•*•*•𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙋𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝙊𝙉𝙀•*•*•

{𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐿𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟．．．𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑙𝑙}

"Five minutes till rehearsals, ladies!"

A stagehand's firm baritone crackled through the changing room's door he'd pushed slightly ajar, leaving his aged, weathered and gray speckled face turned away to protect the dancers' modesties.

The women hurriedly milling about inside the dingy and sparsely lit room didn't respond, each one hell bent on making themselves look perfect. It may just be rehearsals but there was a rumor spreading through the gossip mill that the Fenice was in the works of inheriting new and very rich owners–owners who would be attending today's show to make sure their debut was immaculate.

Many of the girls saw it as an opportunity to try and earn some money or make a higher standing for themselves in life. Win the approval and attention of a man so rich he could own a grand building like the Opera House and they'd be set for life. This meant looking perfect in rehearsals was all that mattered to them. Most felt this way...all but Magda and her sweet little companion, Giulia.

The latter was chattering Magda's ear off over the hustle and bustle from her perch next to her, yet Magda was paying her no mind. It was of no fault of her own; it was simply a known fact that Giulia liked to talk and Magda was always swept up in her thoughts when her companion did.

It was much the same now. All she could think about or focus on or obsess quite unhealthily over was the performance tonight, the very same that made those thrilling butterflies of nerves convulse and moil aflutter in her stomach.

Unlike the rest of the girls, Magda and Giulia were already changed. Every detail completed with perfection. They were level headed, not letting themselves fall into a tizzy over two rich old men. No, to Magda and Giulia–the daughter of their stern dance teacher, Signora Narcissa Giordano–performing and dancing and being on that stage every night was all they cared about. Their life's dream. It was why the two women were such close friends. As close as sisters, so joined at the hip despite their six year age difference that they may as well have been blood related.

Where the other girls were rather fickle and simply seemed to care about their looks and whatever rich Aristocrat they could seduce after the show, making a career in the arts had been both women's passions since they could remember, when they were both young girls stepping foot on that stage for the first time. The rush...the heart–in–your–throat fear that had made them delirious with adrenaline and joy had been a feeling Magda had chased and lived for ever since.

"I heard they emasked their fortune in the junk business. Can you believe such an oddity?" Giulia whispered in hopes of their conversation having some privacy and giggled as she laced up her pointe shoes with expert fingers, winding the pastel pink ribbon around her delicate ankle. She didn't even need to look. This routine was a second memory to both women by now.

Magda held the heavy sterling silver brush steady as she pulled its thick straw hairs through her tight honeyed curls, inattentive while fixating on her reflection in the mirror. The girl looked tired. Exhausted. Sick, under all her well placed makeup.

"I can. People will find fortune in all manner of strange things these days. But you should know better than to believe everything you hear, Giulia." She said in response, her voice as absent as the look in her cloudy eyes, but Giulia passed it no offended thought or made to dwell upon her stale attitude.

Magda was rather a distant person. As a friend, as a dancer. She'd always been that way...it was what made the older woman so refreshing. To find someone so quiet and calm in this business was a blessing. Especially when all the other dancers were vicious gossipers who often made the two friends the brunt of their rumors.

"Yes, well, you won't see me falling at their feet like this flock of eager hens! I actually have some dignity and class." Giulia guffawed and Magda stopped her pointless brushing, her pretty seafoam green eyes framed by long lashes any would envy gaining some life and amusement to them at her friend's decisiveness.

Resting the weighted brush onto her vanity, Magda took one more swift onceover of herself. Her hair was pristinely kept, the top half pinned back from her slim, oval face. Her light makeup of soft pastel hues was done to perfection and made her pale skin glow, and her tightfitting black bodice of her leotard as well as her flowy swan white tulle skirt was not even an inch out of place.

Happy with her appearance, she devoted the rest of their short free time to teasing Giulia as she so adored to do. When the petite girl was taunted–light heartedly of course–her bronzed cheeks would turn the most appealing variation of rouges and Magda thought it suited her to no end. "I think someone is being bitter, little Lia."

