Helen Draiz

Helen Draiz

I do not own The Phantom of the Opera. The book/musical/movies belong to their rightful owners. I only own my characters.

CHAPTER 2

 Camille waited anxiously for Helen to return, stitching up the dress as best she could as she waited. When the brunette finally did return, Helen’s smile dropped and her handbag was thrown onto her bed. 

“Well..?” Camille pushed gently, jumping back when the 21 year old spun her head in her direction, glaring daggers. “I take it he didn’t propose?”

“No!” exclaimed Helen, starting to remove the frilly dress and obnoxious heels. “Am I doing something wrong? Does he not want to marry me?”

Camille stood up from her bed and helped her remove the dress and corset. “Of course he wants to marry you Helen! Maybe he just forgot the ring tonight?” she suggested.  

Helen could feel tears threatening to spill over. “No man forgets the ring if he’s planning on proposing. He carries it around everywhere he goes.” she mumbled, sniffling. 

Camille placed her hands on Helen’s shoulders, spinning her to face their only mirror. “Look at you Helen. How could he not want to marry you.” 

Helen stared into her reflection, her bottom lip quivering. She placed her hand on her stomach, suddenly feeling very ill. “Then why won’t he ask me?”

Camille stared at her friend through the reflection and wrapped her arms around her waist, resting her chin on her shoulder. “I don’t know…” she whispered, closing her eyes as she gave her best friend a hug from behind. 

Helen and Camille stood there for a few moments before they finished undressing Helen for her night attire. Camille hung the dress back up, as Helen examined Carlotta’s dress, draping it over a chair when she thought it was decently sewed back together. Helen then threw on her night attire, wrapping herself in her robe afterwards.

Camille, once again, gave her best friend a hug before wishing her sweet dreams. It was nearing late in the night which meant most would be asleep by now. Helen tapped out a few candles so Camille could get some sleep before grabbing her journal and fountain pen. 

She quietly stepped out of their room, shutting the door. She stared out into the looming darkness, smiling slightly at how quiet it was. She crept through the dark twisting halls of the opera house until she made it to a set of stairs leading to the boxes. No one knew that every night, after an eventful day, she stayed up most of the night to write in none other than box five. The so-called Opera Ghost’s box. 

She carefully climbed up the stairs, running her hand, along the wall, counting each box. 

Four…

Five…

Helen smiled as she pushed back the curtains for the box, sliding into one of the seat’s. She sighed, looking out at the stage, watching the ghost light flicker on the stage. She placed her candle on the small table beside the seats, opening her journal. 

She fiddled with her pen, wondering where she should start writing. Should she start with her getting berated at for not wearing shoes? Maybe when Carlotta quit? 

Helen hummed to herself as she thought. She took her pen down to her paper and dated the page, deciding to start from when she woke up. A few things did happen to her throughout the day, but the most exciting were during the rehearsal, when everyone was awake, not just the maids and other people like her.

She sighed quietly, letting out all of her emotions onto the pages, her hand cramping when she made it to the part about supper. She closed her eyes, twisting her wrist around to relieve the pain. 

Suddenly, she was left in darkness as the candle went out. Helen felt her body freeze, trying to think of a rational reason why the candle blew out. Surely it must have been the breeze from her moving her arm. She gulped before reaching into her robe’s pocket for a match. 

“Mademoiselle. I must ask you to leave.” said a voice from behind her. 

Helen felt her face go stark white. So the stories were true. The Opera Ghost was real. “Oui (yes), monsieur.” she mumbled, blowing on the last page she had written, to dry it, before standing up. She turned, holding the journal to her chest as she turned to face the voice. “I am sorry for intruding. I am usually alone in here this late at night.” 

The voice remained silent, urging Helen to gather her things more quickly. She did so with no haste. Once all of her belongings were in her hands, she stepped around the seat heading for the door, when she suddenly bumped into a solid...nothingness. 

She gasped, taking a step back and looking at where she was walking. She tried to reason with herself that maybe she ran into a wall because it was so dark but...there was no wall there. 

She shakily held out her hand to see if she was mistaken but that’s when a hand wrapped around her wrist and tugged her into the shadows. She prepared to scream before another hand found its way to her mouth, covering it. 

“I wouldn’t do that mademoiselle.” growled the voice. 

Helen squirmed, trying to wiggle out of his grip, but a hand suddenly found her throat, wrapping around it with a vice grip. 

She choked for air, her hands flying to the hands around her throat. A loud thud as her belongings fell to the ground. She tried prying the hands away from her delicate throat, tears pooling in her eyes. 

“P-Please…” she choked, taking one of her hands and hitting the chest of the culprit as a last defence. “Let...go…”

The hand left her throat right as she felt herself slowly passing out. She fell to her knees, covering her mouth as she began to have a coughing fit. Her unruly hair fell around her head as she coughed harder and harder until she could somewhat breathe easier. 

She looked up at the figure in front of her, her tears now falling down her cheeks. “Merci (Thank you)…” she stuttered, lowering her head to the ground to try and relax. 

The figure took a step towards her and crouched down, lifting her to face them, gripping her chin. “Be thankful you are not dead child. Now...are you going to talk about what happened tonight?”

The voice sounded like a man’s. One she had heard before but couldn’t put a face to the sound. 

Helen slowly shook her head, gulping. “N-No Monsieur. I won’t...I...I’m sorry…” she gasped, closing her eyes as she rubbed her sore throat. 

“I won’t tell a soul…” she mumbled, wincing when he gripped tighter to her chin. 

“Not one soul?” he pushed, his gloved hands digging into her skin. 

“No sir...not one...please...I’ll leave you be.”

The man before her, as a way to help calm her, gently ran his other hand over her brown locks. “Why should I believe you?”

Helen whimpered as his free hand dragged down her jawline and to her bruised neck. She had no answer for him. Why should he believe her? 

“Are you going to answer, child?”

The girl felt more tears drip down her cheeks as she stared up at the man. “I-I do not have...any...er..an answer for you, sir.”

The man clicked his tongue, peeling his hands from her. “Then I guess I will have to watch you,” he replied. Helen could feel his eyes stay on her as she struggled to calm down. “Or maybe...yes perhaps...I should take you with me?”

Helen felt her eyes bulge and her body shift backwards. “T-Take me where Monsieur?”

The man stood up and sighed. “No...you shall stay up here.” he said to himself. “ You shall continue your duties. But I will be watching Mademoiselle.”

Helen stared up at him, her hands resting lightly on her neck. “W-What should I call you Monsieur?” she asked hesitantly, her hands searching for her belongings that she had dropped. 

The man hummed, crouching down and taking a hold of her journal, returning it into her hands. “Some say The Phantom of the Opera, Phantom for short. Other’s say Opera Ghost. Choose whichever you like.” he replied, finding her fountain pen as well and placing it in her hand. “I hope we never meet like this again Mademoiselle.” 

Helen gulped, listening to him walk off afterwards. “Me too…” she whispered, quickly finding the candle and bolting out of the box and back to her bedroom. 

                                                      ~-~-~

The next morning, while Helen was putting on her makeup, Camille nearly screamed at the sight of the bruises around her neck. 

“Helen!” she gasped, her eyes wide with worry, hands covering her mouth. “What on Earth happened to your poor neck?”

Helen looked up at Camille through the mirror, a frown forming on her lips. She hadn’t thought up of a story, and The Phantom had said he would be watching her to make sure she never told anyone. 

“Um...I was um…” she began, racking her brain for any ideas. “...having a nightmare last night…” she mumbled. 

Camille nodded, urging her friend to go on, taking a seat on her made bed. 

