Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Will you still play when all the rest of us… Are dead?”

Outside, children scampered on the cobblestone streets of Paris. A man sat in a car, watching the world spin outside as his ride neared the opera house. A white banner was draped across the front of the elegant pillars of the Opera Populaire, and in big, bold letters it read: “AUCTION”

He continued to observe the world with glassy eyes as the caretaker lowered him into his wheelchair while the car drove off.

“Very well, lot 663 then,” announced the auctioneer. “a poster from the production of Hannibal by Chalumeau.”

The porter stepped forward and presented the poster with a perfect poker face.

“Showing here.” He announced flatly.

The caretaker wheeled the old man into the auction, where a small group of robloxians had gathered to participate.

“Do I have 10 points?” The auctioneer suggested. When nobody jumped out to offer, he tried again. “Five, then?”

One citizen raised their hand.

“Six, I hear?” The auctioneer pressed, and another citizen in the small bunch of people raised a hand. “Against you, sir, seven?” The man continued. “Eight?”

When nobody else made an offer, he hesitated for a moment.

“Eight once. Selling twice… Sold!” He tapped his gavel against the podium he stood on. “Sold to Monsieur Apollon. Thank you very much, Mx.”

The poster was carried off the stage by two men dressed in finely pressed suits, and they disappeared backstage as the auctioneer continued.

“Lot 664, a wooden pistol, and three human skulls…” As he rattled on, the old man assessed the room with empty eyes.

Few faces he recognized. For instance, the tall, lanky being that stood across the room from him. They caught his gaze, and shifted uneasily as the auction continued on around them. People flooded in, but it all seemed fuzzy.

The old man diverted his gaze from the familiar being across the room and turned his attention back to the auction.

“Lot 665, ladies and gentleman. A papier-mache musical box in the shape of a barrel organ.” He stated proudly. The porter stepped forward with the item, displaying it to the crowd, which had now grown notably larger. “Attatched, the figure of a monkey, in persian robes, playing the cymbals.” He continued, mild amusement in his tone. A small smirk grew on the auctioneer’s face as he described the item. “Still in working order, ladies and gentleman.” He finished, his professional facade returning.

“Showing here.” The porter stated in the same, flat tone as before.

The melody chimed throughout the echo of the abandoned opera house, a quiet, ray of sunshine in the desolate quiet of what used to be astonishing wonder and glory. The cymbals crashed together cheerfully with the melody of the music box, and the old man felt a familiar tingle in the back of his mind, a pull to something familiar. The music stopped after a few moments, and the auctioneer spoke once more, snapping the old man out of his reverie.

“May I commence at 15 points?”

Someone in the audience raised their hand. The auctioneer nodded his head towards the citizen.

“15, thank you.”

The old man nudged the caretaker at his side gingerly, still staring with an empty gaze toward the monkey. The caretaker raised her hand, and the auctioneer nodded.

“Yes, 20 from you sir, thank you.”

The being across the room raised their hand.

“Blackiron, 25. Thank you.” A moment of silence went by, and the auctioneer continued. “25 I am bid, do I hear… 30?” He pressed.

The old man nudged his caretaker once more, gaze more intently focused on the stage where the podium sat.

“30, thank you.” The auctioneer nodded in the man’s direction. “And 35?”

Blackiron glanced in the man’s direction, hesitated, and shook their head at the auctioneer, who then picked up his gavel.

“Selling at 30 points then.” He stated, sounding almost disappointed as if he should’ve pressed for more. “30 once, 30 twice… Sold for 30 points to the Vicomte de Chagny.” He glanced in the old man’s direction. “Thank you sir.”

The caretaker gingerly handed the old man the music box, and he held it like it was a treasure worth a million stars.

“Every detail is exactly as she said…” The old man thought quietly, reaching to touch the monkey delicately, like one would caress a flower.

The auctioneer’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts once more, the memory fading to a distant white noise over an ocean once more.