The ravenette, irate, inhaled a choppy breath of anger and muttered a string of profanities and denials as she pushed and tested the flexibility of her pointe shoes. Magda fluidly rose to stand and did the same, elongating her agile limbs taught to loosen them up for their fastly approaching number.

"We'll both have our prince charming's eventually, but I relate with your sentiments. He certainly will not be found in two lucky old age pensioners. Not for someone young like you. There's a whole world of handsome suitors for your taking, more doting than some crotchety old man." Her voice caught and strained as she stretched her torso and lifted her long leg to just touch her head.

"Mags!" Giulia hissed when some of the other girls speered their glares full of daggers at her friend for her loose and cutting tongue. "You mustn't say such things. If the new patrons were to hear you, you'd surely be in big trouble!" Giulia intoned far too gravely.

Magda spoke monotonously in her slightly accented drawl, "It is all in jest, Lia. Relax. I am not looking to even draw their attention. All I wish to do is practice well today and be perfect tonight. That will give me a good night's rest."

Suitably happy, Giulia's optimism never stayed absent for long. With exuberance she launched into another round of hardly intelligible prattle that Magda needn't pretend to keep up with, continuing to impressively bend and wind her limbs.

There was a fast rap of knuckles on the mite bitten oak door and the adrenaline so familiar to her now coursed through her veins like liquid fire, the fuel that would push her to give her best performance. Her head spun in euphoria at the call through the thick wood.

"Time's up, ladies!"

With her own excitement any would have thought she'd stolen from her friend, Magda grabbed her companions arm and dragged the shorter woman through the throng of complaining dancers to be the first to exit.

"Come, Lia. It's starting!"

•*•*•

"Uno, due, tre, quattro. Uno, due, tre."

Magda followed the solemn tones of Signora Giordano, gracefully and with all of her effort.

Rehearsal or not, dancing was dancing and every move of her body was calculated and precise. Her dedication and unwavering posture gained her a small lift of a thin lip and an approving shimmer in a pair of stern eyes surrounded by fine lines, so shadowed by the dark cast from the soft amber luminance of the stage light's that they twinkled like the brilliant night sky.

Her frilled, restraining black dress–with her petticoat bunched at her hips over her large shelf bustle, as was the new fashion–periodically touching the floor with her fast paced steps, Narcissa went back to observing all of her girls with a critical gaze as she continued to count. "Uno, due, tre, quattro. Uno, due, tre..."

When she came to a halt suddenly, heels from her shoes scraping against the floor, many of the girls felt their hearts plummet with dread. Her sights slowly bubbling with annoyance were not pinpointed on them, but on one of their youngest girls. The same age as her own daughter.

"Claudette."

Signora Narcissa's once focused inflection dipped into the velvety beginnings of vexation.
Her cane tapped along the vinyl of the stage, a hymn of her brewing ill-fate for poor Claudette, just three dancers up from Magda on the beam.

The Signora ground to be stationery in front of the quivering girl, using the cold silver handle of that austere looking walking stick–a proud lion with its jowls hanging open in a gaping roar–and placed it under the girl's chin to manipulate her head up.

"Why are you faltering, Claudette?"

"I..." The young girl, recently having joined them from England and barely seventeen, kept her teary eyes locked onto the hem of her Signora's dress. Better that then be confronted with her teachers unforgiving visage of disdain. Unable to lower her head due to the handle under her chin digging into and biting it's chill at her flesh, Claudette's plain face was displayed for all to see, edged with embarrassment.

The Fenice was renowned for it diversity. It accepted dancers and employee's from all backgrounds, even going so far as to teach its young students a myriad of languages from its native tongue, Italian, to the universally used English language. Magda was grateful for her unique education that not many—especially woman—were afforded.

Yet, Claudette...well, she was a special case. Her parents were rich, her mother a dowager apparently attempting to make a reputation for herself in Venice, away from the name of her family.

It went entirely unsaid that Claudette had not joined them for her beauty or her skill. Money could buy anything, after all. And her family had it in excess.