“It felt...so real…” Helen said, biting her lip. “Someone...was choking me in the dream. But when I woke up...it was myself.”

Camille frowned, shaking her head. “Helen! Surely I would have heard you choking yourself!” she exclaimed, standing and walking over to her. 

“You must be quiet Camille. Not everyone is up this early.” urged Helen, grabbing a hold of her friends hands. 

Camille shook her head as she grazed Helen’s neck. “Then let them wake!” she said, pushing back Helen’s hair. “I don’t think it is wise for you to work today…” she admitted. 

Helen rolled her eyes, smiling kindly. “I am grateful you are concerned but really...I am fine Camille.”

The younger woman sighed, dropping her hands. “Fine then...but just take it easy today.”

Helen smiled, nodding to her. “You know I will.” she replied, looking back into the mirror to complete her makeup. Once she was done, she decided to leave her hair down to try and hide the bruises. 

After the girls were ready to get started with the day, they linked arms and headed towards the kitchen to get a quick breakfast before their work began. 

The chef handed the girls their breakfast, his eyes widening when he saw Helen’s neck. “My dear...what in Heaven’s happened?”

Helen blushed, ducking her head. She used her hair as a makeshift cover up, biting her lip. “I was having a nightmare last night. It turns out I was choking myself.” she lied, looking up at him with a small smile. “I am alright.”

The chef nodded, giving her a sad smile. “You take it easy now Helen.”

Helen nodded and walked over to the table where a few other workers were eating. 

                                                   ~-~-~

The day ran somewhat smoothly until news spread about the disappearance of Christine Daae. She had supposedly had dinner with the Vicomte and had returned to her room where she disappeared. 

There was no trace of her. No notes. No witnesses. She had just...vanished. 

And on top of that, everyone had asked questions about the bruises lacing the maid’s neck, some even saying The Phantom must have done both acts. 

But like Helen promised, she denied that The Phantom had done the deed. She kept up the story of choking herself in her sleep but a few people refused to believe her. Those people included Camille, Henry, Madame Giry and Nadir Khan. Nadir was a middleeastern that now served as the chief policemen. He occasionally visited the opera house while making his rounds. When he saw the bruises lacing her neck he froze in the hall, his face going red. 

Helen paid no mind to him, giving him a polite smile and nod before returning to her job. That was the last time she had seen him. 

Henry, unlike the Persian, had bombarded her with questions. He insisted that she take the rest of the day off but both her and Madame Bisset refused. 

“I am fine,” she had laughed full heartedly, cupping his cheek. “I promise.” 

Henry didn’t believe her, deciding to skip rehearsals so he could help her out with her own duties along with Camille. Just now he was hanging up the dresses in Carlotta’s prima donna room while the girls cleaned up the room. 

“I am just saying Helen, you can tell us anything,” he defended, shaking his head. “Especially me Helen…”

The brunette sighed, wiping down the full length mirror. “Henry. I have already told you a million times. Please drop it.” she snapped. 

Henry clenched his jaw, shaking his head. He turned to look at her, crossing his arms after he tossed the dresses on the bed. “Fine. For now, I’ll drop it.” he replied, walking over to her, sparing a glance at Camille, asking her for some time alone. 

Camille nodded and slipped out of the room, frowning at the couple. 

Henry stood behind Helen, staring at her reflection in the mirror. “You would tell me if something happened...wouldn’t you?” he asked, playing with his fingers. 

Helen stared at him through the mirror, her eyes roaming his worried face. His eyes seemed to be holding back tears but none rose to the surface.

“Yes,” she whispered, turning her head to face him. “I would.”

Henry let his shoulders sag a bit in relief as he took a step closer to her. He gently took her hand in his, resting their foreheads on each other. “Okay…” he whispered, closing his eyes. 

Helen frowned, reaching up and cupping his cheek, wrapping her other arm around his neck. She felt his own hands wrap around her, gently swaying her. 

“I’ve missed these moments,” he admitted, kissing her forehead. He took a step backwards, bringing her with him as he began dancing with her. 

Helen smiled, resting her head on his shoulder. “As have I,” she replied, humming gently so they would have some music to dance to. 

They danced until Camille returned, knocking on the door. Henry sighed as he pulled away from her, kissing her hand softly. 

Unbeknownst to them, two figures watched the happy couple through the mirror. One’s whose face was red as a tomato, pointing to the girl. “Those bruises will last weeks Erik. How could you do that to her?”

The man in question wasn't paying any mind to the bruises on the girl’s neck. He was watching the couple dance and embrace one another comfortably. He wanted that with Christine.

Helen Draiz

I do not own The Phantom of the Opera. The book/musical/movies belong to their rightful owners. I only own my characters.

CHAPTER 5

Helen examined her surroundings, fiddling with the sleeves on her robe as Erik made tea in his kitchen. He had brought her down to his home, instead of the kitchen in the opera house because she had wanted to talk freely without any fear of eavesdroppers. It was dark and cold in his home but Helen didn’t dare mention anything. He had already given her enough grief about him not wanting any visitors but he caved at the mention of any eavesdroppers. 

He returned with the tea shortly after, placed the tray on the small table in front of Helen and a loveseat that he sat in. “Thank you,” the brunette grinned, gently lifting her cup off the tray and placing it in front of her. 

Erik nodded, his eyes never leaving her. He seemed a bit more on edge, especially having a stranger in his home. The place he felt the most safe. She was practically invading his space. He should have said no to tea. 

Helen sipped on her tea quietly, trying her best to ignore him staring at her. She went back to scanning the area, a small smile tugging at her lips. There was music sheets everywhere and several instruments hidden away in their cases. Helen grinned when her gaze caught sight of an organ. 

“Your home is beautiful Monsieur.” she told him as she turned her gaze back to him. 

Erik ran his hands down his thighs nervously. “Thank you,” he whispered, continuing to eye her. “What was it...you wanted to talk about?”

Helen looked back up at him, observing how nervous he was. He had hung up his cape and hat, leaving him in his normal attire. He probably felt bare. She looked down over her own attire and smirked lightly. He felt bare compared to her? 

“Well Monsieur,” Helen started, lifting her cup to her lips. “I didn’t really have a topic in mind. I just wanted to talk.”

Erik nodded, gulping as Helen took another sip of tea, leaving his own cup untouched. His breathing was quickening just slightly throughout the moment of silence, making Helen anxious. He probably wanted her to leave. This interaction was too much for him.

Helen bit her lip and thought of topics to talk about when her eyes flashed towards the music sheets. “Perhaps you’d give me the honor of knowing what you’ve been composing?” she suggested, smiling softly to him. 

Erik’s hands paused on his thighs as he examined her. Sitting up straighter, he finally composed himself and shook his head. “None of them are finished. They are for an opera.”

Helen nodded, gently putting her tea down. “I’m sure they’re lovely. You will finish them soon enough.”

The Phantom once again was uncomfortable with the silence, running his hands along his pant legs once more. The woman sighed to herself, playing with the ends of her hair as she thought of what to talk about. It should be something that would make him comfortable with the situation. Comfortable around her. 

“Mademoiselle Helen,” Erik said suddenly, his eyes flashing to her’s. “If you...don’t mind my asking...where are you from? You have an accent I have never heard before.”

Helen blushed, grinning at him. “I’m from the U.S. Monsieur. Born and raised in Boston, Massachusetts.” she told him. 

“What...brought you to France?” he asked, gulping a bit as he reached for his tea. 

Helen thought about how to answer that. “I suppose...my brother’s death did indirectly.” she answered, sipping on her tea as she thought about her elaboration. “My brother wanted to travel the world. And he promised to bring me. But he died before we could do it together, so I’m adventuring for him.”

