i.

Mid December, 1880,

SHE WAS CARMEN, HER MELODIOUS VOICE FLOATING OVER THE DARKENED AUDIENCE in the glamorous opera house as the glittering crystals of the chandelier hanging from the ceiling overhead the audience seats caught every mesmerizing flare of the girl's voice like it was but the glare of the sun being split into six colors on every surface it was reflected to.

Laurentine Bonfamille sang Carmen's Habanera, gleaming on stage in a sparkling blood red maroon gown that was bejewelled heavily in rubies, looking as though Georges Bizet—the composer of the opera—was himself sitting in the audience, having sanctioned the beauty on stage's performance by his own hand as he grinned satisfactorily to himself whilst the people of Paris in the audience moaned in awe under their breaths.

But of course, Georges Bizet had died five years ago in Bougival, France, and whatever soul that he had left had no mortal merit outside of opera houses and his immortalized compositions.

Laur had gotten to meet him once, six years ago when she had been a girl of eighteen with a skip in her step and roses in her heart. The composer had been a man of thirty five, having embarked on a visit to Paris to oversee the debut performance of a small opera he had newly composed. His attention towards her had been a dream come true, and Laurentine Bonfamille had decided then and there to be the best opera singer that she knew she could be, just for him to one day sit and watch her perform one of his pieces.

But that had been a silly aspiration, for the man was now dead five years and Laurentine's heart had acquired the passion and love that an opera performer should firstly have for the work that they do, not the audience that they wish to attract.

When she approached the end of 'L'amour est un oiseau rebelle,' Laurentine took a bow as the crowd erupted into a deafening applause.

It was Christmas eve, and the opera house was decorated likewise, with mistletoe added like glitter to her surroundings, and a gleaming Christmas tree bedazzled with shining ornaments taking center stage beside her form. The front seated female guests in the audience were draped in expensive furs—faux and real alike—around their necks accompanying their pearls, and the men all had scarves around their necks with others wearing thick leather gloves matching their spiffy suits to combat the cold and snow raging outside this Christmas eve in Paris.

Laur hadn't intended to perform on Christmas eve, for she had always taken the holidays off, especially on the eve, wherein she spent her time prepping for Christmas day and the festivities she engaged in with her sister. But this time around, she had decided to give a performance as her own special way of a Christmas treat, making sure that the opera house half priced all the tickets for the event so more people could attend with their families and enjoy the special night. Her peers-more opera singers signed to the same opera house—had also joined in on the endeavor graciously, presenting their talents as a gift to all those who had attended tonight.

Laurentine's performance was the third performance of the night, and the audience had still four more to go to complete the special night event at the most famous opera house in all of Paris. Enraptured, they were all glued to their seats, one by one taking in the glory of all the best opera singers France itself had to offer.

Carmen's time on stage however, had come to an end for the night. Laur brought a delicately gloved hand to her lips, blowing a gentle kiss to the audience and waving a final wave, before she received her bouquet of gleaming white roses from the attendee who had come upon stage. Then, holding the bouquet close to her heart, the girl bowed a final time amidst the audience's applause and then took her leave.

Backstage, she was greeted by the crew, the employees all resorting to a personal, smaller and much more intimate applause than the one the girl had just witnessed on stage. She beamed a dazzling smile at them, embracing a few of them as congratulations were offered her way for her last performance before the holidays.

"That was utterly delightful, ma chérie," The Impresario—director—of the Christmas eve performances, let out as she extended her arms, once Laurentine was done receiving the crew's congratulations, and walked over to the madame last, delicately embracing her as they kissed each other's cheeks in succession.

"Merci, madame," Laur beamed, gratified by the praise as she met the dark haired and red lipped and voluptuous woman's blue eyes, the madame's form encased tight in a black dress.

A soft meow caught her attention then as she felt a fur ball brush deliberately against the skirts of her gown, pressing himself into her presence. Laurentine's eyes dropped to her beloved cat, a ten week old ragdoll kitten with gorgeous cream fur and darkened snout and ears, it's eyes a simmering light blue. The girl had only just acquired the cat six weeks ago, when her old neighbor's cat had given birth and the elderly woman had shown up at Laur's mansion's doorstep, asking if she would like to have one from the litter. Laurentine had taken her first look at her cat amongst his siblings, and had decided to have him then and there.

