Paris, 1875 (Five years after the burning of the Opera Populaire)

"Bonjour Monsieur, I'm in need of some cleaning supplies. Could you please recommend some to me?" You asked the clerk at the register.

"What does a well off lady like yourself need cleaning supplies for?"

You opened your mouth to respond equally as rudely, but you decided you didn't really want to share that your rich father refused to leave you any inheritance because his new wife convinced him to cut you off and give everything to her. It would suit you better to behave so you could get out of here quickly.

"I got myself a job. I've got too much free time and I quite enjoy cleaning." You fibbed the last part. You didn't really enjoy cleaning, not that you hated it, but it was about one of the only jobs women were allowed to have.

"Goodness Gustav, stop hassling her," another store clerk butted in, pushing the clerk you were talking to out of the way.

"Hi, I'm Pierre. What can I get you today?"

It was very obvious as to why Pierre had pushed the other store clerk away; he just wanted to talk to you. You noticed that he had been stocking a cart load of supplies beforehand, something he wouldn't have so easily abandoned if he knew your secret, and not the one that your father had cut you off.

"Cleaning supplies," you said, "for the Opera Populaire. I have a list, but its a bit long..." You trailed off as you realized you should have kept the part about the Opera Populaire to yourself.

Their faces had fallen into expressions of dismay and astonishment, making you a bit self conscious. You brought your hand up to your upper left cheek and eye, making sure your hair was covering what your hat couldn't.

"How did someone like you get a job like that? That's man's work, that is. It's dangerous, and you do know about the opera ghost, don't you?" The second store clerk behind the counter, the one who's name you didn't know, asked. Pierre was still too awestruck to speak.

"Yes, I do," You tried to stay polite. "I assure you I can handle myself and any silly old ghosts. Now please, the cleaning supplies."

You were beginning to feel uncomfortable from their stares, which you could tell were judging you heavily based on your choice of work.

"Okay, what's on your list?"

You cleared your throat, "Four buckets, four sponges, four scrub brushes, two brooms, two dustpans, two mops, five towels, three dusters, two pairs of cleaning gloves, and five bottles of your best cleaning solution, please."

Pierre laughed, "is that all? You know that's going to cost you a lot."

"I understand," you replied, gripping your gloves tightly. Why did men always think that just because you were a woman you didn't have money? Of course you'd had to sell some of your jewelry and clothing to obtain it, but it wasn't like you had any emotional attachment to them, as your father had given every item of your mother's to his new wife. Your heart ached at the thought.

"Let me see the list," Pierre said, snatching it before you could answer. "All right, I'll get the buckets, sponges, brushes, towels and gloves. Gustav, you get the brooms, mops, dusters and the cleaning solution."

You heaved a sigh of relief as they walked off to retrieve your supplies, knowing you could quickly fix your hair to cover your face. Taking out your small mirror, you studied your reflection from all angles to make sure you were clear. Once people saw your whole face, they were always less welcoming, and in extreme cases, were wholly alienating.

Over the next few moments they both returned, each carrying armfuls of supplies. You quickly pulled up the cart you had brought with you, allowing them to place the supplies inside. By the time they were finished the cart was bulging and overflowing. It would be a miracle if you could wheel it to the opera house.

"All right, that's going to come to 546 Francs."

You pulled your wallet from your purse, and sighed in relief when you saw you had enough. But though you had enough, it was almost all of your leftover savings after having to pay for weeks of boarding before you were hired. You hoped this job would work out. It was paying 4,000 Francs a month and provided you a place to stay.

Once you had paid, you quickly exited the store before they could say anything else about your choice of occupation. Dragging along your heavy cart of supplies was more difficult than you thought. Three gentlemen had stopped to offer you help, but determined to reach the opera house yourself, you politely declined.

The opera house finally came into view. You checked your watch. 7:53 AM. You were on time for your first day. To your fortune the construction crew had already arrived, and one of the workers offered to carry your cart up the stairs. At this point you were somewhat exhausted, so you agreed.

As you reached the threshold of the marvelous opera house you stopped to stare in awe. Even falling apart and tattered by flames it was beautiful. In time you would help return it to its former glory.

You noticed most of the construction workers watching you warily, and you worried your hair had slipped.

"Is something wrong?" You asked them.

"You're actually going to work in there?" They questioned, pausing at the entrance. "We've been working for only 3 days now and after what happened Monday, my men won't even set food inside."

"What do you mean? What happened on Monday?" You asked, glancing at the construction crew who were either loitering about or working on the exterior architecture.

"We were setting up scaffolding to fix the stage walls and just as my men were starting to work, the scaffolding started to collapse. Two of my men broke their legs from the fall."

"You talk as if someone sabotaged you and it wasn't faulty scaffolding or a collapsed floor?"

