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1887 FRANCE
The Palais Garnier was run amok with frivolously dressed dancers running to and fro, riggers testing the ropes and pulleys, and the orchestral band rehearsing, all for the night’s performance. There weren’t many idle hands and even less still feet.
The chorus girls watched in awe as the lead operatic singer, Carlotta, reached vocal heights that would make choir boys shiver in fear. They were all dressed in similar scantily clad Roman armour— covering only their intimate areas—attached to silky, clear trains cascading to the ankles. Carlotta, however, wore a much more unique costume. She differentiated herself through heavy makeup that accentuated her features to the audience, a comically large dress and a wig taller than the Eiffel Tower.
Wanda moved to stand next to Agatha, nudging her shoulders. “That will be you, one day,” she teased, nodding towards Carlotta.
The brunette shook her head hastily, trying to hide her smirk at the compliment. “You know Carlotta would rather die than let a chorus girl rob her spotlight,” Agatha replied, biting her inner cheek.
As the music crescendoed, nearing the climax, Carlotta strained to reach the top note, making the two grimace. “Please, you sound so lovely compared to. . .” Wanda trailed off, wincing as Carlotta’s voice pierced her eardrums.
Finally, the song concluded; the manager burst out of his seat and clapped excitedly. “Bravo, bravo!” he called out. Carlotta smirked, bowing to him as he clapped from the audience.
Suddenly, a large cloth from the set crashed on top of Carlotta, causing the woman to shriek. The manager rushed onto the stage, while everyone surrounding her lifted the offending material. Agatha glanced upwards, swearing she saw a shadow near the pulleys. It swiftly vanished, as if there was nothing there at all.
“That is it!” Carlotta screamed, ripping her wig off and pegging it at the wings. “I have had enough of these strange occurrences!” She stomped towards the manager, shoving a finger in his face and yelling so passionately he had to wipe her spit off. “You either keep your phantom or me!”
“Carlotta, please, there is no phantom!” he cried, falling to his knees and pawing at her legs. “You cannot leave, not when tonight is the big night,” she yanked herself out of his grasp and huffed, walking off stage.
“I will never perform on this stage again!” she declared, her entourage of maids trailing behind her.
The manager let out a strange cry, turning to the musical director. “What shall we do now?” he wondered, sobbing into his hands. The ensemble awkwardly watched the manager weep until a certain chorus girl stepped forward.
“Agatha can sing the part,” Wanda announced, pulling her best friend forward. “She has such an enchanting voice thanks to her instructor,” Agatha tried to pry herself from the redhead’s grasp, but to no avail. Wanda had an iron grip on her.
Turning to face Agatha, whose gaze was on the floor in an attempt to appear humble, the manager looked her up and down. “Instructor, what is his name?” he asked, lifting his nose.
Wringing her hands nervously, Agatha looked up, “Oh, I do not know her name,” she replied. His eyes widened slightly, shocked by what he had heard.
“Well, then. Do you know Carlotta’s parts?” he questioned.
“Oh yes, she has them memorised. I hear her sing them every night,” Wanda announced, grinning mischievously. Agatha’s eyes widened, wondering if the manager would consider what her best friend said as her planning to sabotage Carlotta. However, whatever Wanda insinuated must have flown over the manager’s head, as he clapped his hands excitedly.
“Come, then. Pray you sing for us,” he pleaded, out of options.
Agatha sucked in a deep breath, stepping forward. She tried to calm her nerves, remembering what the mysterious voice had instructed her to do. Finally, the melody spilled from her lips as she trained her eye on a particular chair in the audience.
Everyone watched in awe as she effortlessly sang the parts Carlotta had previously struggled to reach, sounding delicate yet powerful; her singing matched the song’s tone more than her predecessor’s. She felt a smile emerging as everyone marvelled at her.
Agatha's smile never faltered, and a twinkle appeared in her eyes as the audience admired her. The music came as naturally to her as breathing; she closed her eyes and lost herself in song. Empowered by the crescendo, she opened her eyes and finished powerfully.
Her smile never faltered, and a twinkle appeared in her eyes as the audience admired her. The music came as naturally to her as breathing; she closed her eyes and lost herself in song. Empowered by the crescendo, she finished the song powerfully, the voice of her mysterious teacher guiding her.
Agatha smirked, brushing off the compliment with a wave of her hand. “Oh, Wanda,” she felt her heart swell, enjoying the praise. “I shall retire now as I’m dreadfully tired,” she announced, waving goodbye to her friend.
“Oh but won’t you stay for the celebrations?” Wanda asked, clinging onto Agatha’s wrist. The brunette turned around and smiled softly, shaking her head, mimicking fatigue. A fake yawn helped sell the act.
Wanda bid her goodnight, promising to collect any gifts for her. Agatha was conflicted, as she had long craved to be adored by so many and now her wishes were coming true. However, there was something—someone even more important than revelling in the newfound adulation.
Changing into her lavender nightgown, Agatha turned to admire herself in the mirror when she heard a strange voice singing—it sounded like it was for her. Gradually, a figure began to appear in the mirror.
Swinging open, the mirror revealed a secret passage, and in the door frame stood a well-dressed woman holding a candle. Her dark brown hair was slicked back. She was dressed in a black suit, a dark green waistcoat, and a matching cape. Most remarkably, she wore a green mask covering her face. Agatha gasped but didn’t flinch. Instead, she stepped closer, transfixed by the woman.