Erik nodded understandingly, holding his tea cup with both hands. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Helen smiled, “Thank you,” she whispered before sipping on her tea again. They sat in silence once more before Helen briefly cleared her throat. “May I ask you something Monsieur?” she asked, running her fingers along her ring finger. 

The Phantom shifted in his seat before nodding. “You may,” he replied, watching her anxiously. 

Helen took in a deep breath before looking up at him. She licked at her lips nervously as she thought of how to go about her question. “You’re a man…” she started, tapping her fingers against her teacup. “Do...well, um...do all men want to marry at some point in their lives? And...let’s say if they are planning on proposing, do they...carry the ring with them?”

The man furrowed his eyebrows at the question. He definitely wasn’t expecting that as her question. He gulped as he thought over her questions. “Well,” he mumbled, thinking back to all of the men he’d met in his lifetime that fancied women and gotten married. “I suppose maybe not all but most men would want to settle down with the woman they love and marry. Start a family.”

Helen leaned forward, intently taking in his answers as she thought of Henry. Maybe he was one of the few who didn’t want to marry? But, if that was true, then why would they be courting. Courting usually led to marriage. “And...do they carry the ring with them? Everywhere?”

Erik slowly nodded, his own thoughts drifting to the ring secured in his pocket for Christine. “I believe so, yes.”

The brunette nodded, her smile faltering as she sat up straighter. “Thank you,” she mumbled, taking another sip of her tea. 

“May I ask why you would inquire about such a thing?” Erik decided to push, following her actions. 

Helen sighed, lowering her shoulders. “I have been courting a violinist here for about two years now. And he has yet to show any interest in proposing. Am I doing something wrong?”

Erik couldn’t help but smirk as he shook his head. “No child. It’s the boy.” he replied, sipping at his tea.

“What do you mean?” Helen asked, leaning forwards again.

Erik pursed his lips as he placed the tea cup down. “He is simply nervous. The man in question is Monsieur Henry is it not?” 

Helen nodded, placing her own teacup down. “How did you know?”

The Phantom smirked, motioning around his home. “The Phantom has eyes everywhere Mademoiselle.” he replied mysteriously before leaning forward like her and clasping his hands together, slowly becoming more comfortable around her. “I have seen the way he is around you. Have you noticed how his left hand is always in his pocket when near you?”

Helen shook her head, gnawing on her lip as she listened silently. 

“That is where he has been hiding the ring my dear. I have seen him in his room late at night writing for hours. Most likely his proposal speech or ideas. He does plan on marrying you someday, he is just scared to act upon it.”

Helen’s face lit up as she learned the news. One of her hands held her flustered cheeks as she thought of Henry nervously coming up with ideas on how to propose to her. And the ring that was tucked away in his pocket. She couldn’t help but giggle at the information. 

“Thank you,” she beamed at the man, her smile still ever present on her lips. 

Erik nodded, enjoying seeing the girl as happy as she was. He felt the corners of his lips turn upwards, a ghost of a smile rising on his face. “You are ever welcome Mademoiselle Helen.”

They both finished their tea and both decided it was time for Helen to return to her room to at least try and get some sleep. Erik led her back to her room, opening the wall for her to exit out of. Before she stepped out into the hall, she turned to face him. 

“Thank you for tonight,” grinned Helen. She chewed on the inside of her lip anxiously. “Can we do it again some other time?”

The masked man felt his lips twitch upwards and his head move up and down on it’s own. Helen, upon receiving the nod grinned even more and curtsied. “Until next time then Monsieur.” she said before turning and walking down the hall.

Erik closed the wall’s entrance before reaching into his pocket and pulled out the box. He opened it carefully examining the ring closely, trying to picture it on Christine. When would he propose?

                                                    ~-~-~

“Guess what, guess what, guess what?” grinned Helen as she spun Henry around to face her. 

Henry chuckled, swinging their arms back and forth. “What?” he smirked, looking down at her excited face. 

“I, good sir, have the rest of the day off.” she grinned, throwing her hands up in the air and spinning in place to show off how happy she was. 

The blonde boy chuckled as he watched her with adoration, crossing his arms. He took his hand in his own and began twirling her, dipping her backwards and placing a kiss of her lips. “That is wonderful news my love,” he grinned, lifting her back up. 

Helen sighed contentedly, resting her head on his shoulder. “And I...would like to spend it with you.”

Henry smiled and played with the ends of her hair, swaying them back and forth. “I like that idea...but…”

“No,” whined the brunette. “No buts. Buts are always bad.”

Henry smiled sadly, nodding. “But...I have to get back to rehearsal. The show is in two weeks, remember?”

Helen huffed, kissing his jawline. “Please? Not even for an hour?”

The boy smiled, gently peeling her lips away from him. “As much as I would love to say yes, I have to decline. But...the last night of our show, I’m all yours.”

Helen frowned and nodded, pulling back and kissing his cheek. “All mine?” she repeated, looking up at him. 

Henry nodded. “All yours.”

“I’m holding you to that promise.” she swore before walking away from him. She waved him goodbye before walking over to her red haired friend. 

Camille, the ever loyal friend to them both, had admitted to Henry about finding Helen’s bed empty recently in the middle of the night and sneaking back in a few hours before sunrise. Last night was around the fourth time Camille had noticed. Word flew around the stagehands of Helen’s disappearances late at night, some claiming they even had their way with her. This upset Henry in many ways. He was upset to know that Helen wasn’t getting enough sleep. Upset that the stagehands would say such horrible things about his innocent love. But a small part of him feared they were true. Why else would she stay up all night?

Helen linked arms with Camille, sighing sadly. “He says he has to get back to rehearsal,” she told her friend, leading her down the hall towards their room. “Maybe we could do something together?”

Camille blushed, biting her lip. “Actually Helen…” she started, smiling guiltily. “I have somewhere to be.”

“Oh?” Helen said, raising her eyebrow. “May I know some details?”

Camille blushed, and lowered her gaze to the ground. “Do you know Jean?” she started, twirling her hair around her finger. 

Helen thought for a moment, opening their bedroom door. “The one that tends to the horses?” she asked. 

Camille nodded, her cheeks darkening. “Yes, him. Well,” she gulped, tugging lightly on her hair as she walked towards her wardrobe to find a dress. “We are going on an outing.”

Helen gasped, holding her hand to her chest. “And you’re just telling me this now?” she asked in fake betrayal. 

The 17 year old laughed, pulling out a green dress and black shoes. “Je suis desole (I’m sorry),” she said, laying the dress down on her made bed. “We haven’t had the chance to work close together recently. And...well...you’re never in bed.”

Helen frowned lightly, nodding. “I understand Camille.” she replied, biting the inside of her cheek. “We’ve both been busy.”

Camille nodded, slowly undressing and pulling on the green dress. She slid on her nicer shoes and finished by releasing her hair from the messy bun she threw it in that morning. She added a touch of makeup before grabbing any of necessary accessories. When she was done she turned to Helen for approval. 

Helen gave her a nod and two thumbs up, ushering her off for her date. She waved to her friend from their doorway, holding onto her arms as she watched the girl disappear around a corner. 

She was now alone. 

Helen sighed, pushing off of the doorway and walking down at the halls, hoping to run into a familiar face. And that she did. 

She grinned when she caught sight of the Persian’s face, quickening her pace to walk beside him. She looked up at him, finally catching up. “Good evening Monsieur Khan.”

The man gave her a warm smile, nodding his head towards her. “Good evening to you as well Mademoiselle Draiz.”

