Phantom of the Opera The Shadow's Light

The shadow had many names. Many called it a ghost, some a demon, and others simply a shadow. But woe to anyone who would dare call the shadow by its real name after the light of day. The shadow wasn't fond of people knowing details about it. It was content to be a shadow, a shade of darkness to anyone who looked too close into the brilliant opulence that was the Paris Opera House.

Tonight the shadow sat back in a chair of red velvet, cloaked in its usual garb of black. Darkness surrounded the shadow on all sides except one. Directly before it was a grand stage, lit with the glow of a thousand lights from chandelier overhead. The grand light lit the entire theater, except those tiny corners of relief in which the shadow now dwelt. Inside its position of prominence, for it was a very important shadow to be able to have Box 5 for its own personal use, the shadow waited for the performance to begin. It had been absent for a time, tinkering in its home below the opera house on its music and its magic. But tonight, it would hear an opera again—it only hoped that the screaming wretch, _La Carlotta_, wouldn't ruin it for the shadow.

As the lights dimmed, and the production started, the shadow began starting a mental checklist in its mind, little tidbits that the managers would agree that they had been beyond incompetent to have missed. Yes, the shadow thought, what had they missed tonight?

Of course, there were those rare occasions in which the managers had made the correct decisions concerning the shadow's operas. Those brief moments of bliss were what kept it coming out of its black home in the depths of the earth, and he would dearly love to hear what it deemed proper opera. They were playing Mozart tonight, _Il Seraglio_. The shadow inwardly groaned; _La Carlotta _would surely butcher the poor, German words. Facing an ordeal ahead of it, the shadow placed her name at the top of its list. Perhaps it would be best if it simply stayed down in its home by the lake…

At least the orchestra was passable. The shadow could play most of the pieces on its beloved instrument, and it started to wonder if it should really just seep out like the blackness…the shadow…that it was and do just that. For, indeed, _La Carlotta_ was starting to take her first breath to start the torture. The shadow had not even really been listening, so intent it had been on contemplating that horror of a woman. If the heavily-rouged Spaniard ever stopped concentrating on dramatically waving her pudgy little hands around, she might be able to get out a proper note—it was too much to hope for a correct pronunciation. Honestly, the woman was sickening in her inability! The only good thing about her voice was its projection, and now, that gift was a curse as she practically screeched in the shadow's sensitive ears. The shadow was dangerously close to slipping into a rage, all against _La Carlotta_.

To try and stop the murderous onslaught of anger, the shadow looked beyond the prima donna, towards the stage and at the chorus. They hadn't started to sing yet, were merely dancing, but the shadow decided that it would be better to start categorizing their own flaws, before it became too engrossed in those of _La Carlotta_.

Peering down at the stage the shadow's lip curled in contempt at the girls, those _children_. Many couldn't even dance, among the few that could was little Meg Giry and…..a new face. The shadow didn't like surprises in its domain, and he had never seen this new girl before. Perhaps the shadow really had stayed underground for too long, to miss the debut of a new chorus girl. Its hands gripped the wooden armrests of its chair, as it carelessly glanced down onto the stage to see the girl. At that moment, the shadow hated the new girl for slipping past its notice. Did she not know to whom the opera house belonged? The shadow was downright indignant that she hadn't even paid any respect to the opera ghost. The shadow was just about to creep away, not relishing the anger as it usually did; disappointed, in fact, that its opera was ruined by both _La Carlotta_ and the hated new chorus girl.

Yet before it left, a thread, small and golden, encircled its throat with a force that put the shadow's lasso to shame. That delicate, fierce rope around its neck demanded that the shadow turn towards the source of its searing comfort. Almost frantically, the shadow searched for the wellspring of that beloved line, that thing that beckoned it and made it feel beyond the murderous rage that had just before engulfed it.

The golden rope was a voice, a voice that struck the shadow in its dark heart. But it wasn't an angel's voice. The shadow heard the voice, it was coming from the chorus. And there, right there. It was the new chorus girl. The shadow gave the girl another look, unlike its first brief glance of loathing.

She was small, small and slender, like a lily stem, or a wisp of the breeze. The blonde hair that encircled her reminded the shadow of the sunlight, or the petals of a wonderfully yellow flower. The shadow was disgusted with itself, when had it become poetic about the human race? Yet still it stared at the girl.

Amid all the other girls in the chorus, the shadow could now see that this one contained a light, a light that flickered, as if any moment it might go out. The expression on the delicate face was properly blank, as her role in the chorus was a bland one, but the shadow could see with its yellow eyes, as they narrowed in the direction of the girl, that her own beautiful blue eyes had been affected by the cruel mistreatments of the world. The shadow could sympathize.

But what was this? The shadow didn't sympathize! It was not a thing that could bear to be in the company of people! It didn't care for them! But as the chorus girl kept singing, it couldn't bear to drag itself away from the rope that now bound it. However, the more that the rope strangled the shadow, the more it realized its imperfections. The rope was frayed and fragile. The girl's voice was good, but it could be so much better! Lack of training kept the voice like a diamond in the rough, and an absence of feeling that the shadow attributed again to that familiar sorrow in the girl's eyes made the voice almost dull. The shadow imagined, in its twisting mind, what a proper opera, with this girl as the lead could sound like. The shadow gave an imperceptible sigh; the girl could never be in the roles that _La Carlotta_ jealously guarded.

The shadow sighed again, thinking that perhaps it would be better to leave. It did not want to conjecture as to why this girl was misusing a gift that was worth a lifetime. One more glance down left the shadow with an odd feeling. It did not want to leave this girl. It did not want to leave her to a life in which her voice would be drowned out by those in the chorus, and killed by _La Carlotta_. It did not want to abandon her as the world had abandoned and overlooked a shadow.

A slow plot started to form. First, the shadow would need information. Yes, a visit to the managers would likely be in order as well. Yes, the shadow smiled, yellow eyes closing in something akin to peace, yes, the shadow would protect her and her voice. These strange feelings, indeed the shadow could barely recall ever having them, were making the shadow almost dizzy, but in a pleasant, yearning way. Who was this girl that dared make the shadow feel that perhaps it wasn't a shadow, that maybe it could be something more?

Yes, the shadow would find out, and mold that wondrous voice as well. But the shadow would see the girl again, and then the girl would know that once the shadow had latched onto something, it wouldn't ever let go. She would realize that every shadow needed a light, and she was indeed the shadow's light.


End file.

Phantom of the Opera, Romance