「σρéяα ♔ ｇｈｏｓｔ :➊: ♱ England & America

.:▐ ▐ :.

I have lived in shadow ever since I could remember, within the Opera house in Paris, France.

I have listened to many solos, and many opera's preformed upon the stage.

I have seen the elaborate productions that have played before vast audiences;

all voices were meshed together in chorus, though.

I could never put a name to the voice, nor did I ever care to.

Except for her.

A chorus girl and ballet dancer in the company,

[Name].

She aspired to become the front woman of the Opera, the one to get all the solos and be the one the audience cheered for - not Elizabetta, not the Prima Donna that everyone in the company despised.

She prayed to the angels in Heaven to send her one of them, an angel to teach her music.

An Angel of Music.

I could hear her pleading, could hear her prayers; it broke my heart to see her in near tears and her delicate hands clutched together before a God she could not see.

I have always been there,

guiding her in the shadows.

I aided her.

She loved me, though she knew naught my face.

No person would ever see the horrid face of mine, not even my dearest angel.

[Name]...

She called my name, and begged for my teaching.

"Angel," she spoke softly, as if she were speaking to a small child. I raised my brows in interest. "Please help me to become a better singer...I want so badly to earn the lead in this opera, I beg of you..."

A twinge in my heart caused me to stagger back into the wall outside her room, inside the mirror of her small dressing room. She could never know I hid there, she could never know I watched her.

My black gloved fingertips touched the glass, though I knew she couldn't see.

My eyes softened as she cried.

"Of course," I muttered.

Her long, [h/c]-locked jerked up with her head, hearing my voice as if on a breeze; it caused her to visibly shiver.

"...Angel...?"

I could hardly bring myself to reply; my disfigured face was not of an angel, but of a demon cast to Hell.

"Yes, [Name]. I will help you to become the greatest opera star the country of France had ever did see," I promised, heart swelling with great emotion; both of my hands pressed to her mirror's interior, the mask on my left face reflected back at me.

[Name] parted her lips to reply when a knock sounded at the door; my head shot to it and a low growl rumbled in the back of my throat.

Teeth clenched and fingers curled, I watched as a blonde man stepped into the room - spectacles over the bridge of his nose. He grinned at my [Name].

"There you are! You did wonderful, [Name]!" he said in a chipper voice, one that made my teeth itch. He picked the woman up by her waist and spun her in the air, making her laugh in mirth.

"I-I was only in the chorus, Alfred..." she blushed, [e/c] optics trailing down to the floor bashfully.

"Even so, you were amazing, dear." he leaned in to place a kiss to [Name]'s blushing cheek.

Anger bubbled underneath my skin, my fingers balled, I could barely hold back the blind jealousy that bloomed within my chest; I was tempted to break the mirror and strangle that blonde git with my bare hands!

But, I refrained.

I would win [Name], one way or another.

After all,

I am her angel of music.