Helen shook her head, a smile widening on her face. “You don’t have to use formalities around me Monsieur.”

Nadir nodded once more, rounding a corner with her. “Of course Helen. Tell me, what do I owe this pleasure?”

Helen shrugged, folding her hands over each other. “I just wanted to talk to you Monsieur.” she admitted before lowering her voice. “Thank you for what you did the other night. He would have killed me if you weren’t there.”

The man smirked, shaking his head. “He wouldn’t have.” he told her, sighing. “He took an oath to not kill any women since the incident a few years ago.”

Helen furrowed her eyebrows, intrigued. “Incident?” she repeated, lifting up her skirt as they began climbing stairs, most likely leading to the boxes. 

Nadir nodded, looking around him anxiously for anyone watching them. “Yes Mad--Helen. He swore he would never kill any women after that. His bark is bigger than his bite.”

Helen smiled, nodding. He was a kind man once they both got over their stubborn shell. “I know,” she grinned, quietly counting the boxes as they passed. She followed Nadir into box five and looked around at the beautiful interior. She never came inside the box during the day

“Are you joining me Helen?” asked the man as he stood at a wall. “He may enjoy more company.”

Helen bit her lip as she thought it over. Henry would be rehearsing for a few more hours and Camille wouldn’t be returning any time soon. She hesitantly nodded and walked over to him. “I would love to join you Monsieur.”

Helen Draiz

I do not own The Phantom of the Opera. The book/musical/movies belong to their rightful owners. I only own my characters. 

CHAPTER 8

Helen had slipped away with Nadir, hastily following him to box five and disappearing into the passageway. “He’s been wasting away!” Nadir exclaimed, running his hands through his hair as he rounded a corner. “He’s refused to eat, or drink or sleep Helen! I tried everything I could.”

Helen followed him quickly, her heels slapping against the cement. Her wild brown locks came undone from her updo as she caught up with Nadir. “Why? Why has he been doing this?” she asked, gasping for air as they came to the staircase, quickly descending them. 

Nadir sighed heavily, turning to face her. “He’s in love with Christine, Helen. News about her engagement traveled fast throughout the building. His heart broke when he heard the news. And then you left.” he told her, crossing to the shore to Erik’s home. 

Nadir gazed across the water to his friend, pounding away mercilessly at the keys of his organ. “Believe it or not Miss Helen, he considers you a friend. He would have seeked out some comfort in your tea sessions but you were gone.” 

Helen felt her heart tear in two as she gazed at the masked man who suddenly stopped playing and turned in his seat. His eyes widened slightly as he caught sight of his two friends. He stumbled towards the lever to open the gate, walking out onto his shore to look at them from across the lake. 

Helen quickly glanced at Nadir before taking a hesitant step into the water. The man beside her widened his eyes as she sank further into the water. “What are you doing?” he exclaimed, looking up to Erik who was climbing into his boat. “Just wait Helen!”

The brunette girl shook her head as her shoulders sank below the water. “I can’t. A friend needs me.” she said, swimming towards the masked man. 

Erik looked up from settling into the boat to find Helen swimming his way. His eyes grew to the size of saucers, rowing towards her quickly. 

“Helen! Are you daft?” he exclaimed, coming up beside her and holding out a hand for her to grab. 

Helen laughed and took his hand, holding out her other hand and making a pinching hand motion. “A little,” she replied, gasping as he lifted her out of the lake and into the boat. 

“You mustn't swim in the lake. The catfish are very dangerous,” he chided her, digging out a blanket to wrap her in. He found one in a storage section of the boat and wrapped it around her shoulders before she sat down. 

“I guess I’m lucky I have a friend that will always be there to save me,” she smirked, looking up at him. “Now. I’m here to return the favor.”

Erik froze, looking down at her in shock. He opened his mouth to say something before Helen interrupted him, pointing to Nadir. 

“I believe your other friend is waiting patiently across the lake.” she told him, waving to the persian. “Let’s get him and then I’ll make some tea. Then we can talk, okay?”

Erik smiled lightly, slowly nodding as he prepared to row off. “Okay.” he said, pushing off and rowing to his other friend. 

                                                    ~-~-~

Helen laughed gently as Nadir finished the story, lifting his teacup back up to his lips. He had a small glimmer in his eyes that screamed ‘thank you’ to Helen when Erik took another sip from his cup. 

The girl nodded, placing her own tea cup down, smoothing out the skirts of the new dress she was wearing. Her dress that she went swimming in was drying slowly in the corner of the room, draped against a chair. The smooth peach colored fabric was tight against her waist and bosom, and the length was about an inch or two too long but other than that it fit her well. 

“Tell us about your trip Helen,” encouraged Nadir, returning his cup back to the saucer, leaning forward in his seat. 

Helen grinned, looking up at the two men. “Henry and I went to Germany. It was such a beautiful country. We mostly just enjoyed each other's company or the sights.”

“Still no proposal I take it?” Erik said gently, motioning to her bare hand. 

The girl shook her head. “Not yet. I have been catching his hand more in his pocket though. So that’s a good sign, is it not?”

Erik smiled gently and nodded. “It is. He’s planning on doing it soon. It’s only a matter of time.”

Helen’s cheeks turned a deep red as she thought about Henry proposing, her hand slowly cupping her cheek in embarrassment. She would be a wife soon. 

A soft sound of instruments rang from above the lair, catching all of their attention. Nadir smiled and stood up, bowing to Helen. “Would you do me the honor to dance with you Miss Helen?”

The brunette grinned as she placed her hand in his and bowed her head. “I would love to,” she replied, standing and following him to an open space in Erik’s home. His right hand gently rested on her hip while his other hand took her own. He grinned to her and slowly led her into a dance with the soft music playing above. 

Erik turned in his seat to gaze upon his friends dancing slowly. A sad smile spread across his features as he saw the happiness behind their eyes. Everyone in his life has had a taste of happiness with lovers, while he had none. The closest he had ever come to tasting it was with Christine. But she was in love with another. 

While they danced, both of the dancers thought about their lovers. Nadir thought of his late wife as he spun Helen into a twirl. They both shared the same hair color. He closed his eyes briefly as she came back to him, gulping when her face appeared in his mind. 

Her bright vibrant green eyes. A small gap between her front teeth. Dark full eyelashes. Soft pink lips. Her brown hair that she always wore in braids. 

He opened his eyes to find Helen gazing up at him sadly. “You miss her...don’t you?” she whispered, barely acknowledging Erik crossing the room and opening his violin case. 

Nadir nodded. “Every day,” he gasped, Helen’s hand coming behind his head and bringing his head to rest on her shoulder. 

“I’m sure she’s proud of you for continuing on without her,” she told him softly. 

The Persian nodded, slowly pulling his head from her shoulder, gazing at his friend who was tuning his violin. “My friend,” he called out to the masked man. “It is your turn to dance with Miss Helen.”

Erik looked up from the instrument, his eyes locking on both figures. “No, please continue,” he said, flicking the strings to test if they were tuned. 

His eyes shot up as two heels found their way in front of him, a hand blocking his view of the instrument. Helen gave him a gentle smile, wiggling her fingers. 

“Come. Dance with me.” she grinned, raising a brow. “Would you deny a woman a dance?”

Erik felt his lips twitch upwards as he sighed. He put his violin to the side and hesitantly nodded. “Never,” he replied, taking her hand in his own and walking to where Helen and Nadir were dancing before. 