Signora Narcissa simpered dismally and sneered with acetous insult at the rich child's tears. It was a rule Magda had learnt the hard way, as the bitter Narcissa flocked towards someone crying the way a predator does a bleeding animal. Salty tears were like blood in the water. Once she was made aware of them and had caught onto their scent, there was no escape.

Perfectly articulated...she hated her girls for showing weakness. Young Claudette was about to learn a lesson that all of the older dancers had already experienced.

"Do you think we want weak dancers who cannot even handle the simple task of warming down?" Her heavily accented voice was mocking. Cruel. "Are you an idiota, Claudeen?"

"Claudette–" The girl, while perhaps meekly spoken, boldly attempted to correct her.

Signora Narcissa falsely pleaded ignorant of her gall and spoke over her with added fury unable to be kept from bleeding into her scolding. "Any could manage this! Even someone with no dancing experience. I suppose this means you are not good enough for us, si?"

The bite to her sugary and sickly words was the bait to get Claudette to fumble and dig her grave ever deeper. Like the foolish child she was, she took it.

"No!" The despairing teenager cried, those little jewels of sadness finally dripping down her sun kissed skin, creeping into the cracks of her frown lines. "Signora, I beg of you. I'll do better! I can learn!"

Signora Narcissa clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and, more a growl complete with bared teeth, she chuckled as she uncouthly jabbed the girl in her torso with the end of her cane for daring to mouth back at her.

Claudette cried out for a wholly different reason, the pain sprouting along her side convincing her she'd just earned herself a cracked rib. At best she'd find a mottled red and blue bruise as evidence for her idiocy later on that night when she ran home crying to her mother.

None of the other dancers moved to show any sympathy for her. They had all been privy to and on the receiving end of Narcissa's wrath.

As it was for all present, dance was her life. She took it not so lightly when someone made a mockery of it. Knowingly or even unknowingly–and innocent Claudette did fall into the latter category. Narcissa, however, made no distinction. If you faltered or failed, that was it. You were finished.

"Foolish child. Get out!" She thundered through those clenched but perfect teeth, slamming her stick onto the floor so fiercely Magda felt the vibrations ripple under her feet.

The sound resounded and echoed–a warning to the others not to be overly emotional like Claudette who wasted not a second, her wobbling hands covering her crimson tinged face to try and smother her sobs as she scurried past her merciless instructor and exited through the wings.

Narcissa's bony hand held fast to the handle of her cane in a grip wilfully ironclad; it looked painful, the skin of her fingers turning a grim white. She sucked in a large gulp of air through her straight and narrow nose, her penetrating eyes hidden by her closed lids, and held it for ten seconds...a struggle when her rib cage and lungs were being crushed by her spoon busk corset.

Slowly, she blew it out through her mouth and once more composed she pivoted so she was facing them all.

Magda was the only one to hold her flinch when Narcissa barked her orders at them, umber irises ablaze with torrent rage pushing to be let out and unleashed upon them all. "Leave! Rehearsals are finished for the day. I expect you all to do your best tonight. Lest, of course, you wish to meet the same fate as pathetic little Claudette."

With a chorus of feeble, "Yes, signora." The ballerina's fled just as Claudette had, like a group of startled deer. All but Magda and Giulia who rushed to her mothers side now they were in private. To any witnessing the sight, Narcissa's changing moods would have made her appear rather insane and incited one to call for a doctor. To Magda it was an everyday normality.

Her scowl was wiped clean, replaced by a doting smile that de–aged her about twenty years as she peered down at her only child. "My figlia," She cooed, her free hand drifting to pinch a blushing Giulia on her round cheek, Narcissa's flower dotted lace shawl dropping to hang awkwardly from her elbow due to her dress's gigot sleeves. The young girl was practically vibrating at the attention. "You did well today, piccola fiore. I am proud of you."

"Thank you, Mama." Giulia giggled and bounced on her heels, her vivacity incontestable.

She abandoned her mother to flounce deftly over to Magda, who hovered by the stage wings, dancing toward her like a wilting flower in a soft summer breeze. That was not to say she wasn't filled with all of the energy of an excited puppy, luring the woman keeping a respectful distance into their space with harsh yanks and tugs on her wrist.