"That's just it. The overall damage to the opera house's structure isn't bad at all, it's mostly the small things like the decorative architecture and the auditorium. And my men were sure the scaffolding would hold before they went up. They're not fools. Not even the boss comes around here except for Friday's to pay us. He knows something lurks in the opera house."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply your crew did a poor job or anything. I've just never really believed in all of the tales of the ghost."

"Well help yourself then, but don't expect my men to run inside after you should something go wrong. Come Friday when the boss comes round we're quitting. Good luck."

You almost scoffed at his sarcasm as you dragged your cart inside. He was right though, from what you could see in the entree hall, the overall structure had no issues, but as you walked passed the entrance hall and passed the grand foyer into the auditorium you could see your work was cut out for you.

Everything was covered in a layer of thick dust. Burn marks covered half of the seats and would need to be reupholstered. Debris lay everywhere, and hundreds of burnt, broken props and set pieces had been left behind. Not to mentioned the huge chandelier which withered in the first few rows of seats.

It also appeared vandals had broken in, leaving behind paint stains, garbage and even the faint smell of urine.

Due to the extreme size of the opera house alone, the work would take weeks, maybe even months, however you really needed the money so it wasn't something you would find yourself complaining about. You didn't know, however, how well the work would get done if you didn't have a construction crew helping you.

Rolling up your sleeves, you deposited your cart and bags of belongings and got to work. Before you could even consider things like washing and polishing, you needed to clean up all of the dust and debris everywhere. And in order to do that, you needed light.

You set out about the opera house, opening every curtain and every window for some fresh air and sunlight. And then you went about lighting every lamp you could find, however several of them were low on oil or empty, making your lighting dim at best in areas where no sunlight reached. For now, it would be enough.

You started by sweeping every speck of dust and debris in the entrance and grand foyer into a pile. It took all day just to bring it all into one large pile near the entrance where it could be collected and disposed of. Your arms were aching from the effort and you were exhausted.

Dragging yourself to where you deposited your bags, you decided it was time for dinner, but as you reached your cart of cleaning supplies you found your satchel which held your dinner was gone.

Retracing all of your steps through the opera house, you began shutting and locking all of the windows as you looked for your lost satchel. As you neared the end of your search your panic began to rise. Your entire life was in that satchel. Your money, your identification papers, your food. What were you going to do?

You walked through the opera house again, checking every nook and cranny, and even going as far as to check the huge pile of debris you'd swept together, as if your satchel could have been magically swept in with it.

It was on your third round that you decided you'd check in the auditorium even though you hadn't yet approached it for a cleaning and couldn't remember having gone in there for more than a look. Yet, as you trailed down the dimly lit and burned aisles, you saw it sitting alone on the charred stage just passed the chandelier.

Panic rose in you once again as you realized you'd never even set foot on the stage, especially since you weren't sure of it's structural soundness after the fire.

Approaching your bag as fast as possible, you snatched it from the stage and ran back to the grand foyer. It was there that you opened it to find your food and money missing. Only your identification papers and a few loose coins remained. Someone had gone through your bag, and the thief was likely one of the individuals who frequently vandalized the opera house, you thought. You didn't let yourself consider otherwise.

Counting the few coins left behind, you sighed. It was enough for a loaf of bread, and it would have to last you until your boss came around tomorrow and you could ask him for an advance on your payment. You didn't let yourself even think of the possibility he would disagree and decline your request.

Taking your now lighter satchel with you, you left your other untouched, and less important belongings behind as you exited the opera Populaire to find some food. After a short walk you found a local shop still open and purchased a loaf of warm bread. You ate it as you returned to the opera house, thinking about your day.

It was your fault for leaving your satchel unattended in a place which had clearly seen trespassers, but you were still angry. Although you didn't have much money leftover it had been something, and it could have afforded you enough food to survive until you should have earned payment. What would your boss think of you asking for money so far in advance after only the first day on the job?

Once you reached the opera house, you locked the doors behind you and began turning out the oil lamps. Willing yourself not to be afraid of the darkness, you made your way toward where you assumed the dormitories were by the light of a single portable lamp with your satchel and small suitcase of clothes. To your thanks, much of the dormitories were still lit from the fading sunset and you were able to find a little room with a lockable door and with a bed that still had a mattress. It took you a little time to dust the room and bed to your liking, but it was better than nothing.

Opening your suitcase you pulled out one of the few items you had left from home, a warm, green blanket your mother had knitted when you were a child, and wrapped yourself up tight. Despite the September days still being warm, the night was slowly introducing a chill and you would have to see about getting the opera house heated again in the coming weeks.

After locking the door you rolled into bed and stared out the window at the emerging stars. Despite their beauty beckoning you, you could not bring yourself to turn out the little lantern for fear that something was lurking in the dark.