Helen grinned as she got into position and began dancing with him. Her gaze locked with his eyes. At first glance they appeared yellow, but the harder she looked, she found brown and green flecks. She tore her gaze from his eyes, looking to their friend who sat at the organ, looking back at them. They shared a smile to each other before Helen returned her attention to Erik. The music above them was slowly dying down and just before the last note played, Nadir pressed down on the keys, playing a soft tune. Erik tensed as he looked back to his friend playing his treasured instrument but his attention fell back to the girl in front of him as she began humming quietly. 

The youngest of the three looked up at Erik with a small smile as she lifted their arms and spun herself. She made it back to the masked man and began swaying slowly. “Let him play Erik,” she told him quietly, resting her head on his shoulder. 

The man felt his breathing stop momentarily as he gazed down at the girl in front of him. They had become friends in the span of a few months. He couldn’t imagine what would have happened had he actually killed her on the night they met. Seeing the bruises on her neck the next day had made him feel proud that he had scared another member of the cast. But when the bruises didn’t disappear within a few weeks he started to feel guilt and worry for what he caused. 

Now, she clung to him as they danced, resting her head on his shoulder. Nadir’s playing grew distant to Erik as he took advantage of dancing with the woman, in fear he may never dance again. His hands slowly pulled her off of him and he spun her around so her back was on his chest. 

Helen laughed lightly, shaking her head. “This is not how I am accustomed to dancing,” she told him, a smirk on her lips. 

Erik let out a low grumble of a laugh, a carefree smile spread across his face. “No? It is a famous dance here in France.”

Helen allowed his hands to take hers and rest at her hips. After a moment of swaying back and forth in their position, he took one of her hands in his own and spun her back around to face him. “Are there any famous dances where you are from Mademoiselle?”

Helen smirked and rose a brow. “None that my mother approves of.”

Erik in turn smiled and motioned around the room with his free hand. “I do not see her,” he said. 

Helen’s smirk turned into a wide grin as she crouched down to the heels on her feet and peeled them off. She wiggled her toes from beneath her white stockings. She then lifted her skirts as she danced around Erik, linking arms with him. She laughed carefreely up at him and spun him in a few circles before stopping her dance in front of him. Her hands clung to his forearms as she caught her breath and steadied her dizziness. 

Erik was laughing along with her, his own head spinning from how many times they spun. Unbeknownst to them, their friend had stopped the music to watch the two. Nadir hadn’t seen Erik smile in years. The last time was when he met his son, at the time he was the age of 8. A whole decade had passed and Erik hadn’t smiled since. 

The Persian man gazed at the two with a certain twinkle in his eye. He could tell they were falling for each other, whether they realized it or not. Their friendship may have started out shaky with Erik nearly killing her twice but he had kept his distance from the girl when they learned of her tragic past. 

Helen sighed heavily as she peeled herself away from Erik, clinging onto her head. “I always hated dancing certain steps. Dancing...should be carefree. No rules.” she said, looking up at him before stumbling over to the loveseat and dragging her shoes over to her. “My mother always hated that I made my own steps. She especially despised how I danced barefoot in the grass.”

The two men slowly returned to their seats, watching as she put her shoes back on. Helen brushed her loose brown strands away from her face once she finished with her shoes. She looked up at the two men and smiled softly at them, about to say something when the chime of a clock went off. She turned her attention to the grandfather clock Erik had in his home and her eyes widened. She had been gone for nearly four hours. How had she lost track of time?

She abruptly stood up and ran a hand through her hair. “Oh dear, I must go,” she told them. “Henry and the others must be worrying about where I am.”

Nadir nodded and stood up with Erik. “Of course. I completely lost track of time.” Nadir said, offering her an arm. “We must return you.”

Erik looked at the two, a question gnawing at him. He gazed at Helen longingly as she checked to see if her dress was dry. It wasn’t because she turned to him with a sheepish smile. 

“Would you mind if my dress stays down here until it’s dry? I’ll come and get it once it is.”

Erik felt himself nod as he felt relieved. She would be back. “Of course, I’ll let you know once it is dry,” he told her. 

Helen grinned and nodded. “And you will be eating when I return. Even if I have to force it down your throat. Understand?” she smirked. 

Erik felt himself smile as he nodded once more. “Understood.”

                                                   ~-~-~

Just as Camille had written in her letters, Helen’s vanity was covered with roses. Some new while others were dying. She stared at the flowers, unaware that her red haired friend entered the room. 

“Who do you think they’re from?” asked the 17 year old as she came up to stand beside Helen. 

The brunette jumped lightly, turning her attention to her friend. “I...have no idea,” she mumbled, looking back at them. 

The truth was, she had a feeling that it was Erik who had left the flowers. She walked over to them and gathered them all up into a large bouquet. Should she keep them? 

She looked around her room for a place to put them and found an empty water glass on her nightstand. She quickly walked to the glass and put the flowers in it. 

Camille had taken a seat on her bed, watching Helen with a small smile. “What did the policier (policeman) talk to you about? It must have been serious, you were gone for hours.”

Helen tucked her loose strands of hair behind her ear as she turned to answer her before the girl gasped and pointed at the dress.

“And where did you get that? I’ve never seen you wear that before,” she exclaimed, looking up at her quizzly. 

Helen blushed, her hands twisting the skirts fabric into a ball as she thought over her words. “Um, well,” she laughed lightly, her mind racing. What could she say? “He, um...just wanted to...er...make sure I was alright…” she said. 

Camille rose a brow, crossing her arms. “You’re lying to me Helen. You only ever stutter when you’re lying.”

Helen glanced at their door, biting her lip. She gulped and hesitantly took a step closer to Camille, dropping to her knees. “Monsieur Khan and I are friends.” she said, taking her hands in her own. She gulped as she thought of what she should tell her. “His...son...is very ill. I went and...visited him…” she lied, hoping Camille would believe her. 

The redhead kept her brow raised as she pointed to the dress. “And this? Where did this come from?”

“...Germany…” she said slowly, wincing internally at the lie. 

Camille’s expression said she didn’t believe her stories one bit but she let it go and shrugged it off. “Alright,” she said, narrowing her eyes lightly at her. 

Helen nodded and gave her a weak smile. “I’m excited to get started on our dresses,” she said excitedly, squeezing her hands. 

“Get started?” Camille frowned, tilting her head to the side. 

Helen nodded. “Yes! Imagine us walking in at the masquerade ball in dresses of our own designs. With the fabric we chose out. Embellishments that we love. I have more than enough time to sew us our dresses.”

Camille’s judgemental face fell as a bright smile spread across her cheeks. She threw her arms around Helen’s neck, hugging her tightly. “Oh, you promise?”

Helen laughed, hugging her back. “I swear it.”

Camille grinned, pulling back, resting her hands on her friend’s shoulders. “I will help you of course! Anything you need I shall be at your beck and call. Whether it be shopping to sewing to--”

“You? Sew?” Helen smirked, raising a brow. Her friend scoffed, a playful smile on her face as she lightly swatted her, both girls joining together in a laughter fit.

Helen Draiz

I do not own The Phantom of the Opera. The book/musical/movies belong to their rightful owners. I only own my characters.

CHAPTER 7

That Thursday, Helen did as was asked of her. After spending the evening with Christine she retreated to box five and told Erik all she had gathered. The man had almost lost his temper at a few things she had told him but kept his cool until she left. 

Now, it was the opening night of II Muto. There were finishing touches being put on the actors, the sets and the costumes. Helen was one of the lucky ones to be finishing up a costume already on Med Giry. The girls button had popped off from the corset. She had been so embarrassed when it happened, she immediately ran from the scene. Helen had raced after her, needle in hand and button in the other. It was nearly five minutes before the show started when Helen finished making sure everything else was secure. The raven haired girl hugged her tightly before rushing back to the stage. 