"Aw, mon amour," She bent down to pick up her kitten, the creature purring with pleasure as she picked him up and pressed him to her chest.

"I cannot bear to be separated from you for even a moment, mon chéri. Did you like my performance?"

Berlioz purred against the skin of Laur's chest, seeking her warmth as he all but melted into her hold.

"Your cat is going to be the most spoilt in all of Paris, ma chérie," Madame Camille laughed, touching Berlioz's forehead with a single gentle pat of her finger.

"I do not mind that one bit," Laurentine beamed, pressing a kiss into her cat's fur as she cradled him in her arms, murmuring a gentle song.

"I should take my leave, madame," She spoke then, smiling at the director. "I don't want to keep you from your duties for tonight. I'm sure the rest of the show is going to be absolutely wonderful."

Madame Camille smiled, her eyes thinning in pleasure as she blew Laur a kiss and then waved a single wave.

"We shall keep our fingers crossed."

Laur managed a smile, before pivoting on her feet as she started making her way towards her dressing room, the crew parting to make way for her. She wanted nothing more at present than to head back home with Berlioz to her mansion, and spend the rest of the Christmas eve night with her sister, who was patiently waiting for her. They had already missed a few of their Christmas eve traditions because of Laur's obligation to be at the opera house tonight, still, the girl intended to remedy that fact for her younger sister however she could.

"Oh, and Laur!" Madame Camille's voice called behind the girl's back, as she halted in her steps and spun to look at the distant figure of the director.

"You have two guests waiting outside to escort you," The woman laughed, managing a wink from this distance. "Ah, to be a young girl again. Have a beautiful night, ma chérie!"

Laurentine Bonfamille gently placed Berlioz on the gleaming surface of the vanity table in her dressing room as she changed out of her ruby embellished extravagant costume dress, and slipped into the beautiful silk dark purple gown she had worn initially to the opera house. Making sure her blonde hair was still in it's place—done up in an elaborate do at the crown of her head with curled pieces framing her fair face, she covered her shoulders with her white faux fur cardigan, feeling the warmth of the cover cascade into her skin and relax her.

Then she leaned forwards to pick up Berlioz again, as the cat wagged his tail with anticipation and delight, eager to be back in Laur's embrace.

"Let's go home, my darling," She murmured into Berlioz's fur, as she placed a kiss on top of his nose. "I shall give you lots of milk and we shall all cozy up by the fire, would you like that?"

Berlioz purred again, his tail excited as he pressed his head against her chest.

Laurentine made her way out of her dressing room then, a backstage crew member hurrying to offer to pick up her blush coloured vanity case full of the extra things and necessities she had brought to the opera house for her night's performance. She flashed the man a smile of gratitude as he followed her towards the back exit, as she slipped out into the glittering cold December night.

The stars burned bright overhead, their placements in the dark sky surreal and magical in equal measure. The cold winds brushed and caressed Laur's facial skin as she pressed Berlioz closer to her chest, giving him as much warmth as she could.

The attendee who had taken charge of her vanity case, brought to a halt a carriage who's driver had already spotted Laur's glamorous form coming in from the back entrance of the opera house and was in turn racing to approach her waiting figure, coming to a stop in front of the girl with the utmost precision. Laurentine recognized the driver's familiar face, for the stout red haired man had often been the one to drive her home on many a nights, providing the same service to other opera singers—most of her friends—that exited the opera house on busy nights. Perhaps, she wondered shyly, some carriage drivers had preferences about the kind of passengers they escorted.

Her vanity case was affixed into the trunk of the carriage by the attendee, but as she made her own way inside the carriage, the sound of her own name made her stop in her steps.

She turned to look at the forms of two distantly familiar gentlemen running towards her, their footsteps urgent as both of them grabbed hold of their top hats with one hand in order to protect the things against the wrath of the wind. Their crisp polished black shoes crunched the snow underneath their feet as they hurriedly approached, both men's noses pink from having waited out in the cold.

