A/N: I don't own these characters; I'm just engaging in a bit of wish fulfillment.

Prologue

In the private dressing room her patron had secured for her, Odette laced her shoes with care and checked her costume one last time in the full length mirror. Satisfied that everything was in place, she bound to the door, unable to contain her excitement.

Odette had begun at the Théâtre de l'Opéra at eight years old. Her mother, unable to support her after the birth of yet another daughter, had left her to the ballet corps, where she had danced by day and cleaned by night. By thirteen, she had been sponsored by none other than Gustave Le Haut, the wealthiest patron at l'Opéra since Louis XVI. Now, four years later, she was moments away from her debut as a principal ballerina.

"Swanhilda," she whispered, wrapping her arms around herself to assure she was not, in fact, dreaming. A gentle knock sounded at the door, and Gustave appeared as she swung the door wide.

"My dear, you are a vision," he placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head, careful not to disturb her carefully crafted curls. Odette gave him a quick hug, grateful every day she had secured a patron genuinely interested in the arts, and not the art of enjoying le corps féminin. Gustave treated her like a daughter, and his sponsorship protected her from the lecherous hands and roving eyes of some of the other patrons. "You will set Paris on fire tonight." He bowed, turned and headed for his box.

Odette watched as the other patrons started to trickle out of the green room. Most of the girls ran to the mirrors in a flurry of last-minute adjustments to hair, costumes, and makeup. One couple caught her eye, her friend Beatrice deep in conversation with her beaux as if there weren't a performance starting in just a few minutes. Suddenly Beatrice was lifted off her feet and swung around, and Odette turned away as the couple melted into an intimate kiss.

A few minutes later, Beatrice came bounding into the wings, found Odette and hugged her. "You're going to be incredible tonight."

"Thank you," Odette smiled. "Looked like you had a wonderful evening."

She blushed, turning the same shade of red as her hair. "Gilles proposed."

Odette kissed her friend on the cheek. "I am so happy for you. Tell me more tonight, yes?" Beatrice nodded, and, graceful as always, Odette moved through the rest of the corps de ballet to her place at the center of the stage. After a few calming breaths, she moved into her starting position. The curtain rose, the music began, and Odette was transformed. The audience watched in awe as Odette told the story of a woman, a man, an inventor, a life-size doll, and a case of mistaken identity.

It was a small mistake; Odette began the third act one step forward. Another small mistake; her growing fatigue landed her a fraction forward. It was the last small mistake; just a step too close to the lights and suddenly, she was setting Paris on fire. Only, it wasn't Paris that was on fire. The flames licked at her legs and she fell to her knees, setting parts of the stage ablaze.

The corps immediately took action to protect l'Opéra, but none thought to tend to their principal. Unable to scream, unable to move, the last thing Odette saw was Gustave running toward her, yanking off his jacket.

Odette woke in the apartment her patron had rented for her, though it no longer resembled her room, rather, a small hospital. Day after day, Odette worked to regain even the ability to walk. She cried herself to sleep knowing she would never dance again. Gustave came to see her every day, assuring her that he was her patron through it all and would see to it that she was cared for, dancer or no, as he had come to care for her as a daughter.

Odette looked up one Friday afternoon, expecting to see Gustave. It had been two days since he'd seen her, which was unusual, and she was surprised instead to see the director of the ballet, Lucien Pepita. "Odette, I'm afraid I bring bad news," he said without feeling.

'What could possibly be worse than never dancing again?' she wondered briefly, and soon found out.

"Monsieur Le Haut has died." Odette felt the room disappear, her vision blurring. "I regret to inform you: his estate will not continue to pay for your care, but the Le Haut family has graciously agreed to give you lodging and offer you employment. The Opera will pay for your care up to this point, but you will have to repay us once you are able to resume work. Please pack your things. We will be leaving at once."

Odette packed only her plainest dresses, a few trinkets from Gustave, and her treasured red shoes, the first pair she had purchased for herself after securing her patron. "You may sell the rest to go toward my debts, Monsieur Pepita." He nodded absently. She picked up her case, took hold of her cane, and walked away from her old life with her head held high.