Helen returned to her post on the east wing of the stage, beside her red haired friend. Camille smiled at her before returning her gaze to the actors on stage. 

Helen stood beside her, watching the curtains open, an applause filling the auditorium. The music began playing and the actors rushed to the front of the stage, beginning to sing. 

Just as Helen was getting used to the sound of Carlotta’s voice bouncing off the walls, a new voice cut her off. “Did I not instruct that box five was to be kept empty?” growled Erik’s voice throughout the auditorium. 

The actors froze on the stage, some clinging to others as a form of comfort. Helen herself felt Camille grip her hand tightly, looking around the room in paranoia. “It’s the Phantom.” she mumbled. 

Helen made brief eye contact with Christine who was practically shaking her spot. “It’s him,” she barely whispered, eyes wide in fear. 

“You’re part,” Carlotta snapped, pointing her fan at the blonde, “is silent little toad!” She laughed towards the audience before going to her own maids, opening her mouth for some water to be sprayed in her mouth. 

When she was finished with that, she returned back to the stage, motioning for Monsieur Reyer to continue conducting. The actors hesitantly got back into character as the scene began again. 

“Serafimo, away with this pretence!” Carlotta began, projecting her voice throughout the room. “You cannot speak, but kiss me in my husband’s a--” 

A loud croak echoed throughout the room. It was silent for a minute before the audience and even a few cast members began laughing at the poor Spanish woman. The woman in turn stood frozen, her mouth agape in horror at the sound that just escaped from her throat. She stared at Monsieur Reyer in fear as he continued to conduct the band. 

“Poor fool he makes me laugh,” her voice trembled, preparing for the laughter when her voice croaked once more. She covered her mouth in horror as more and more croaks slipped out of her throat. 

Tears were brimming in her eyes right as the curtains closed, hiding everyone from the audience's line of view. The managers stumbled onto the stage in a rush, trying to calm down the chortling audience. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we apologize,” started Monsieur Firmin, “the performance will continue in 10 minutes’ time…”

He put his hand behind the curtain and grabbed a hold of Christine, pulling her out onto the stage. “When the role of the countess will be played by Miss Daae!” he exclaimed, motioning to the soprano. 

The audience cheered for Christine before the blonde ducked back behind the curtains to get changed into a new costume. The blonde took a hold of Helen’s hands as she ran into her dressing room. 

Helen and Christine quickly undid the clasps and buttons on Christine’s page boy costume before lacing her up in a spare countess dress. “He’s bound to do something wicked Helen,” Christine said, her blue eyes wide as she stared around the room in fear. “I can’t go up there.”

“You must,” Helen insisted, tying the corset off. “Otherwise my hard work will all be for naught.” she joked lightly. 

Christine gave her a small smile, until her eyes fell on a rose on her vanity. She gulped, walking towards it and picking it up slowly. 

Suddenly screams filled the entire opera house. Helen rushed outside of the room and to the stage to see what had caused such a commotion. She took several steps back in shock, tears welling up in her eyes at the sight of Joseph Bouquet hanging from the walkways above the stage. She made eye contact with Erik, shaking her head slowly. He crouched down and cut the rope with one swift motion, watching the stage hand drop to the stage with a thud. 

He spun on his heels and strutted towards the roof. Helen pushed past the screaming and panicking people, racing after The Phantom. Just as she was about to climb the stairs a hand caught her wrist. “Helen!” exclaimed Henry, his eyes wide with worry. “Where have you been?”

The brunette cradled his face in her hands, guilt washing over her. She hadn’t even thought about Henry during this whole ordeal. Whether or not he was okay or safe. 

“I was helping Christine. Are you alright?” she asked, clinging onto his vest in concern. “Is anybody else hurt?”

Henry shook his head, pulling her close to his chest. “I’m fine. I don’t believe anyone else is hurt, but come. We must get out of here.” he insisted, holding her head to his chest. The male then took her hand in his own and dragged her away from the staircase and towards the back entrance of the Opera Populaire. “We’ll sleep somewhere else tonight.”

Helen nodded numbly to him, watching as he grabbed one of her cloaks from the rack and throwing it on her before pulling on his own jacket. “Do you have anything you need to take with you?”

Helen slowly shook her head, looking around at all the mayhem Erik had caused. Her eyes caught the sight of a familiar Persian, leading people safely to the exit, his eyes wide with worry. “Actually, yes. I do.” she said, kissing his hand gently. “You get the carriage and I’ll grab what I need.”

“Be quick,” Henry said before going outside and doing what she told him to do. 

Helen pushed her way to Nadir, stopping in front of him. “Why the hell would he do that?” she hissed, trying her best to ignore the panic screeches from the people. 

Nadir glanced at her, motioning for people to follow the crowd. “There could be many reasons, Mademoiselle Helen. He could have gotten caught. That poor man may have gotten on his bad side. Maybe he was craving a fresh kill. I do not have any slightest of an idea.”

Helen clenched her jaw, catching sight of a bubbly blonde and her lover climbing down the stairs. “I intend to find out.” she said, cutting through the crowd, ignoring Nadir’s warnings. She climbed the stairs and burst through the doors, searching the white powdered roof for any sign of The Phantom. 

“Erik!” she called. “Where are you?”

Her head turned towards her right at the sound of snow crunching beneath a pair of feet. From around a statue came the masked man she was looking for. His shoulders were shaking terribly, from the cold or his emotions, Helen couldn’t tell. 

Hers, however, she knew. She was pissed. “Why?” she hissed, crossing her arms as she stared up at him. 

The man with golden eyes stared blankly at her before a sinister smirk came across his face. “Why not?” he hissed back, staring her up and down. 

Helen shook her head, her face flushing from the cold and anger. “Erik! Stop this. I want an actual answer. Why did you kill him?”

Erik walked around her in circles. He was eying her like candy, his hands clenched by his sides. “He deserved it. Don’t even try to deny it.”

Helen could admit Joseph was an absolute ass. She could admit he was a disgusting pig that flirted with every other girl in the building. She could admit she had wanted to slap him every time she saw him flirting with someone. But she would never wish death on anyone. “He didn’t deserve to die.”

The masked man arched a brow, stopping in front of her. He stood tall compared to her, glowering down at her. “You didn’t care about him. No one did.”

Helen hesitantly reached out for him. She ignored his comment, pulling back her hand when he took a step back.  “Erik. You need to keep a low profile now. The police will be after you. I am leaving. Please be safe. Goodbye.”

“Leaving? Where?” he asked, his gaze now locked on her. Helen shrugged lightly, tugging her cloak tighter around her body. 

“Maybe back to America for a month or two? Out of town? I couldn’t tell you Monsieur.” she replied, turning and walking to the door. “Farewell.”

She opened the door and slinked down the stairs, a frown painting on her lips. Her steps down the stairs were slow, her mind racing with questions on where she was going and how she got tangled up in this mess. 

She paused for a brief moment on the stairs, glancing over her shoulder at the door to the roof. She was friends with a murderer. With a traumatized man. A man desperate for love.

She gulped as she continued down the stairs, her eyes falling on her worried lover looking for her over the crowd. 

Helen zigzagged through the remains of the crowd, grasping tightly onto Henry's arm when she made it to him. “Let’s go,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder. 

The blonde man nodded and kissed her forehead before leading her out of the door to the carriage he had flagged down. 

                                                    ~-~-~

The young couple had decided to take a trip to Germany. They stayed there for a couple of months before Helen had insisted they return back to the Opera House. Henry reluctantly agreed, arranging a carriage for their trip back. 