“Lot 666 then, a chandelier in pieces.” He stated, addressing the lighting with melancholy. “Some may recall the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera. A mystery never fully explained.” He continued, his voice building up to something more… afraid, as if the being he was speaking of was in the room with them. “We’re told, ladies and gentlemen, that this is the same chandelier that had caused the famous disaster.”

As he spoke, more men dressed in suits carried a ladder away from the item in question as the audience turned to face the large chandelier draped with a tarp.

“It has been repaired by our builders, and has wired parts of it for new electric lighting.” He chuckled. “Perhaps we can… frighten away the ghost of so many years ago that continues to haunt this opera house…” The auctioneer glanced forward. “With a little light.” With a gesture of his hand, the tarp was lifted away from the crystal chandelier, and a spark rang out loud throughout the opera house as mechanisms creaked to lift the large light off the floor. The lights burst with a gentle yet dramatic glow that cast a light upon the opera house. The entire building seemed to let out an exhale as it was lifted once more, back to its rightful place on the ceiling. For even a moment, the old man could see life back in the opera house, and a distant memory of its full glory resurfaced in his mind.

Paris - 1870

The Opera Populaire

Backstage bustled with life.

Ballerinas and actors alike hustled to their places, and chatter filled the opera house with excitement, as if the building itself was alive and waiting. The Orchestra hurriedly took their places under the stage as the Maestro handed out their pieces. Stagehands pushed props around the stage for rehearsal. Blackiron kept a weary eye on the ballerinas as they stretched for today’s rehearsal of Hannibal.

Valerie stood perched on stage, arms outstretched as she held a fake head, singing in a painfully high falsetto. Two maids searched eagerly for earplugs.

You watched from a distance. Perched just above the orchestra with your back against the stage, neck craned to see the stage. The rest of the choir stepped onto stage, singing in a harmony that was accompanied beautifully by the instruments. You listened to the orchestra with a keen ear, watching the Maestro as he conducted with grace, as natural as breathing.

“You made my dress too long!” Valerie hissed to the costume designers before she continued the rehearsal.

The performance was stopped abruptly as Saucify walked onto stage with two unfamiliar companions behind him. The Maestro tapped his podium, sputtering.

“W-h- Gentlemen- gentlemen-” He attempted.

“Rehersals, as you can see, are underway for a new production of Chalumeau's Hannibal.” He turned to face the two behind him, who watched the ballerinas with keen interest.

“Monsieur Saucify- I am rehearsing!” The Maestro complained. You peered from your ledge on the orchestra nook to get a look at the commotion.

“Maestro- Blackiron, ladies and gentleman, please.” Saucify raised his hands and gestured them down as he spoke, glancing around the stage as he addressed the house. “If I could have your attention, please? Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “As you know, there have been some rumors about my… imminent retirement.”

A quiet wave of murmurs went through the entire theatre. The ballerinas whispered to one another, and the people on stage shared wary glances.

“I can now say that these were all true, and… uh- it is my pleasure to introduce you to the two gentlemen who now own the Opera Populaire.” He gestured vaguely to the two behind him, and you turned away, half listening to the rest of the conversation as Sauceify continued to speak about the duo’s recent claim to fame in the junk business. You only perked up when one of them boasted about the Vicomte as their patron. Peering over, once more, you watched as a young man about your age, 24 or 25 ish waltzed onto stage. One of the ballerinas whispered to her friend. Leaning back again, you exhaled quietly. The Vicomte, whose name is Luis, gave the room a quick scan before speaking.

“My parents and I are honored to support all of the arts,” he announced. “Especially the world-renowned Opera Populaire.”

As he finished his sentence, Valerie strutted over to him with her arms raised gingerly in a welcoming gesture.

“Ah- and this is Signora Valerie Giudicelli, our leading soprano for five seasons.” Saucify boasted.

Valerie took the patron’s hand and gave a bow. The Maestro was now standing on stage as he was introduced with the new owners and the patron. You followed closely behind to inspect. After all, you’re still living under this roof. It matters to you who owns it.

