Grace sat in her room, alone. It was past midnight and she couldn't sleep. This was one of those nights where a past she refused to acknowledge came back to haunt her. Her dreams were vulnerable to visions she refused to make sense of, and memories she would not claim to remember. The only thought that enabled her to hold her thin, shattered soul together was the idea that somewhere, sometime, the day would break. In another country, it was daytime. The sun was shining, keeping the evils of night at bay. There was always light in the world, even in the presence of darkness.

   To distract herself, Grace pulled out some of her old poetry. 

The flowers of the day,

  The petals of my heart,

  Are plucked and thrown away.

A sad song would be my favorite song,

   If I could escape the hands of night.

  I trusted once,

  But hopes are frail

And dreams can fray.

  Darkness consumes and ravages the fruits of my day.

  My ripe heart has rotted.

   Lullabies are no longer sweet.

   My soul starves.

Without light, it has nothing to feast upon.

   False smiles, lying lovers, and faux friends....

  So near an end.

   But Grace had not finished the poem and frankly was dissatisfied with it.

    She rubbed her bottom lip with her finger. Half an hour before, she had awoken, screaming. She had bitten it so hard in her sleep, she drew blood.

   She was unaware that until she'd screamed herself into consciousness, someone had been watching the rabid dreams play across her countenance and voice as she slept.

  Far below Grace, her audience of one now sat, in unknown chambers, holding a Stradivarius  violin. It was beautifully crafted, the perfect echo of the shape of a woman's body. Against it leaned a slim bow. Neither had been touched in nearly two years. The instrument and it's companion had been polished and kept in the best condition possible. Ready and waiting, they sat those twenty-four months, to be remembered and played. But the violin's master had not felt the need nor the urge, or even the faintest desire to play... until that night.

                         🌹

   Grace was yawning on her way down the stairs to practice. She was exhausted, not only had she stayed up struggling to finish her poems - a vain action, she believed, for never in her life could she finish anything she wrote - but she had also lain in bed for hours, straining to hear what she thought was a violin being played. Alas, she could only catch a note here or there. She never heard enough to distinguish whether or not it was real music or music in her head. It would not be the first time she'd heard music in her head.

   She traipsed down the stairs, tired but alert. She did however, nearly pass by one of the most horrific scenes she would ever witness.

   She had glanced out a window and saw two men abusing a woman in the alley. No one else in the theatre was acknowledging what was happening, most of them were, in fact, pretending nothing was going on.

   One man held her still while the other struck her.

  "A woman is being assaulted in the alley!" Grace yelled the obvious at no one in particular, just trying one more time to try to get someone else to stop this revolting display. Was every person here so hardhearted they would not step in? She began to move towards the trio, but a hand caught her arm.

  "She's just a prostitute," Guy said.

  Grace slapped him.

  Bolting outside, she flung herself onto the man striking the girl, flinging a fist full of dirt and rocks in his face, screaming English obscenities. The second man let the prostitute go and she fell forward, ripping her already torn dress further.

   The second man hauled Grace off of his companion, but she kicked him in the groin and he ended up tossing Grace to the ground and tripping over his friend. It was over faster than it had begun.

   Grace dragged the girl into a small, shadowed corner, where they could watch the two men without being seen themselves. She was staring at Grace with shock and fear. It was then that Grace noticed the girl wasn't wearing very much. She didn't have undergarments, she was holding her blouse together in both hands, and her skirt had long tears running up nearly every side, to her thighs and hips.

   "Oh you poor thing," Grace said, echoing Nora's words from many years ago. "Here, put this on. And I insist you come inside with me so that I can get you something to eat, and a dress that might fit better... and perhaps a better job?" This girl was much taller than Grace, but she began stripping away her dancing dress anyway. She had suitable undergarments and no hesitations about taking a quick walk in them if it meant saving her new friend some embarrassment... and being half naked and among strangers was probably embarrassing.

   She was a few years younger than Grace, and her jaw dropped as Grace held out her own dress for her to take. It hurt Grace's heart to know one so young had already been forced to take up such a profession.

