Note: This is my first time writing in third person so sorry if its a little shaky! I loved LND and POTO though, so I hope you enjoy! (My story takes a few chapters to start rolling btw).
Disclaimer: I do not own anything from LND or POTO.
Please read and review!
A Strange Nightmare
"Bonjour!" echoed the now vacant hallways of the St. Marie academy in Paris.
"Shh!" Eloise begged Brigitte covering her mouth and stifling a laugh. "I'm falling asleep…" she mumbled trying hard to keep her sagging eyelids from falling completely.
"You're not a bad student you know… just a little slow." Brigitte reassured, turning in her sheets and sitting up. "Work on the pronunciation."
"It's not my fault Mademoiselle is barely giving us any time to ourselves." Eloise let out a yawn and let her head sink into her pillow. "Besides, her English isn't that fantastic either…" She added. Brigitte moved to come sit at her heels.
"Why can't you fall asleep?" Eloise moaned. Brigitte was beginning to remind her of her four year old brother at home. Not once had he fallen asleep comfortably.
"I'm too excited." Eloise noticed that sleep was slowly beginning to drift away from her and so she sat up, eager to hear Brigitte's story.
"I overhead Mademoiselle talking about a trip to the Opera house – won't that be exciting?"
"You mean the Paris Opera house that burnt in eighteen seventy?" Eloise felt her heart beat faster as she recalled the stories her mother had once told her about her trips to the Opera house. She recalled stories about La Carlotta and how her mother had always hoped she wouldn't be cast as the lead, although oddly, the seats of the opera were always filled. She remembered how not all of the opera's had been in French, but sometimes German or Italian – all languages her mother could speak fluently. Eloise missed her mother dearly since her father cast the divorce three years ago. She still remembered her mother's youthful face and milky skin, her long blonde hair and stunning green eyes...
"It's been renovated. The first Opera is opening next week, it's supposed to be a children's play. L'Enfant et les sortilèges, I think." Brigitte's eyes lit up. "Wouldn't that be perfect?" Eloise had known Brigitte since she enrolled in the academy during the summer. Their mutual love of music had brought them together, yet Eloise felt sadness when Brigitte spoke of her memories of the theatre and the music her dead father used to play. Regrets of leaving her father for France, never letting her mother teach her to play the piano, and never singing to anybody all rushed to her mind whenever Brigitte spoke of music. Eloise suddenly felt a tight knot in her throat that she couldn't swallow.
"I don't want to go." She mumbled, turning over to face the other way.
Brigitte appeared before her quickly and turned the lamp on next to her, "Why not? You said so yourself you never had any time for yourself. Are you scared?"
"Why on Earth what I be scared?"
"It's because of the ghost that lives there – isn't it?" Brigitte whispered, looking around.
Eloise felt her hands shake once more and the knot harden to a point where she felt tears leap into her eyes, "There is no ghost Brigitte. Go to sleep." Of course there was somebody there – ghost or not. Eloise had known of this all her life. Included in her mother's fascinating tales from her youth, she always mentioned box five of the Opera house being filled by a man with pale skin and a mask covering his face wearing dark clothing and gloves. Eloise had never heard anything of him except for how mysterious he was and what a large role he played in the very fire that burned the Opera House her academy was suddenly taking a trip to.
"Goodnight, Eloise." Brigitte pat Eloise's head and ventured of to her own bed, leaving Eloise thinking of the horrors her mother had once spoken of.
She recalled sitting cross legged at the foot of her mother bed as her father slept, anxious to hear another story.
"He wasn't all terrifying Eloise. I think they put him there to attract tourists."
"What if he is real? What if he is a ghost?"
"Eloise, these are no thoughts for a girl your age to have." And of course Eloise was only seven, thinking she had knowledge beyond her years, which of course of true. Not everybody knew that though, and that's why growing up, she didn't have many friends. Brigitte was probably her first one.
"What if he's still there?"
"You don't need to worry Eloise; we're not in France anymore. You're here, with me."
"Do you think he's still there?"
Knowing her daughter's tendency to stretch out a subject, Geneva nodded happily, unsure of her own motive. "I think he is Eloise. Maybe he has married or has a seven year old or his own. Like you."
"Yes. Perhaps he asks his father silly questions before bed too."
Eloise chuckled at her mother words, "My questions aren't silly!"
"Everyone asks silly questions sometimes, but we mustn't become fearful of our own imagination Eloise."
Lying silently on her bed, Eloise prayed that she wouldn't let her active imagination get the best of her once more, cringing at how little she had changed in ten years. She felt the knot in her throat loosen as bitter tears streamed down her cheeks. Moving to France to study French hadn't been easy, especially during the last few months. Nightmares of her mother and father, her lonely childhood, and the stories that lingered in St. Marie academy often woke her in the middle of the night and causing her imagination to begin overworking again. She feared gravely that if Brigitte found out what went on her tortured mind, she would lose her to and have only her father to talk to for the rest of her life. Once he died, she would have no one – wandering un wanted and alone for the rest of her life. She felt her heart pound violently against her aching chest once more before she felt sleep take her away.