The Angel of Music

Dawn was breaking over Paris, the servants of stately homes rising to start their chores the same time as Jo entered Dean’s room to wake him, using the spare key her mother had given her. A quiet creak sounded through the room as she peered inside, her long blonde hair falling over her shoulder to land on the chest of her ballet dress. The bouquets of roses had made the room smell sweet, almost too sweet, since it appeared that neither the window nor the door had been opened to let in the frosty morning air. Stepping further inside, she removed the key from the lock, peering around the screen and finding Dean’s bed empty. She shut the door behind her.
“Dean?” She whispered. “Dean, you better not scare me or I swear to God...” She laid the keys on the table, the sound scaring her in the silence of the room. Suddenly, she stepped slightly to the right and a beam of golden light hit her in the eye. Holding her hand up to shield her face, she stepped closer, peering behind the mirror. Her hands hit the reflective surface, and it slid to the side, revealing a stone passage behind it.
Jo wondered whether she should follow it. Shrugging, she started walking, careful to step past the two rats that came squealing down the corridor. Her movements froze when she heard steps behind her. Suddenly a hand pressed lightly on her shoulder.
Swivelling around, the scream choked in her throat when the image of Madame Giry stood infront of her.
“Mom...” She sighed, relieved.
“Come on,” The other woman said, leading her back into Dean’s room. To be honest, Jo didn’t mind; the place was creeping her out.

~
In another part of the Opera Populaire, Balthazar swung around, twirling the edges of his make-shift cape as the girls around him giggled. They let out a mock scream as he ran up to them, stretching his hands into claws.
“Like yellow parchment is his skin; a great black hole serves as the nose that never grew.” Jo sidled past the crowd and went to her bed, sitting down. She ignored the laughs at Balthazar’s performance. “You must always be on your guard. Or he will catch you with his magical lasso.” The man produced a rope, turning it in his hands for a second before looping it around one of the dancers, grabbing her by the waist as she laughed. Suddenly, Madame Giry came stomping upstairs, separating the two of them.
“Sometimes, those who speak of what they know find that silence is wise. Balthazar Buquet hold your tongue!” At this she slapped him round the face, to the surprise of everyone. Before he had time to recover, she looped the noose around his neck and slid the knot upwards, barely giving him time to defend himself. “Keep your hands at the level of your eyes.”

~
The first thing Dean noticed was the sound of a music box playing somewhere in the room. The second thing that Dean noticed when he woke up was the smell. He was accustomed to the scent of the wooden structure of the Opera house, the wooden cots, and the cotton sheets. Instead he was surrounded by the smell of murky water and candle wax, lying on what felt like velvet under his fingers. He opened his eyes. The source of the sound was, indeed, a music box, with a monkey sitting on top of it. His hands beat cymbals to the rhythm, making the feathers on his hat shake. Leaning over, he pulled the string to draw the curtains upwards, and swung his feet out of the bed. They landed on a thick fur rug, and standing up, he walked outside.