The woman held out a hand and Agatha instinctively accepted it. She allowed herself to be serenaded; unaware she was being led down the dimly lit passage. As the mysterious woman sang, Agatha was compelled to sing with her, turning the solo into a duet. Each of them revealed their desire for one another through song. The woman smirked, revelling in the sound of Agatha’s voice.
Soon, Agatha realised she had been led to the sewers beneath the opera house. She allowed the woman to pick her up by her waist and delicately placed her on a boat. Her admiring gaze did not leave the woman dressed in green. “What is your name?” she asked.
“It does not matter what my name is, but if you want to call me anything, you shall call me Rio. Or my love, whichever you prefer,” Rio replied.
“Rio, you are the voice I hear every night when I sleep,” Agatha stated, although it had meant to come out as a question. The masked woman nodded, a soft smile spreading across her face as she felt her heart flutter.
“And you, my love, are the voice I crave to hear whenever I wake,” Rio answered. Agatha’s cheeks burned, feeling flustered by the romantic words spilling from the phantom’s lips.
The boat approached a metal gate, which began to lift as they came closer. Inside, Agatha was amazed to find Rio had made a home for herself underneath the opera—perhaps, below where she slept.
Once docked, Rio jumped out, extending her hand and helping Agatha. The woman in purple smiled gratefully, before marvelling at the sight of thousands of candles, majestic curtains draped over walls and a desk messy with scattered papers.
Agatha moved one curtain, revealing a mirror. She locked eyes with Rio through the mirror, passion burning in the older woman’s eyes.
Rio’s hot breath on her neck made Agatha turn around, face to face with the masked woman. She ran her fingers along the mask, caressing her cheek—Rio leaned into her touch, resting her hands on Agatha’s waist. The younger woman relished the feeling, closing her eyes and moaning softly. Rio pulled her into her chest, thrilled to finally hold the object of her desires—the woman who had always been out of reach until this moment.
Gently, Agatha was manoeuvered to face away from Rio. The masked woman wrapped her arms over Agatha’s chest before resting her chin on her shoulder. The younger woman sighed contently, almost melting into the embrace.
Once Agatha opened her eyes, she was shocked by the image of a mannequin—that resembled her—dressed in white and adorned with a wedding veil. Rio held her tightly, even as the woman fainted due to being overwhelmed by the phantom’s spell over her—as well as the sight of Rio’s marriage proposal.
Delicately, Rio carried Agatha in her arms, placing her on her bed. She watched the brunette sleep peacefully with a smile on her face—hidden behind the mask. Rio’s heart sank, as she realised she was once more condemned to watch Agatha, instead of feeling her embrace. She sulked to her desk, concluding she only had a few more letters to write and send before Agatha woke up
Agatha’s eyes flickered open, acquainting herself with her surroundings. The soft bed underneath her, the green silk hanging, and the dozen candles illuminating the bedroom. The warm lighting set the mood, stirring an urge inside Agatha, as she mourned the absence of her masked lover.
Unsure how long she had been asleep for, Agatha lifted herself off the bed and descended the stairs, to where Rio sat, pouring over the papers on her desk. The masked woman pretended not to notice her, despite craving her touch desperately.
Standing behind the chair, Agatha rested her hand on Rio’s shoulder, caressing her cheek with the other hand. She traced where the edge of the mask, enamoured by it—but more importantly, what was behind it. Curiosity got the better of her, as she wished to see the face of the voice she had fallen in love with, and Agatha peeled the mask off Rio’s face.
“Damn you!” The phantom roared, ripping herself out of Agatha’s grasp before shielding her face with her hands. She shoved her back, causing the younger woman to fall to the floor, before dramatically swishing her cape in Agatha’s face; a desperate attempt to keep her greatest shame hidden. She pulled down a piece of cloth, revealing a mirror, “Is this what you wanted to see?” she cried, her face concealed from Agatha. However, Rio looked at her distorted face with a scowl—disgusted with her ugliness like everyone else had been.
Realising what she’d done, how she’d hurt Agatha, Rio stormed off down another flight of stairs and sat at the bottom. She rested her head in her lap, with her arms wrapped around her head—desperately concealing the nature of her face from the woman she loved.
The mask helped her keep the last slither of humanity she had left. Without it, she felt herself slipping into madness and giving in to her violent tendencies. She refused to reveal her true nature to Agatha. To show just how lonely and tortured her soul was.
Tentatively, with the mask still in hand, Agatha slowly approached the hunched figure at the bottom of the staircase. Her fingers hesitantly lingered above Rio’s shoulder, before she delicately placed the mask in the phantom’s lap.
Rio was oddly silent, her face still covered by her hands. Agatha’s piercing gaze didn’t leave the phantom’s hands, awaiting even a sight of what Rio tried to hide. However, the woman moved to hide her face, before affixing her mask to its place.
Turning to face Agatha, she stroked her jaw. “I should not have let you see me that way,” Rio murmured. Agatha shook her head, smiling softly. She began singing, echoing the duet they were singing on their journey through the sewers—promising Rio everything she’d promised Agatha.
Put in a trance by Rio’s soothing voice, Agatha allowed herself to be carried to bed by the masked woman. Even as her eyes fluttered shut, she tried to sing with Rio, who was lowering the green hanging. Finally, as Agatha’s vision became blurred by the silk, she fell asleep to the sound of the woman she loved.
She was blissfully unaware when Rio picked her up once more, transferred her to the boat they’d arrived in and began the journey back to Agatha’s room.