"What of Magda, Mama? Wasn't she just wonderful?"

Narcissa's smile didn't waver. In fact, it only seemed to grow larger until a rare grin was nearly split across her hollow cheeks, made razor–sharp in appearance by her clinically neat and intricate updo. She raised that same hand and pinched a secretly eager Magda on the cheek.

A pinch from Signora Narcissa meant a job well done. All the dancers vied for it...or even to be treated with a grain of kindness as opposed to cold neutrality...however, Giulia and Magda were the only two fortunate enough to be receivers of the infamous stamp of approval. Probably the sole reason as to why they were hated so relentlessly among their peers. Jealousy was a dangerous thing indeed.

"More than wonderful, Magdalena." The woman held back an eye roll at the use of her full name. Narcissa refused to shorten it, saying it was 'too pretty' to taint with informalities and Magda, a people pleaser at heart, digressed to let her do what she wanted. She loved the older woman like she had her own mother. Especially now with the pure praise beaming for her through her teachers commending stare. "You have so much potential, my dear. The day you turned up on our doorstep was the day we were blessed with an Angel."

"Narcissa, stop!" Magda complained as a fuschia blush blossomed over her already naturally pink cheeks.

The motherly lady simply crooned at her bashfulness and permitted Giulia, who'd been smiling at their interaction, to latch onto her hand when she transgressed to let her surrogate daughter go.

"Come on mother! Leave Magda be. She has a place I know she longs to be and I want to venture to the market before my free time runs out!" Giulia wouldn't have heard if Narcissa protested, she was babbling too excitedly for that.

She pulled and yanked her bewildered mother along and waved with such youthful joy back at Magda she was almost blinding to look at. "See you tonight, Maggie! Don't start to get ready until I'm back."

Magda wiggled her fingers and nodded to indicate she'd abstain, watching after the adorable pair with affection until they were out of sight. A slight stab of grief pilfered it's way into her heart now they were gone–now that the brief solitude she so adored encased her being as well as her thoughts.

She loved them both. Dearly. She was forever grateful Narcissa had taken her under her wing. She'd gained a new family in place of her lost one for their kindness. It was just...she missed her true parents so harrowingly it hurt to even look at Giulia and Narcissa sometimes.

This level of melancholia hadn't trapped her in its depressing claws for quite some time. She had to do something. A distraction. Or it would stay with her the rest of the day. Luckily, Magda knew what to do. Just where to go to make that freeing feeling of solitude last.

With haste she abandoned the stage as people crowded onto it to remove the dancers' equipment and prep for the fast approaching show. She started her journey, passing frantic and busy ballerina's and soprano's and alto's alike all fluttering with nerves for the performance, heading down unknown back passages and dark hallways. They were lined with lit torches that never seemed to be snuffed out that guided her way. These paradoxes of maze–like halls...many were oblivious of their existence.

The tunnels that led deep under the Fenice would have been as easy to navigate with her eyes closed and easily Magda found herself safely arriving in her little Haven. It was used, many years ago now, as a room for prayer when she was a child. As the years progressed and as the others moved on, it was forgotten by everyone.

Everyone but her.

The small and cramped alcove brought her peace. Besides its beauty with its Sistine chapel inspired sky blue walls depicting scenes of cherubs and Angels; the large half round stained glass window footed by two wide stone steps that were essentially her altar and its arched nook in the dulled wall filled by a standing candelabra, dripping with frozen wax after her many uses of it–no. It was none of this that made her love it so avidly.

Aside from it's obvious and aged beauty, her refuge was more adored by her for its secrecy.

Privacy was a phenomenon greatly coveted by Magda. It was here in her paradise that she could lament her sadness. That the hollow and painful cryptic ache of her soul could be made obvious and brought to life. It was an ache she had never understood but had tried everything to cure, and here...well, here was the antidote.