“And this is my apprentice.” The Maestro gestured to you, and you leaned forward slightly to shake the new owner’s hands, as well as the Vicomte’s.

“Monsiuer.” You gave a nod of acknowledgement as you shook his hand.

He returned the gesture and you returned to the Maestro’s side as he left quietly, still seemingly upset that the rehearsal had been stopped.

And it was going so well, too.

You let out a sigh as the Vicomte took his leave, announcing he would return at the gala to “share this great triumph”.

“I believe I’m keeping you from your rehearsal- My apologies, monsieur.” Luis nodded in the Maestro’s direction.

You let out an unsatisfied huff, and the Maestro smacked your foot with his baton.

“I told you to stop sitting up there.” He muttered, but made no further attempt to make you move elsewhere. “Thank you, Monsieur Vicomte- now- once more, if you please, signora?” The Maestro replied.

“He love me.” Valerie mused as she was pampered with attention. “Love me, love me, love me.” She continued as she strutted back to the middle of the stage.

The music started once more, and the ballerinas dashed across the stage. You watched as the two new owners were wandering along the stage while Blackiron spoke with them about the ballerinas.

“NOT ON MY DRESS WHY?” Valeire exclaimed as one of the other actors stepped on her dress.

You watched the Maestro continue his work as naturally as breathing, your tutor becoming one with the music as he flawlessly directed the orchestra. You learned to grow an appreciation for the cranky old man, despite the fact he insisted upon perfection, you learned to live with it. He always pushed the best out of you, and in exchange for your arms feeling sore after every practice, you felt that conducting became a little easier, a little more enlightening. A little more natural. Less awkward.

The music came to a stop, and Valerie complained loudly about the owners giving the ballerinas all the spotlight.

“If there was anyone who has a right to complain,” You thought bitterly. “It’s the old man standing under the stage right now.”

But the Maestro was happy. You knew this much. He had told you; “We are much like quarter notes in a song.” He said. “Seemingly insignificant, yes, but it wouldn’t be the same song without it.”

And you too, had learned to expect the least. You learned to be happy with being on the side, because one day you would be the one orchestrating the song, and the opera house would be not at all lively without its music.

As Valerie continued her tantrum, the owners ran at her heels to grovel.

“GODDESS of song!” One of them shouted.

The maids shared a skeptical glance with one another. You remained perched on your ledge. The Maestro had gone up onto stage to join the chaos.

“Maestro, isn’t there a phenomenal aria for Elissa in Act 3 of Hannibal?” One of the owners chirped.

The Maestro’s face cycled through every emotion you think you’ve ever seen from the man and then some. You chuckled and watched with amusement.

“Wh-” He began, but Valerie interrupted.

“No! No no no no! Because I have not my costume for Act 3, because SOMEBODY HASN’T FINISHED IT!” She raised her voice at the costume designer who stood in the back, alarmed that the spotlight was on her for a brief moment. “And I hate my hat!” Valerie continued.

The owners still tried to press for a song out of the soprano. Eventually, she folded and raised her hands with a smile.

“If my manager commands.” She nodded and smiled sweetly.

Uninterested in hearing Valerie sing again, you stalked off to go peep somewhere else. Stalking above stage, you watched as the two maids from before put in earplugs. You watched from above in the rigging. Keeping your eyes on the Maestro as he worked, you made mental notes on his form, posture, and movement. Everything such as these mattered in a conductor.

In the back, a figure moved in the shadows, wearing the darkness like a cloak over his shoulders. He watched quietly, peering down to follow your gaze.

He watched you intently for a while, until you felt your spine tingle from his gaze. Sitting up slightly to look in his direction, the man made no attempt to move.

“Hello?” You called out, slightly startled.