Laur bit her lip, trying to control a rush of embarrassment that she felt wave over her. It wasn't pleasant for her to believe that she had been the cause of such discomfort. Couldn't the men have waited inside the opera house? Why leave as soon as her performance ended, for her friends were still set to perform and each were more talented and admirable than she, if she said so herself.

Slowly, she stroked Berlioz's head gently, her eyes on the men as they stopped near her while the carriage stood waiting.

"Mademoiselle," The first gentlemen—someone she had been introduced to three nights ago by one of her friends—uttered first, panting as white clouds of his breath cluttered the air in front of his face.

"Mademoiselle," He spoke again, "It was truly a pleasure to see you on stage tonight-you were exceptional."

Laurentine smiled, trying to think of the gentleman's name in vain. This was indeed the third night in a row that he had sought her out after their initial introduction, but she hadn't been told his name after that first night, and she had completely forgotten it now. She was certain it would be too offensive to ask him now, for he was a mutual friend of a good friend's, and Laur was nothing if not careful with the acquaintances that she formed, albeit haphazardly.

"Laurentine," The second gentlemen uttered her name then, and Laur looked at him in surprise, the man's familiarity only now beginning to strike recognition in her.

"Oh, Charles," She managed, "I didn't realize it was you."

"You won't realize it's me if I'm the last man on earth standing in front of you," He exhaled, taking off his top hat in a slight irritation.

Laur looked at him, dismay at his blatant manner clawing at her. Charles Barbier was the only nephew of Madame Camille, and she had known him ever since she had started working at the Roses Bleues opera house. He was a handsome man, a few years older than her with blonde hair and a matching set of blue eyes. He was an entrepreneur, and though Laurentine took polite care to listen when he spoke, the last she remembered of his affairs was that he was to invest in the setting up of a new circus establishment in Paris.

Madame Camille hadn't hinted at the fact that it was her nephew too who was waiting for Laur outside, for the madame wasn't too proud of the man's incessant interest in Laurentine, and as much as Laur respected the madame and her majestic ability to organize such extravagant shows nearing the holiday season, she too did not much care for the man.

Laurentine wasn't a prude. She was certain that she was born with a heart that could fit the entire world three times over. She was compassionate, generous, and she would take from herself to give to anyone who needed it more. Her love was her haven, and she shared every bit of it that her heart had birthed for her.

But Charles Barbier's manner towards her was that of a man who assumed that he was owed a woman's love just because he existed, and Laur didn't much like that.

"I'm sorry," She managed, "I suppose I am just in a hurry to get home. I didn't mean to offend."

Charles Barbier blinked, putting his top hat back on as irritation wiped itself clean from off his face and he stepped closer to her.

"Have dinner with me on Christmas tomorrow, Laur," He spoke, his tone urgent. "We can go anywhere you like. Just—just have dinner with me."

Laurentine shook her head once, her brows furrowing as she frowned softly. "I can't, I apologize. I plan to spend Christmas day with my sister, and my darling Berlioz."

She placed a kiss into Berlioz's fur, seeking refuge in the creature's love, knowing full well that Charles hadn't yet seen or heard of her adopting a cat, even though it had been six weeks now. It wasn't that Laur never spoke of Berlioz, it was just that Charles Barbier was the sort of man who preferred to do all the talking when in her company.

"Don't I, my love?" She whispered to the cat, "I will show you just how beautiful Christmas can be."

Then Laurentine's eyes found the first gentleman's, and with a slight pang of gratitude in her heart, she saw the man beaming patiently at her as though her talking to Berlioz was just another pleasant event in his night. She stepped closer to the man and placed a gloved hand on his arm in acknowledgement.

"Thank you for your compliment on my performance," She managed with a smile as the man seemingly blushed under her attention. "I am grateful that you came to see it. Have a happy Christmas."

She stepped away from him then and climbed the steps to her waiting carriage, holding Berlioz close to her heart.

"Laur," Charles Barbier called out to her under his breath in irritation, but she didn't respond, closing the carriage door after her.

"Laurentine!" The man raised his voice just as the carriage driver yanked on the reins and the carriage plopped forwards.