She hurried to those comforting steps, collapsing onto them with a heaved sigh, her tulle skirt pooling around her curled legs. The white stockings adorning them were hardly enough to  save her from the chill pouring off the damp stone swathed around her, walling her in, but claustrophobia remained dormant. Not stirred by the tight space. No. This sanctum was what comforted her more than anything on this Earth.

It was dark, near pitch black save for the washes of cherry red and muted sapphire bathed over her. The ethereal lights crept into her sanctuary, a manifestation of the feeble dusk's fluorescence crawling through the cracks of the building's structure and reflecting quite beautifully through the window.

Magda felt her stiff muscles and the depressing turn of her thoughts cease somewhat as the light banished her demons from tormenting her.

And wishful to ward such bleak things off for good she wasted no time. Letting her teary and weighted eyes slide shut, she opened her mouth, a song from her childhood pouring sweetly from her parted lips.

"Lavender's blue, dilly, dilly, lavender's green. When I am King, dilly, dilly, you shall be Queen."

Her beautiful voice crescendoed through the quaint room, a cacophony of haunting harmonies that echoed and twirled around her. Her eyes still closed, Magda sang to her heart's content, each sonnet of her mothers favored lullaby calming her wrought heart.

"Who told you so, dilly, dilly who told you so? 'Twas my own heart, dilly, dilly that told me so."

If her eyes had been open to witness it, Magda would have surely been startled as a shadow passed by the stained glass. Except, she wasn't.

Through her closed lids Magda still saw as her light was blocked momentarily by something, and feeling the familiar butterflies flutter with more zeal than they even had when thinking on her performance, she sang prouder, a smile furling over the corner of her plump lips.

She was not afraid. This was a visitor she'd been expecting.

"Call up your men, dilly, dilly, set them to work. Some to the plough, dilly, dilly, some to the fork."

A wind, soft and gentle caressed itself against her skin the intimate way a lover would, and Magda's tired body could have sunk to the floor in relief as the last remnants of heartache vanished.

He was here. He wanted her to know.

"Lavenders green, dilly, dilly, lavenders blue. If you love me, dilly, dilly, I will love you."

That gust, that metaphysical breeze was a constant when her shadowed wraith came to visit. It fluttered and danced and kissed its thrilling chill and sparks of delight along her exposed skin.

Serene. That was how Magda felt as she finished the song and moved onto another, all the while her silent audience watched her. That was, until that constant became eerily distant as that mistral air retreated, her spectre disappearing after only short minutes of being with her. She could feel his absence: feel it's strain on her heart, feel the crying of her soul.

Alarmed, Magda's lids flew open, her frantic eyes searching and searching even though she knew it was futile. She had never seen her phantom; only in brief shadows and glimpses of dark shapes. Now more than ever before, she wished the poor ghost would show himself. He had never run before. What had made him flee?

Then, she heard the ringing of footsteps. Intent and strong and fast paced. Was it...was it him?

Sadly, it was not. As she rose to her feet and stepped towards the entrance of her temple she nearly shrieked in terror when someone crashed into her.

A pair of doe eyes blinked up at her when she righted her posture and Magda's distress drained from her.

Giulia. It was just Giulia.

"Lia." She shuddered a sigh of solace. Her groomed brows creased and almost touched at the strenuous pull caused by the concern now griping her. Her friend was...frantic. Shaken. "What...what are you doing here? I thought you were in town?"

Giulia gasped for air, winded, and when she had amended her breathless state and latched her shaking hands onto Magda's elbows to ground herself further. Her voice was sharp and very much not sounding like sweet Giulia. The prattling, though, was classic.

"Mags! Thank Heavens I found you! Mother and I, we were on our way out but...there was a commotion, a-and I was told to wait to find you, but then I couldn't contain myself any longer and mother will scold me something fierce for disobeying her but you have to know what's going on. I—"

"Lia!" Magda cried over her friends caterwauling, her hands struggling to fall to be a steady lifeline that would save Giulia from her black hole of jumbled thoughts, gripping her by her slim shoulders.

It worked and Giulia followed Magda's coached breathing until she was calm enough to form coherent sentences. Magda strained a smile, worried for her friend. Her sister. "Remain calm, Giulia. Tell me what's wrong. What's happened?"

