Author's Note: This is not about an OC of any kind. It's someone you love (or loathe). These are much more than 100 words, but they aren't exactly full chapters, either. I suppose I'm telling a story in little sporadic bursts...
Six years before the orphaned young Christine arrived at the Opera Populaire, an argument took place. It was not the first time this particular argument had occurred, but it would be the last. In a town not too far from Paris, a girl stamped her foot defiantly. "I am going!" she shouted. Her hands, balled up into fists, were on her hips. Her lips were pursed and her eyes flashed angrily.
The woman opposite the girl held a similar pose. "How will you survive? You will not! You refuse to think!"
"I do not care!" With that, the girl threw another dress into her trunk, which lay open on her bed. "I was born to do this! I cannot ignore it any longer!" She searched her wardrobe for more to pack.
"It will not work. If we were back in our home country – yes. But these French – they do not know opera!"
The girl whirled to face her mother. "You do not know what you say! The French will never have the best opera, but they know how to sing!"
"Where will the money come from? How will you make your way?"
"I can live at the opera house."
"Your French is not good!"
The girl shut her suitcase with more force than was necessary. "I will learn. There. Is that your last argument, Mama? I am leaving."
She suddenly found herself trapped in an embrace. "Write me often," the woman murmured.
The girl stepped away, lifted her trunk, and grinned impishly. "I will, Mama. Ciao!"
"Ciao, Lotta. Be careful!" With a final wave, the girl was gone.