From her window, as the carriage strolled away, Laur could see Barbier take off his top hat and throw it into the snow covered ground in his frustration, and instinctively, she breathed in deeply and tried to calm herself, forcing out the heavy feeling of discomfort and dismay that the man seemed to offer to her with every word he spoke. No matter how polite she was, Laurentine just couldn't seem to shrug him off. Forcing indifference wasn't something that came naturally to her, and when as a result she relied on her politeness, it always took more of her energy than she intended for it to.

"It's alright, darling," She spoke to Berlioz, gently stroking his soft fur. "We'll be home in no time."

──── ౨ৎ ────

The Bonfamille mansion came into view over the night horizon of Paris, situated on a quaint street lit with lamplight at every corner, the mansion was a display of the gorgeous intricacies that rendered to mind the sensibilities of Versailles as well an etching of the georgian and tudor styles from the English. Overtly, the mansion was one of the most beautiful houses in Paris, a testament to the late notable architect who had designed it after ten years of travelling.

When Laurentine Bonfamille had bought the expensive mansion at the age of twenty one for herself and her sister, she had counted on it being the home that neither she nor her sister had ever had. After having being juggled around in foster homes, the idea of having a home to herself had been sacred, and a dream kept the most close to her heart. Laur had sneaked off to work at opera houses at a very young age with just that dream in her heart, and upon taking legal guardianship of her sister at the age of eighteen, Laur had been able to provide for her sister a final home in form of this gorgeous mansion that an architect had poured his heart out over.

It was said that the architect had designed the home for his lover, a woman who had gone on to have a family with another man. There was no evidence of this speculation, except the existence of the very harrowing fact that the architect had hung himself as soon as the mansion had been finished building.

Adelaide Bonfamille—Laurentine's often bold younger sister-often joked, "Well, at least he didn't hang himself inside the mansion!"

The carriage came to a stop in front of the main gate of the mansion, and Laur opened the carriage door and stepped out on the street with Berlioz held close to her heart, his small heart thudding softly against her skin.

The carriage driver took charge of her vanity case, and with Laur's grateful words following him, he efficiently handled the case and brought it inside the house.

Adelaide Bonfamille, dressed in her pink nightgown with the girl's slept on brown hair sectioned into two braids, met her elder sister in the surprisingly crowded foyer.

"How did it go?" The girl exclaimed excitedly, after separating from the embrace she had trapped Laur in.

"Oh, you must've been so glamorous!" Adelaide twirled as her nightgown flared at her feet. "In that stunning red gown, oh, I wish you would've let me attend!"

"Darling," Laurentine smiled at her sister with a shake of her head as she handed the carriage driver his due for the carriage with one hand, her other still holding Berlioz securely.

The carriage driver tipped his hat, before scurrying off as the door closed behind him, leaving the two sisters alone in the foyer.

"It isn't about how I look for a performance," Laur narrowed her eyes at her sister playfully as she spotted their maid rush down the stairs and into the foyer, the girl's arm extended to help her madam take off the faux fur cardigan.

"It is about how I perform."

"Oh, nonsense!" Adelaide let out, waving a hand in dismissal. "Do not act, sister, as though half of those people do not crowd the audience just to look at you! Well, your voice is also an added charm I suppose."

Laurentine rolled her eyes as her younger sister's eyes widened when she finally noticed Berlioz.

"Oh, my sweet," Adelaide gushed, rushing over to collect the kitten into her own arms. "Come to me now, you've had enough of my sister. Didn't you miss me?"

Berlioz purred in hesitance, not wanting to separate from Laur but resolving himself to Adelaide's embrace, his simmering blue eyes fixated on Laurentine as the girl blew him a parting kiss.

"And what is all this?" Laur turned her head to look at the majestic—though now crowded with colorful wrapped boxes—Christmas tree that she had had arranged for the mansion's grand foyer as decoration.

The sisters' own private Christmas tree was an even more majestic beauty, presently glittering in Adelaide's own room upstairs in the mansion.

"I'm certain lesser boxes could've added to the same effect," Laurentine eyed her sister and their maid, as the former snorted and the latter stifled a giggle.

"No, sister," Adelaide spun, still cradling Berlioz in her arms. "Lesser boxes could've indeed had the same effect, but I suppose your suitors refuse to understand that."

