Hello! You might remember this story, as it was my first uploaded to this site. Anyway, I have rewritten it, and fixed a lot. Have fun!

Chapter 1

March 24, 1860

I hopped onto the steps of the Opera Populaire, glancing up at the magnificent building.

The four corners of the opera house rose from the ground, covered in marble. Spires of shining gold at stood each corner, various statues were scattered throughout the structure. A wonderful dome rose from the four peaks, connecting the building in a swirl of color.

The opera loomed overhead, and I suddenly felt insignificant.

The opera was made of solid, unbreakable stone. I had never been seen something so largely- no, so magnificently grotesque. I had spent my younger years in a small village, with little to no money. In my later of nineteen years, I had spent my nights by candlelight, transposing music. By day, I practiced my craft, for hours on end, in a room that would pale in comparison to this opera house.

And so, I took a breath and ascended the stairs to audition as an orchestra member. I needed the money of this job if I was going to stay in Paris. As I reached the top of the staircase I clutched my leather flute case to my chest and scuttled through the main entrance. The ragged case bobbled in my hands, looking so very drab compared to the grand atrium I had stepped into.

Marble. Was. Everywhere. I had seen houses in Italy, with columns that had faked the veins of marble running through the stone, but this, this was marble! Beautiful white marble, gold marble, and even the coveted emerald marble I had heard of. Each shining as brightly as a precious gem.

It was like a dream.

Feelings and thoughts, I had not felt in forever flooded me, caressing my mind like a sweet summers kiss. I threw a hand in the air, laughing exorbitantly.

Unbeknownst to I, a pair of very curious amber eyes were watching my entrance with keen interest.

Soon, I heard steps approaching from the top of a grand staircase, I scurried to the left near the entrance of the opera.

A maid scurried through, carrying a large bucket of water. She passed a sign that I hadn't noticed.

Auditions de cette façon!

Auditions this way!

I read the sign in French. And, while I was well acquainted with the language, it still felt heavy on my tongue, unnatural. My first language was polish, with its rolling consonants and clunky sentences. My second was one of the many gypsy tongues, a swift and foreign language derived from across the ocean. My third, French, was soft and catlike; a purring and hissy language that felt very… different than my last two.

I made my way through the grand halls of The Opera Populaire, following posted signs to the orchestra auditions. I quickly found a line of men, all in their finest sharpest suits, all carrying flute cases such as mine, all much older than I.

I must have looked like a servant or chorus member -I was poor and could not afford such novel things such as a nice dress or hairpins. All I could do was wear my best church dress and arrange my frizzy locks. Nothing as grand as what the men had donned for the day. Each stood in fine dress, hints of wealth and status peeked from some of the men.

I had stepped into line with little to no trouble. Until, that is, I was removed by a young man, no older than twenty.

"Mademoiselle, forgive me, but you must be in the wrong place! The ballet auditions are this way" the young man exclaimed, pulling me away from the line, attracting the attention of quite a few others mulling about. I pulled away from him, putting my flute case on full display. I began to piece my thoughts together, attempting to summon up the ability to speak. Suddenly, the language left my tongue, and all that came out of my mouth was a garbled jumble of words- a mix of French and polish. I had managed to put a simple sentence together, although heavily accented, not at all what I strive for- which is perfect French.

"No. I am here for the music."

The man gasped, as if I had just told him I was a whore. As if I had grown an extra head.

He began to fume.

"A woman! Wonderful! Now we shall have really stooped low! I, a wealthy patron of this opera house shall not stand for this! We shall not have a woman stepping out of line- especially a foreigner!"

A soon as the words left his mouth- I knew I was in trouble. I had stepped out in the French society- maybe I had broken an unspoken rule of the French! Oh, how his words stung! Like a hard slap to the cheek! What had I done to deserve this?

Finally, a golden-haired boy, not much older than me occupied the man, leading him away from me, saving me from a possibly awful outcome. The boy looked back, flashing me kindly smile.

Thankfully, I was admitted back to my spot fairly quick, nobody really cared that I was there, which was wonderful after the cruel man's outburst.