He stepped a few paces closer, enough so you could now see some of his features. He wore a mask with roses and a feather protruding from said foliage covered half of his face. His piercing gaze was hidden underneath his wide-brimmed top hat, where feathers adorned a red ribbon that encircled it. From what you could make out in the shadows, he was quite handsome, dark, caramel colored skin hidden underneath a sheen of white foundation, and black hair that curled around his face in ringlets. For a brief moment, he stood near the pulley that suspended some of the banners for tonight’s gala. Despite the fact his body was majorly hidden by a dark cloak that was draped over his shoulders, you were under the impression he was reaching out as if to touch you, although he was standing a good distance away.

The quiet unraveling of ropes could be heard, and a shriek came from down below on the stage. You turned back to face the stage again, and one of the banners had fallen on Valerie, who was now angrily slamming her fists on the stage and yelling out curses in French. Turning back to look at the mysterious figure in the shadows, you found nobody there.

“What’re you doing up here?” A voice spoke from behind.

With a surprised yelp you spun around to look behind you. One of the stagehands was standing a few feet behind you with a bottle in his hands.

“Mon dieu.” You muttered under your breath. “I was watching the rehearsal, did you see anyone up here earlier?” You asked, hoping that the stagehand would have somehow gotten a pin on the mysterious figure from before.

“Nobody.” He replied.

The commotion continued down at the stage, and behind the stagehand, you saw a figure move through the shadows. Perking up, you pointed behind him.

“There!” You yelled.

The man in front of you turned around, but the figure was already gone.

“... He was just there! I swear it! There was a man!” You insisted, but the stagehand sighed.

“Just go back down before they start pointin’ fingers at you.” He stated.

With a sigh, you reluctantly slunk back down to the stage while Valerie continued to yell.

“The Phantom of the Opera.” You heard one of the ballerinas whisper.

You watched everything happen at the Maestro’s side, standing a few feet behind the man.

“Don’t look at me!” The stagehand grunted when one of the owners hollered at him. “God’s my judge! I wasn't at my post!”

Blackiron glanced to the side before walking somewhere backstage, where more of the rigging downstairs was.

“Please monsieur there’s nobody there.” The stagehand insisted. “Or if there is…” His voice became tinged with amusement. “It must be a ghost.” He said, bringing the rigging back up.

One of the dancers yelped and the ballerinas continued whispering to one another.

“Signora… These things do happen…” One of the owners said nervously.

Valerie wasn’t having it.

“You’re not stopping anything from happening!” She yelled, making a flipping gesture with her arms. “And do you stop them from happening?” She continued. “Ah?”

Nobody spoke up.

“Va te faire foutre!” She exclaimed, taking a deep breath. “Until you stop these things from happening, this” she gestured to herself. “DOES NOT HAPPEN!” With that, she stormed off, demanding her things as she left.

“Bye bye! I’m really leaving now!” Con!” She shouted, her voice becoming more distant as she stormed off.

The owners talked amongst themselves as Valerie stormed away, with some of the other actors following behind.

The Maestro sighed and pressed a hand to his temple.

“She… will be coming back, won’t she?” One of the owners asked. It took a moment to process that he was speaking to you.

“Ah! Yes- yes there must be a- an…”

“An understudy!”

“Yes, an understudy.”

You snorted. As if Valerie would ever let anyone take her spotlight. You were fairly sure she’d rather eat her own dress than have an apprentice that might take her place one day.

“There is no understudy for La Valerie.” You replied. “She might come back when she’s over it.” You continued, watching as the Maestro sulked in a corner.

“You think so?” Blackiron stated, coming out of seemingly thin air. They held a letter in their hands, slightly paled parchment sealed with dark red wax.

Blackiron opened the envelope, peering down to read it.

“A message, sir. From the Opera Ghost.”

One of the owners let out an exasperated sigh.

“2x2 in Heights, you’re all obsessed.” He grumbled.

Blackiron ignored him.

“He welcomes you to his opera house.” They continued.

“Ah- HIS opera house?” The other snapped.

“And he states that you leave his seat empty, for his use.” Blackiron stated. “And-”

“His seat being where exactly?” The owner interrupted, crossing his arms. The other, with not much to say, simply frowned and nodded along with what his coworker said.

