Prologue

The fire burned violently and horrified onlookers watched as debris fell from the roof and narrowly missed the firefighters, desperately trying to quell the blaze.

The screams of those still trapped behind the wall of the inferno would be etched into their minds forever. 

Hidden in the shadows of the alley a pair of violet eyes watched the scene with indifference. To him, it was almost poetic justice when he thought over his time there.

He recalled it with bitterness.

Despite the solace he found in the music that surrounded his mother's career and the enchantment of watching the stories unfold without words, the lack of magic in his real world still stung. 

He'd never called his mother 'mother.' She was always Aunt or Carlotta. He was supposed to be her ward after all. Disguising her indiscretion of spreading her legs before marriage.

She still hadn't learned. Flirting and trying to seduce the ballet master who was twice her age, to push for bigger and better roles.

She was a beautiful woman. Buxom and cheerful in public, and had passed her looks on to her son. Rich, mahogany hair framed a pristine and china-like face, made all the more doll-like when plastered in her make-up.

He could thank her for that. And always bringing him to her rehearsals and performances. He had studied the basics of schooling with an unqualified tutor while she worked but his true passion for music had been awakened and blossomed like the trees in spring.

From the day he took up the violin, his skill had overshadowed all of those in the orchestra as he played from the heart, allowing his emotions to flow freely in musical form.

But there was always a shadow lurking in the wings and it had evolved into the tangible form of the ballet master and came to a climax when his mother went on tour and never returned. 

'She was weak. She couldn't take the pressure.' The man drew close and whispered breathlessly near the trembling cheek. 'Having you on her mind only added to that. Which is why you were left here. Now, she'll lie somewhere outside the church. Maybe her soul is free? But I doubt it. Sinful, silly girl. But you, you will stay here and fulfil many purposes.'

His hands had roamed and Julian's legs buckled and his mind and heart twisted. Freezing and clouding and becoming stagnant. If he didn't see, if he didn't feel, then he would be safe.

If nothing else, it hid the nausea of being left in the hands of her latest flame. A man who used, discarded and then dragged back for his own amusement.

He remembered staring at his reflection. Feeling no emotion at all as he raked his nails down the alabaster skin. The only pity he felt was for the rats who lapped at the gore from the gash. They were the only friends he had.

His mother had been a sinner in life and so it was fitting that she ended it in a sinful way also and pass her gloom onto him. 

Reaching down to pick up the violin case he slowly stepped away and out into the cold, smog-filled streets. Away into the shadows and back to where he knew he would be safe and accepted.

The catacombs and tunnels beneath the city would become his home. Safety amongst the dead and the misfit vermin. 

The cold shroud of the mist swelled around him as he sidled away. But the welcoming solitude of the opera house by night still beckoned like a beacon in the dark.

Sometimes, in the still of the night, the doleful tones of the violin could be heard in the empty theatre. Such beautiful music from a composer no one knew of and notes that sent shivers down the spine of those who heard them.

Tales of spirits and wandering souls were already rife, some with a hint of truth, some complete fiction. But one could not deny this one, all too many had heard the music and had been drawn by its mastery. Only to find the stage empty and only dust dancing in the moonlight.