She sat alone on the rooftops above her home. The faint yet astonishing sound of music floated out from the Opéra Populaire. Oh how she dreamed of one day being able to have her own shows be shown at the opera house, to see the beautiful dancing and singing paint the picture of the songs in her head. She was a dreamer. A foolish one at that. She knew that she would waste away over the hot ovens the rest of her life, but that never stopped her from being able to dream.

When Marjorie Poirier was only 4 years old she wandered from her home and was found 3 miles away playing the piano in an old, rich woman's house. The woman had no clue who this little girl was but she was astonished at the little girl's ability to play. Although not exactly a prodigy, Marjorie could still play beautiful music coming directly from her mind. It was when she was 12 years old that she decided she wanted to become a composer. She had already read every music book she could find. She taught herself how to read notes and count measures. She found herself perfect for the job.

When Marjorie was 18 she had finally mustered up the courage to ask her parents for lessons at the Opera. She had heard very good things about Monsieur Reyer, the conductor, and the Opera was only across the square from her family's bakery. "Oh please, papa! Please let me take these lessons? This is my dream!" Marjorie looked at her father with pleading eyes, holding onto his hand with both of hers.

"I am sorry, ma petite. We need you in the bakery. We cant afford to lose one of our best chefs." Marjorie's father tucked a blonde lock behind her ear. "And who else will make your lovely sugar rose petals dear? You know how popular your flowers are."

"I know papa...", she sighed and tugged on a loose string dangling off of her apron. "This has just been my dream forever, papa! I want to make people feel things. I want to make them fall in love with my creations."

"I know, ma petite. But right now all we need is for you to make people feel hungry." I smile played on his lips as he kissed her pale forehead. "Make them fall in love with your delicious sugar tarts."

He stood with a groan and took Marjorie's hand, pulling her up with him. "I am getting much too old. I'll need someone to take over my bakery when I'm gone. I will consider these lessons, if it is really what you want. Maybe I shall grant them to you for your birthday next month."

"Oh merci, papa! I promise I wont let you down with this!" Marjorie planted a kiss on her father's cheek.

The month quickly came and went and Marjorie found her birthday night creep upon her. She sat in front of her vanity and pulled her hair up onto her head. She secured the style with a rose shaped comb and sighed. Silently, her father came up behind her and secured a simple locket around her neck. "You look so much like your mother, ma petite. She would be so proud of you."

"Her necklace..." Marjorie whispered, stroking the small heart. "I miss her so much, papa. I feel like a storm cloud has rested upon me ever since she passed. As if the whole world is falling in a dark, sleepy spell."

"You are poetic, my child. I miss her every day. But today is your birthday. She would want it to be happy. Are you ready for me to escort you to dinner, ma petite?" Marjorie gazed in the mirror for a moment longer before taking her father's hand and standing. She smiled softly as her father led her down the small staircase into the dining room.

The table was covered with all of Marjorie's favorite foods. The table was overflowing with cheeses, fruits, and meats. In the center of the table rested the most lovely cake Marjorie had ever seen. A warm blush spread across her cheeks. Sitting around the table were her older brothers and her best friend, Lydia. "Oh my! Thank you all so much. This is so lovely."

"I have a present for you, ma petite. Close your eyes."

After doing so, an envelope was placed into her hands. Marjorie opened her eyes and raised a questioning eyebrow. Carefully opening the stiff envelope, she unfolded the letter. She read her father's scrawling handwriting: Ma petite. You're the bird that sings in my heart. I realize now that I must open your cage and set you free. And because of this I have signed you up for lessons with Monsieur Reyer. Your lessons start tomorrow at 8 o'clock sharp. I am so proud of you, ma petite. Now it is your time to fly. With love, your papa.

Marjorie gasped and read the letter two more times over. "Oh papa..." she whispered, reading it once more. "Thank you! Oh thank you so much!" She flung her arms around her fathers neck and kissed his cheek. She couldn't believe it. Her dream was actually coming true. She would be a composer at the opera! She felt as if she could faint.

"I am glad you are happy, ma petite. Now, let's eat."