Helen watched his body language carefully, taking note on his left hand tucked away in his pocket as they waited for the carriage to arrive at the Opera Populaire. The brunette woman shifted in her seat, tucking her ankle behind her opposite foot. She plucked at her gloves, anxiously watching the scenery change outside of the window. “Camille mentioned that the managers are hosting a masquerade ball on New Years,” mentioned Helen. 

While on their trip, Camille chose to stay behind, working tirelessly day and night. They wrote to each other nearly every week and in the red head’s letters, she mentioned three things. 1: The managers were hosting a masquerade ball on New Years to celebrate the Phantom disappearing for the last few months. 2: Christine Daae and the Vicomte De Changey were officially engaged and happily told the cast and anyone who would listen. And finally, 3: That every night she would find a new rose on top of Helen’s vanity. 

Both girls thought that odd, as the only person to ever give her flowers was Henry. And Henry was in Germany with her. So who could the roses be from?

Henry perked up in his seat, a gentle grin spreading across his features. “That’s exciting. We should go,” he said, reaching across to grab her hand. “What do you think?”

Helen looked over at the blonde man and nodded, smiling softly. “I would love to go,” she admitted. Henry grinned and brought her hand to his lips. 

“Wonderful.” he said, rubbing his thumb on the back of her hand. “When will you go shopping?”

Helen shrugged. “Honestly...I was thinking of just borrowing one of the costumes I’ve made.” she replied. “Though I suppose shopping with Camille would be fun.”

Henry smiled and nodded. “Just let me know and I will give you some money.”

Helen shook her head. “Henry, no. That’s your money. You keep it. We both get paid.” she insisted. Henry shook his head, laughing quietly. 

“My love, I am a musician. You are a maid. I have money to spare. Let me spoil you,” he begged, kissing her palm. “Please my love.”

Helen gently rubbed his cheek, reluctantly agreeing. “Alright,” she whispered. 

They soon arrived at the Opera House, both feeling a sort of weight on their shoulders. They were back to the location of a horrible tragedy. Camille had mentioned Joseph Bouquet’s funeral in her letter but supposedly not a lot of people went. Only his closest friends went. Not even his remaining family arrived for his funeral. Within a month, everyone forgot about him. They moved on with their lives as if nothing happened. 

Henry hopped out of the carriage, offering her a hand out. Helen gratefully took it, stepping out onto the pavement in front of their home. She grinned and kissed his cheek before she let go of his hand. “It feels good to be back,” she said quietly. 

Henry hummed, looking up at the building. “To an extent.” he replied, moving to grab their bags. 

Helen smirked at his comment, taking her bag from his hands, walking up the steps slowly with him trailing behind. The brunette girl opened the door for Henry, letting him go in first before following. She nearly jumped in surprise when a bunch of female voices cried out her name. Two stood out more than the others. She looked up the stairs to find Camille, Christine and a few other ballet girls. 

The two main girls were grinning and excitedly waiting for her to reach them. Helen laughed, shaking her head in amusement. When she and Henry finally reached them, she was embraced by the two girls. 

“How was the trip?” Christine asked, both girls pulling away.

Helen and Henry shared a look, smiling softly to each other. “Exactly what we needed.” she replied, turning back to her friends. “What about you two? Anything exciting happen while we were gone?”

Christine blushed, sharing a look with Camille before showing them both the engagement ring on her finger. “Raoul proposed,” she told Henry and Helen, a grin plastered on her face. 

Helen smiled and gently took a hold of Christine’s hand, admiring the ring, trying her best to ignore Henry’s stare going between her and the ring. 

“Congratulations!” Helen exclaimed, holding her hand tightly. “We must celebrate!”

Christine laughed quietly, squeezing her hand back just as tightly. “No celebrations are necessary. Raoul and I are just happy to share the news with our friends and his family.” 

Helen grinned and released her hand, looking to Henry to find his hand in his left pocket. Again. 

She gave him a small smile and looped her arm with his. “Ready to face the managers?”

Henry laughed, taking his hand out of his pocket as he turned to her. “I am more ready to face them than I am of Monsieur Reyer.” he joked. 

All three girls laughed, turning to walk further into the Opera House, only to freeze at the sight of a familiar policeman. 

Nadir stood a bit uncomfortably, staring straight at Helen. “May I speak to you Mademoiselle Helen?” he asked, his hands shaking gently. “It’s urgent.”

Helen Draiz

I do not own The Phantom of the Opera. The book/musical/movies belong to their rightful owners. I only own my characters.

CHAPTER 1

“Where on Earth are your shoes?” laughed the red haired maid who was hanging up the laundry to dry. “You know Madame Bisset will have a fit once she sees your feet!”

The woman with no shoes was none other than Helen Driaz. A fellow maid at the Opera Populaire who was too free spirited for her own good. She wiggled her toes in the wet grass, smiling. “Then let her have a fit Camille! Feeling the grass against my skin reminds me of home.”

Home.

Helen hadn’t been there in years since her brother died. They had always wanted to travel the world together and just a few months before they would be, he died. Most say it was an accident, while other’s thought it was a murder attempt. 

Home was in the grassy meadows of the United States of America. Home was in a secluded area that not many people knew about, and that’s what she loved most about it. 

Camille shook her head, wringing out another dress from the ballerinas before hanging it up to dry. “You should go back then if you miss it so much Helen,” she chuckled. 

Helen hummed in response, helping Camille lift the dress over the string, clipping it in place. “If I return home then I’m afraid I might never travel again. And we can’t have that, now can we?” she replied, bumping hips with the younger girl. 

The red curls framing Camille’s face bounced as she tried to regain her balance, softly laughing. “Then you should at least write more to your family. I’m sure they’re worried sick.”

Helen smiled, shaking her head. “No they’re not. They know Henry is looking after me.” she replied, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

Camille sighed dreamily, leaning backwards into the brunette. “Henry,” she smirked, fanning herself. 

Helen shook her head, chuckling. “Careful now, he is courting me.” she said, fanning the girl too. 

Camille smiled, shaking her head as she stood straight up. “Surely he must mean to propose soon! You have been courting since you left America which was...how long ago?”

Helen smiled. “Nearing two years ago.”

“Two years!” gasped the girl, covering her mouth. “And he hasn’t even suggested it?”

The brunette rolled her eyes at the 18 year old. “Of course he has. He has suggested it a few times but it always becomes quiet afterwards.”

“He’s probably nervous Helen. All men get nervous before popping the question.”

Helen nodded. He often was nervous when he brought up the subject of marriage. The sweat that formed on his brow always proved the idea. But why would he be so nervous? They had been courting for nearly two years now and he already had her family’s blessing. So what was he waiting for?

“Mademoiselle Helen!” screeched an older woman in horror. “Where are your shoes?!”

Helen blushed, chuckling to herself. “They must have walked off Madame.”

Madame Bisset crossed her arms. “Walked off have they?” she retorted, looking around the yard. “You best find them young lady. Señora Carlotta has a tear in her dress, she would like you to fix it immediately.” 

Camille hid her laughter behind her hand, shaking her head as Madame Bisset walked off cursing the brunette. 

Helen curtseyed mockeringly, stifling her laughter behind her tightly closed lips. “I honestly haven’t the faintest clue on how I still work here.” she said before walking towards where she hid her shoes. 

Camille chuckled, crouching down to lift the basket up. “Neither do I,” she replied, hoisting the basket up and balancing it on her hip as she walked over to Helen. 

The brunette had just finished slipping on her black flats when Camille made it over to her, offering her an arm. 

Helen gladly accepted the arm, walking up the stone steps to enter the Opera Populaire. 