"I cannot say. You must come with me." Her sister breathed shakily. She broke Magda's tight hold on her and instead scooped up her hand, pulling the abashed blonde after her through the passages with the same sureness Magda had displayed earlier. Giulia was the only person Magda had let into the secret of her forgotten temple and often, Giulia would be the one to seek her out when she was close to breaking curfew. By now she had memorised these halls just as immaculately as Magdalena.

In no time thanks to her perceptive speed, they reached the upper levels of the opera house. Giulia didn't stop there. She pulled her through the sleeping quarters, through the foyer that was a royal sight to behold. Through the wooden stairs and beams and disparate sections of the backstage rooms until they broke through the left wing of the stage.

Magda was almost appalled to see the entirety of the employees of the Fenice: from stage operatives, lead singers and backup singers to the group of Ballerinas she belonged to.

In the centre of their half moon congregation, Signora Narcissa stood, trying to rankle in and control the uproarious crowd.

"Lia!" Magda protested when Giulia abandoned her to push and shove her way through the masses until she reached Narcissa's side.

Bypassing her mothers snakelike glare that
promised punishment for her earlier ignorance of her demands, Lia stretched on her tiptoes, cupping a hand around her mouth as she whispered in her mother's ear whose oddly dull eyes quickly found Magda.

With a sharp and hissed "shhhh!"  from Narcissa the crowd fell silent. It was a brief peace and soon, all eyes were on the scrupulous and confused Magda when Narcissa called her name. She wanted to scurry away at all of the attention. She was always the chorus girl, never the centre of attention. Aside from now.

"There...is a letter. It is inclusive of us all, but it specifically refers to you, Magdalena." Signora Narcissa informed her through very out of character stuttering and spoke again at a higher volume before the incensed crowd could erupt once more. "It is from him," She told her seriously, "and it is addressed to you, my dear."

Oh.

Oh.

Magda felt her legs turn to jelly. The elusive C.V....had sent her a letter? What on Earth could this be about?

The crowd created a grudging path for her to reach her 'mother', and she accepted the doomed piece of paper with tremulous fingers, playing feigned disinterest to the leers and whispers of disgusted bemusement aimed at her.

The red skull seal, a detail that shot shivers of dread down her spine, was already broken and she unfolded the bent and yellowed paper with hesitance. Her eyes slowly drank in the words scrawled in perfect cursive.

Dear occupants of the Fenice,

I speak to you all, the ones who live so healthily and gluttonously on my riches. I have been lenient and peaceable. Yet, I hear talk of a switch in owner. I admit I was quite bereaved not to be informed immediately. However, with this news I am afraid I now wish to reinstate some revised rulings you all need follow.

If you wish for me to continue to fund your endeavour, of course. You will all hear me for my already shown kindness, but only one of you shall receive my genuine respect.

I hope this letter finds you well, dearest Magdalena. For the news I am about to share with you may leave you feeling anxious. Fear not. You were born for what I desire of you and the challenge I aim to set you, little songbird. I have watched you for quite some time and find myself enamoured with you. Such talent does not deserve to be cast to the background. Not any longer. No. It is time for you to shine.

That is why, with great firmness, I demand from you all that you must respect and fulfil my demands. If you do not...you will find yourselves incurring a series of unfortunate events I am sure we are all keen to keep at bay. Read these rules, Signors and Signora's, and heed them well:

Firstly, I shall make it known and make it solidified that Magdalena DuPont, from this moment forward, is to be cast as the leading role in all of your future performances. Failure to acquiesce to this specific request will result in tragedies you cannot hope to fathom. Starting with the withdrawal of any funding I provide you. I am sure you are aware of the ruin this will merit for each and every one of you.

Secondly, I make it clear that Evetta Courtier is to be released from her duties as head Soprano. I am certain we are all of the sound mind that such a...delightfully strong voice is better suited to the chorus.

And lastly, my friends, I implore that you follow these rules. That is all I ask of you.