   "I'm a whore," the girl said, clearly thinking Grace was either blind, crazy, or both. "You don't want to be associated with me."

   "And I'm a dancer at this Opera house. Put this on, please."

   The girl didn't need to be asked twice.

   "I'm Fleur."

   "Hello Fleur, my name is Grace. Please follow me."

   Grace picked up a few more rocks from the ground, in case the men were still around. She quickly led Fleur inside the opera house. However, Grace's fighting days were not over. The minute she stepped over the threshold, Guy slammed her into a wall, fingers digging into her skin. The other men fought to make Grace go away. Guy was fighting to kill.

   "You are a bitch! Merde  vous ! " he shouted.

   "No monsieur ! " Fleur tried to pry one of his hands from Grace's throat but he sent her toppling away. Grace flung her rocks in his face, leaving him with a long scratch across his cheek.

   Next thing she knew she was pinned to the floor.

   "Monsieur Guy! Unhand her," Monsieur Lefay called. It was the perfect distraction as Guy looked away to see who called his name, Grace turned the tables. She knocked the wind out of him with a well placed kick, brought her jagged nails down his neck, and flipped them so she was sitting on his chest, clawing.

    Fortunately for Guy, Grace was then picked up easily by Erik.

    "What is this?" Erik demanded, his breath hot in Grace's ear as he had her restrained and curled against his torso. He set her down and turned her to face him, not allowing her room to start attacking him too. His hands pressed firmly into her shoulders, but not viciously, as Guy had.

   She was interrupted before she even had the chance to speak.

   Véronique was approaching them, Lefay right next to her. "Grace saved a whore from some men. She slapped Guy after he tried to stop her from putting herself in danger, and well... you know his temper. He wasn't about to let that slide. He pounced when she came in."

   "Grace hit me! With rocks! She tried to stone me!" Guy said from the ground. He still had not regained the energy or oxygen to get up.

   Erik glared down at Grace, but she did not recoil or cower. He both admired her and wanted to strangle her for that.

   "Mademoiselle. You have put yourself in danger, risked the ballet losing one of its best dancers - a dancer that it cannot immediately replace, nor find a match in talent for without intense exertion  -  attempted to stone one of your fellow dancers, and fought for a girl who many would regard as being less than an animal..." his eyes flickered over Grace's apparel and Fleur's. "And you've given your clothes to a good cause - walked around my theatre indecently covered. I must say..." the visible side of his mouth turned up into a smirk. "You are quite courageous."

   He addressed Véronique, then Guy. "Take this girl to Grace's room, and find her something suitable to wear. Guy - if you hit a woman again, I personally will hand out the consequences, which I promise will be painful. And Mademoiselle," his harsh eyes turned kinder as they fell upon Fleur. "I'm sure that Grace is a very loyal friend, once you've earned her friendship. You are free to work here, and I shall extend to you my protection.

   "Everyone is dismissed  - everyone except you, Grace. I want a word."

   In the moment she glanced at Fleur, Erik had locked his fingers around her arm and started to drag her away.

  He hated how his fingers met as they curled around her limb. She should not be so thin. It wasn't healthy. Weren't Americans supposed to be fat, slow, and ridiculously jovial? He glanced down at the little ballet mouse beside him, who was half sprinting to keep up with his long, quick strides, probably thinking he'd dislocate her shoulder if she didn't keep up. It was quite peculiar... she walked the same way Celine did.

   As if reading his thoughts, Grace grew worried. She couldn't be certain this man was the same one who had loved her then so coldly given her up... but how many men were flamboyant, musical masterminds, and wore masks?

  "Why did you so unceremoniously drag me up here?" She asked as he gently pushed her through a door, into his barely used office.

   A plant sat on the window, and she immediately saw that it needed water. Frowning at him she scooped some up from a pitcher on the desk and poured it in the pot.

   She turned to find an incredibly puzzled, wide eyed Erik.