                                                    ~-~-~

The needle pierced through the fabric as Carlotta yelled at the new managers. Turns out, she hadn’t just ripped her dress but her head piece as well. Helen sat on the sidelines, listening with a smirk as the managers began to grovel to the fierce redhead. 

She stopped her foot in annoyance, spinning towards where Helen was situated, pouring herself a glass of water as the managers tripped over their own feet to try and keep up with her. 

“Mr. Reyer!” called the shorter of the two managers. “Isn’t there a rather marvelous aria for Elisa in act three of Hannibal?” 

Carlotta hummed, shaking her head no. “Yes, yes, but no! Because I have not my costume for act three because,” she turned around to face the seamstress in charge of her dress. “somebody not finish it!”

She then spun back to Helen, pointing to the headpiece. “And, I hate my hat!”

Helen chuckled, tying off the thread and finishing the sewing. She held it up in her hands, examining it. “I’ll see what I can do to fix it, sí?” Helen said, standing up and gently placing the headpiece back on her head. 

Carlotta huffed, crossing her arms as she turned her attention back to the managers just in time for them to suggest she sing from the act. 

Monsieur Reyer stood tall, a frown on his lips. “If my diva commands,” he said with annoyance. 

Carlotta, with just as much annoyance, glared at him while she replied, “Yes! I do!”

Camille walked over to Helen and nudged her shoulder, pointing to Henry and waving to him as he set up his violin. He gave the two girls a grin, acknowledging them before Mr. Reyer began directing them. 

Camille’s arms fell around Helen’s neck as she swayed with the music, Helen wrapping her hands around her friend’s arms as she watched Henry play with as much passion as the day they met. 

Helen smiled, closing her eyes as she listened to the soft music and Carlotta’s, somewhat, decent voice. 

She was at peace here. She never wanted to leave the opera house. This was her new home. 

Screams filled the stage as a loud thud sounded throughout the auditorium. When Helen opened her eyes, she gasped, covering her mouth. The backdrop had fallen on top of Carlotta, pinning her to the ground.

She immediately stood up to help the distressed woman up from the ground. Once the backdrop was off her, Helen took a hold of her hands and helped her to her feet as the former manager yelled up to Joseph Buquet on what had happened. 

“Are you alright?” she asked, flinching away when the soprano ripped her hands out of Helen’s. 

“Senora, these things do happen,” a voice said, trying to soothe the diva from breaking down. 

“For the past years, these things do happen! And did you stop them from happening? No!” she fumed, pointing to the former manager before spinning towards the new ones. “And you two! You are as bad as him! These things happen! Well until you stop these things from happening, this thing. Does not happen!” 

She pushed past Helen and towards her own maid, storming off the stage, her husband, Piangi, following behind her. 

Henry climbed onto the stage, leaving his violin behind to check on Helen. When he reached her, his hands rested on her shoulders. “Are you okay?”

Helen nodded, smiling softly at him. “Yes, I am fine. Are you okay?”

Henry nodded, a twinkle in his eyes as he hugged her. “Yes, I am fine.” he whispered, running his hands through her hair. 

Helen smiled and hugged him back. He has always been so protective of her, claiming it was to keep her family sane. He hated to see even the faintest of a frown on her face, always ensuring that she was kept happy. 

“-so Monsieur?” a gentle voice cut in through the argument. Madame Giry. “I have a message, sir, from the Opera Ghost.”

Henry pulled back, scoffing lightly. “This Opera Ghost is on the last of my nerves…” he grumbled to Helen, taking her hand in his and squeezing it. 

Helen chuckled. “I think it’s entertaining.” she admitted, rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand. 

“Christine Daae could sing it sir,” Madame Giry called to the bickering managers. 

“A chorus girl?” questioned Monsieur Andre. “Don’t be silly.”

“She’s been taking lessons from a great teacher, Monsieur.” 

The manager became intrigued, turning to face the chorus girl fully. “Who?”

The blonde girl lowered her blue eyes before answering. “I do not know his name, Monsieur.” 

Madame Giry rested a hand on Christine’s shoulder, brushing her blonde curls back. “Let her sing for you Monsieur. She has been taught well.”

Helen led Henry away from the center of the stage as Christine walked forward, her hands shaking from nerves. 

“Get back to playing,” she whispered to him, kissing his cheek and helping him lower himself back into his seat.  

Henry grinned and squeezed her hand once more before returning to his instrument to begin playing. 

Helen watched the blonde woman shaking her nerves out before singing. It started off very soft, almost like she was singing under her breath but as she looked around to see the comforting smiles, her confidence grew. Along with her confidence, her voice grew louder, echoing throughout the auditorium. 

By the looks the managers shared with one another, everyone knew who would be taking Carlotta’s place. 

Christine Daae would be the leading soprano until Carlotta decided to return. 

                                                    ~-~-~

The opera was filled with a standing ovation as the blonde from earlier softened her voice, distinguishing the end of the song. The curtains closed as she bowed, resting her hand gently on her bosom. The cast and some other stage hands around cheered for her as she made her way off the stage. 

Helen, however, was not so lucky to give the talented girl a standing ovation. She, instead, had been fixing another one of Carlotta’s dresses, muttering to herself, wishing she could be there to congratulate the 19 year old. 

A knock sounded on the doorway and a familiar redhead peeked inside the crowded room. “You’re muttering again,” she pointed out, entering the room and lifting a hat to her head. 

“I don’t mutter,” replied the brunette as she gently took the hat from Camille’s head. 

Camille laughed, leaning back against the table. “Yes you do,” she replied, watching Helen work. “Henry wants to take you to supper.”

Helen looked up at the mention of Henry, a small smile tugging her lips. But that smile soon vanished when she looked down at the rip in the dress. It was nowhere near finished. 

“Could you tell him perhaps another time?” she asked, looking up at her best friend. “Please?”

Camille shook her head. “Helen. Tonight could be the night.” she tutted, standing upright and taking the dress from her hands. “Go have dinner. Show me that diamond when you get back.”

Helen reached for the dress, shaking her head. “Camille. Please. I have to finish that before morning.”

Camille held the dress behind her back just as Helen stood from her seat. “I’ll finish it. You go have dinner.”

Helen raised her eyebrow, frowning at the 17 year old. “You? Sew?”

Camille faked a gasp of pain. “How dare you. I can sew.” she said, fighting back Helen’s reaching hands. 

Helen laughed, shaking her head as she gave up, throwing her hands into the air. “Fine! You win!” she chuckled. “I’ll have dinner.”

Camille grinned, dropping the dress on the table behind her as she hugged Helen. “Bien (Good)!” 

The red haired girl then took Helen’s hand and dragged her out of the sewing room towards their shared room. “We must find you a dress! He’s proposing!” Camille laughed. 

Helen shook her head, following the eccentric girl. “How can you be so sure?” she asked, lifting her skirts up so she wouldn’t trip over them. 

“I just have a feeling Helen!” she laughed, tossing the girl onto her bed before flinging open their closets, looking for the perfect dress. 

Masterlist

Stories:

Helen Draiz Chapter 1

Helen Draiz Chapter 2

Helen Draiz Chapter 3

Helen Draiz Chapter 4

Helen Draiz Chapter 5

Helen Draiz Chapter 6

Helen Draiz Chapter 7

Helen Draiz Chapter 8

Helen Draiz Chapter 9

Helen Draiz Chapter 10

Helen Draiz Chapter 11

Helen Draiz Chapter 12

Helen Draiz Chapter 13

Helen Draiz Chapter 14

Helen Draiz Chapter 15