Mock me not by flouting them and your pretty little lives shall run smoothly. Failure to conform will result in a number of consequences I am hopeful not to have to dispense.

Ever your faithful friend and patron,

C.V.

Sweet Saints.

Magda's mind clouded so virulently with acute horror when she finished absorbing the letters contents that she was only stopped from falling faint by the shouts and yells of the horde, no longer able to abate their displeasure.

"It is preposterous!" A male voice bellowed.

"An outrage!" A shrill female voice screeched in agreement.

"The scandal!" A number of people chorused in a grating harmony of hate.

"Why should we let some harlot evidently sleeping with the patron be our star? How ludicrous!" This voice was familiar. Antonio. A pure bred Venetian with unruly chocolate curls and and the heavy build similar to that of a 'strong man' from a Circus. He was also the jaundiced sopranos sordid lover, the very same who cried into his tan and darkly haired chest that peeked through the loosely tied lapels of his peasant shirt at the reality of her lost stardom.

He all but screamed at her and when Magda peeked at him, his stubbled face was contorted so his curled upper lip nearly touched his hooked nose and his strong, square angled jaw was clamped awkwardly as if he was ready to spit on her the way he had with his words.

No...no! This was an outrage, they were right. Only in the sense that she wasn't meant for this. She couldn't do this. This was all wrong!

Why? Why did he speak of her so sweetly? So informally? Did he wish for this to happen to her? For such scandal to spark between them?The horrific screeches and insults were drowned out by her own self abusive thoughts of her unworthiness.

Signora Narcissa lost it then at the consumed  expression of fear on her daughters face. She resembled the petrified lamb bound for the slaughter, the rabble of people comparable to an angry mob seeking her end.

"Enough!" It was not a scream, or a yell. All the same they silenced themselves at once. None would dare to defy Signora Narcissa. More than a simple dance instructor, she held power. Power enough to have them fired. "You dare to show such impudence? You would risk the treacherous venture of questioning him?!"

Like scolded children, all averted their once assaulting and acidic stares. Signora Narcissa tutted at them and rhythmically drummed her cane on the floor in fast intervals as she pondered how to handle this.

There was no denying him. The stakes in this were much too dire. Disheartened, she had to relent to condemn her daughter to such abuse from her colleagues, lest they all wished to be on the street by the morning.

"You need to go my child. Do not defy him. You must prepare for tonight, darling."

No! Magda wanted to scream and shout and bawl and object wildly. Instead, she kept herself blank on the surface so none would see her urge to cry. Even as every person their seemed to wish to kill her, side eyeing her when Narcissa could not see. Especially the jaded lead soprano, Evetta, who already disliked her enough and considered herself above her.

She must have been going ballistic in her mind that a simple chorus girl was now replacing her.

Signora Narcissa was infuriated by the hate she could see being sent her daughters way after she had already reprimanded them all. With caustic rage, she boomed, "All of you leave at once! You perform in two hours. Do not make me issue a warning. You may find yourself without a home in the morning anyway, if I do."

The threat suitably hitting its intended target of the fear of being without an occupation, all were imprudent to obey her. Evetta was in tears as she fled, the gravity of her changing position of power leaving her grief stricken beyond repair.

Narcissa approached an equally as distraught Magda and cupped a strong hand to her wet cheek. She realized then under her mother's loving hand...she was crying.

"Fear not, Magdalena. You will be Magnifico." Narcissa tried her best, but Magdalena was not reassured by her soft mutterings meant only for her. "Go with Giulia now to Evetta's private rooms. You will find it empty at her change in status. It is there you need hurry to prepare. I must inform the new owners of this last minute change." She kissed Magda with motherly affection on her flushed forehead and ushered Giulia to help her when the poor girl couldn't be roused from her shocked trance.

Watching her leave, Narcissa failed to contain the offensive tears that escaped her deceitfully calmative and emotionless eyes. It was fear that made her cry. Fear that was white hot and burning and painful.

For things were about to change for Magdalena , and they were not necessarily new beginnings for the better.

Narcissa only hoped Magdalena would be strong enough to survive the coming and difficult obstacles hurtling her way.