“Box five.” Blackiron gestured with their hand. “And he reminds you that his salary is due…”

“His salary!?” The two owners turned to look at one another, befuddled.

Blackiron hummed.

“Monsieur Sauce used to give him 20,000 points a month.” They replied teasingly.

“You’d assume they could pay more with the Vicomte as their patron.” You chuckled to one of the ballerinas.

The girl giggled in response and whispered to her friend. One of the owners whipped around to face you. You could practically see the steam coming out of his ears.

“Mx,- we had hoped to make that public when the Vicomte was to join us for the gala!” He exclaimed, snatching the letter from Blackiron’s hands. “But now-!” He continued, ripping the letter to shreds. “We will have to cancel, seeing that we have just lost our star!”

You shrugged as Blackiron took one of the ballerinas by her shoulders.

“Tsera Staar could sing it, sir.” They stated. “I have tutored her myself.”

The owners glanced at one another warily.

“Let her sing for you, monsieur. She has been well taught.” Blackiron insisted. “Amazing talent, and an enchanting voice.”

The two owners broke eye contact after coming to a mutual agreement.

“Alright.” One of them stated. “Come on.” He gestured for the young woman to step forward to the front of the stage.

Maestro let out a quiet exhale, returning to the very edge of the stage in front of the orchestra.

“From the beginning of the aria, then.” He nodded.

You watched quietly as the music started, Tsera’s voice accommodating the gentle instrumental of the aria much better than Valerie’s ear grating vocals could ever even dream of.

She was like a breath of fresh air, much like when you’d open the windows in your little attic room of the opera house, Tsera was an angel of music walking amongst humans.

You would give anything to orchestrate a voice like hers.

It was the night before the Gala when your words had suddenly come back to bite you in the back.

The Maestro had suddenly been struck ill, to unknown cause.

The gala was set to be canceled.

“Merda…” You whispered. “Monsieur, are you feeling any better?” You asked, bringing the man a fresh cup of hot water.

He gave a light cough and waved his hand dismissively.

“Of course not!” He grumbled. But after long years of being his apprentice, you knew how to read him. He appreciated the care more than he would ever admit out loud. He’d probably choke on his baton before he admits he enjoys your presence.

“What about the gala?” You insisted.

“What about the gala indeed?” Another voice spoke.

“Blackiron!” You exclaimed.

“Come with me.” They gestured vaguely to the door, and you bid Maestro farewell.

Blackiron led you down the hall before producing a letter from the folds of their clothing, handing it to you.

“A letter.” You commented. “From the Phantom?” Blackiron gave you an amused look.

“He sees your talent.” They replied. “Open the letter.”

You took a moment to look at the letter, different from the one you had first seen a week ago. This one was more.. Crisp. The paper still seemed worn, but it was pale, almost the same color as the man’s face from that day. Lined with gold, the gilded paper stopped at a dark red seal the color of blood. A symbol of a rose and a feather adorned the wax. It was so beautiful, you almost felt bad for ripping it apart.

By now, I assume you have been made aware of my presence.

Your talent does not go unnoticed. The magic of the opera does not reside in the wrong hands. Such promising talent will not go to waste. I expect you will do wonderfully at the gala tonight, I expect your greatness to be put beautifully to its first use.

There was no signature at the bottom of the page, as if he were expecting that you know it would be him.

“So?” Blackiron asked, but you were under the impression that you didn’t have much of a choice.

“It’s not a choice, is it?” You asked, glancing up at the figure beside you.

“I hope you’ve been practicing.” Blackiron replied.

You put the letter back inside the envelope and pocketed the note. Wringing your wrists nervously, you muttered incoherently under your breath. A quiet composition.

“I’ve never conducted before.” You stammered.

“And now is a good time to start.” Blackiron placed a hand on your shoulder. “You will do well, I trust in your skill.”

You exhaled quietly.

At least you knew, despite everything, someone still saw you.