christine Daae. Spectacular voice. I don't suppose you sing, Mlle Carmen?" As the last words left my lips, her hand slapped the cheek of my mask, before she rad off to the world above.