The maid hurried over to a side table beside the crowded Christmas tree, and grabbed hold of a handful of enveloped cards that lay atop it, bringing them all in a cluster to Laurentine.

"You had gentlemen callers, my lady," She showed Laur the cards, and the girl's eyes skimmed over the gentlemen's names.

Most were wealthy men she had been introduced by her friends at the opera house, and some were men she had met directly upon attending celebrational parties hosted by the opera house. Some names on the cards were also her neighbors, less well off but still kind and compassionate acquaintances.

"It seems you have gotten presents galore, sister," Adelaide mused, rocking as she cradled Berlioz.

"You have officially won Christmas, I dare say."

Laurentine furrowed her brows playfully.

"Oh please," She walked over to her sister and pressed a kiss to the girl's cheek.

"You know you are welcome to go through these and pick anything you want to keep, darling," Laur walked over to the staircase, putting her hand on the railing as she threw a glance back at her sister.

"Then we add everything else to the gift pile we're distributing to the orphanages tomorrow. How does that sound?"

Adelaide's eyes sparkled cheekily as she fell into step behind Laur, still holding Berlioz, as the girls made their way upstairs.

"Well, it is certainly exciting to have things that a man intends for his beloved, I suppose. I'm sure the children at the orphanages will enjoy the rest of everything in those boxes just fine."

"Adelaide Bonfamille," Laur gasped, halting on the stairs as she eyed her sister pointedly. "You are too presumptuous."

Adelaide giggled, murmuring something in sly confidence to Berlioz as she stroked his fur.

Laurentine shook her head at her sister, before continuing up the stairs.

"But still, sister," The younger girl continued, amusement in her tone. "These gentlemen are all obsessed with gaining your favor. Even Christmas eve has not deterred them. I almost had to combat dehydration telling each man that my sister is otherwise engaged at the opera house and cannot come to the door right now. I suppose the words of this impromptu holiday night performance didn't reach the ears of your many suitors."

Laurentine made her way towards her room, hearing her younger sister's observations right behind her as the girl followed at her heels with Berlioz in her arms.

Laur slipped behind her golden changing screen, as the maid—who had already appeared into her room—helped her take off her purple evening gown behind the screen.

"I mean, aren't they the ones that are too presumptuous?" Adelaide continued from somewhere in Laur's room, perched on a sofa nearby.

"They had nothing to say to me—your only and beloved sister," The girl scoffed. "I mean, isn't it a fact acknowledged that a gentleman should endeavor to be in good graces with the sister of a lady he'd like to please? Where has consideration gone?"

Laur stifled a small laugh, as the maid bit her lip to stop herself from laughing as well as she tightened the strings on the back of the simple silken cream gown that Laurentine had chosen to wear for Christmas eve at home.

"Be honest with me sister," Adelaide pressed when Laur slipped out from behind the screen, walking over to her glamorous bedroom vanity.

"Wouldn't you want to marry a gentleman who I admire as well? A man who is considerate and is in good graces with your sister as well? Is not that an immediate good thing? Truth be told I am certainly not that hard to please, and I shall certainly be offended if my future brother-in-law and I share no good subjects to converse intellectually about."

Laurentine laughed then as she looked at her younger sister in the mirror while the maid undid Laur's intricate hairdo from her performance.

"Don't you worry too much about that, darling," She smiled. "I promise to cause you no such grievances, alright?"

Adelaide pouted thoughtfully, half satisfied with her elder sister's response, as she stroked Berlioz's fur.

"I hope you don't," The girl offered after a pause, relaxing into the sofa seat she was seated on. "I on the other hand, intend to grow old with a handful of cats all purring around me. Like you, I shall be the most sophisticated and happy, but unlike you, there shall be no gentlemen for miles in my sight."

Laurentine laughed at her sister's words, as Berlioz finally found the strength to free himself from Adelaide's hold, quickly running over to brush himself lovingly against Laur's legs as the girl picked him up in her arms.

"And where am I in this future of yours?" Laurentine smiled mischievously as she kissed Berlioz's fur.

Adelaide waved a hand of dismissal from where she sat.

"Tending to your dozens of grandchildren in your wealthy husband's mansion, of course. But do not you worry sister, I shall visit you and your family with my cats as often as I can."