I waited for what seemed like hours. The line moved at a stagnant pace! But, I finally arrived at my destination, one of the spare practice areas turned into a makeshift audition room. I was greeted by a old, balding man, with very large eyes. He twirled a pen in his hand, not watching as I entered.

"Monsieur Reyer I assume?"

The grubby little man looked up, surprised by my appearance.

"Mademoiselle?" the Reyer asked, sticking out a hand in greeting. "I am sorry for not paying attention, I- I had not expected," Reyer hmphed, gathering his thoughts "well… I had not expected a woman." I plastered a smile on my lips, a flush coming to my face as that fact once more stood out- I was a woman.

"My name is Ana Marina, it is…nice to meet you, Monsieur."

Men. they usually judge you by appearance.

A rustle came from behind me, and two men burst into the small mirrored room, carrying papers, settling into the room. The taller of the two stopped, and theatrically waved his partner to me. The stout man examined me before standing next to Monsieur Reyer. The little man whispered to his companion before addressing me.

"What is your name mademoiselle?"
"Ana Marina"

"You are here to audition, no?"

"I am."

The man gave a small sigh before moving to a small desk in the back of the room.

"Let's begin mademoiselle."

I kneel in the middle of the room, placing my flute case on the floor. I assemble the instrument quickly, stopping to tune with a short burst of air. After tuning I stood, stiffening my shoulders and correcting my posture.

I tapped my foot on the floor, establishing the beat. It was the only sound that reached my ears.

Monsieur Reyer nodded, signaling for me to start.

Strands of a Beethoven Concerto filled the room, deep and heavy. Soaring notes and incredible lows followed one after the other in a complex range of patterns. Triplet beat patterns quickly turned into arpeggios which soared high, then swept low, like the flight of a bird. I closed my eyes, relishing the sound of music. Long ago, I had decided my music to be a salve of the soul, healing, and tearing apart simultaneously.

At last my song ended, and I looked upon the men, triumphantly grinning.

I was marvelous.

They knew it too, for it was written on their faces. Reyer's already large eyes bulged, he had some how stood up during my short performance. The two men still sat, neither looking impressed.

However, monsieur Reyer was enthused.

"Mademoiselle! I have never seen such a talent- such a gift!" Reyer stood, grasping onto my shoulders, he stood a few inches shorter than me, and he strained to look into my eyes. "You must come at once mademoiselle! A talent such as yours shall not be wasted!"

"Monsieur Reyer!" the stout little man yelled, rising from his desk menacingly, "She shall do nothing!" the grubby little man grabbed my flute, dismantling it. "I shall not have a woman in my orchestra! No matter the talent!" the man shoved my disassembled flute back into my hands and smoothed his tailcoat. "I am sorry mademoiselle, but it is simply not your place. You may leave."

"This is not fair! Monsieur! Plea-"

"Go. Now."

At those words I packed up, reverently placing my flute in its case. As I did, a limber, stern woman burst into the room, dressed in black from head to toe; her menacing presence washed through the room. In her fingers rested a small piece of parchment, a seal of blood red adorning the paper. Her voice matched her appearance, harsh, it sounded like the caw of a raven.

"You are the flute player?" she inquired, tapping a cane on my arm.

"I am"

"Are you only a flute player?"

"I am."

The lady gave a sigh, then pulled me from the floor. She began to examine me, pulling and prodding and looking me up and down. It was… invasive. The woman's harsh glare ripped through my clothing, leaving me feeling bare, naked.

"You will do nicely."

I was confused. Utterly helpless. What in the seven layers of hell was this woman thinking?

"What exactly, will I do nicely for?"

"Ballet of course!"

The woman was mad, utterly barking mad. I was not meant for the stage, I was far too plain and tiny, my complexion too ashy. No to mention I had no experience! Yet this woman decided to waltz into the room like she owned it and just announces that I will do ballet?

"No."

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth. Now, follow me, it is quite a long walk." The woman chided me, pulling me from the room, leaving the managers standing, helpless.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Do shut up."

so, how do you like it? comment and favorite, for more shall be coming! (please pardon anything I have gotten wrong- Pm me or just tell me in the comments. I really suck at French.)

P.s if I sound really simple its eleven forty five and I'm tired.