It had been nearly been nineteen years since mother passed on after getting cancer it was in the final stage, beyond any medical care could do. So I was shipped off to Paris where I was to meet my father whom I never met. Till now I arrived beat from the flight check-in and I was walking through the airport after I had gathered up my luggage.

As I passed by people who were either returning to Paris or going, this was all uncomfortable for me. I felt like a ghost lost and broken with a violin strapped to my back. Most days I only wore black like a cloak of the night hoping to remain hidden from the world around me. Pain and sorrow racked my soul with torment and voices saying she is never coming back.

A tear falls down my face Once mother said that my father was not like any man she had met before. And that I was very much like him strong and powerful. But those were her last dying words before my world became like the night.

As I reached customs my mind began to drift off wondering what my father would like or whether he would even show up to take me home my mind was uncertain about what came next.

" Passport, " the security officer said as he took and checked the passport as I took my hood to reveal blood red hair bright as a summer sunset. Yet dark as blood itself, I had dyed it about a month before child servers came for me. Told me I had rich and powerful father waiting in Paris France. I seriously doubted that I mean come on like my mom would hook up with some rich Politician or snobbish jerk. But I guess we can't pick and choose who daddy is supposed to be.

Once the employ gave me back my passport and I signed some papers, I was then off through the final corridor. Here is where my new life beings far away from the pain and hopefully leave it behind me. But that was most likely not the case soon as I came up and out to into the check in area, I was met by the media asking me many questions like.

" What's like to find out your father is the richest man in Pairs?" a reporter asked as I passed them by and replied.

" I never met him in person" I kept looking for a sign that he was here waiting for me. But that was not the case as I saw a sign held by a chauffeur. It read " crimson rose " I let out a sigh as I walked over to him.

" Are you Rose?" the chauffeur asked as he looked down at me, he seemed rather tall for one. He had strong features and pulled back black hair, he wore the uniform for his occupation. Which consisted of dress white shirt, jacket, and pants also black shoes what caught me off guard that his eyes were a dark red.

I nodded to confirm his question before he leads me back to the limo. it was like any other limo I may have seen on the street, loaded my luggage into the back as I got in the back and set my violin in my lap. I let out a sigh as he climbed in after me and sat across from me.

Soon as he closed the door the car started up Meanwhile and we both were engulfed in shadow. I looked out the window as he looked at me pondering what to say to his daughter.

The limo itself on the interior was black with maroon seats that were soft yet firm to the touch. I saw a small cooler that looked fancy with a few wine glasses and bottles. I heard my companion clear his throat.

" Rose...I'm sorry about your mother," he said with a sorrowful tone as if he had known her personally, if not intimately. I looked over at him, with an eyebrow raised.

" How do you know my mother?" was all I could manage without trying to sound upset. I wait until he let out a sigh before speaking further...

" Your father often spoke highly of her, kind caring person who probably had the biggest heart out of anyone he had ever met “I saw a tear fall down his face. he took a handkerchief from his left pocket of his coat.

I honestly had no idea what to say or how to respond I only just met him a few minutes earlier. I heard the car engine start before we pulled away from the airport. I looked back out the right side window and watched as buildings turned into the country little of the course of two if not three hours.

Sombra's point of view

I look upon my little girl whom I have not seen in nineteen years. she looked so much like her mother, kind, and genital. but I wondered could she ever forgive me?

Meanwhile, the phantom had been watching the news nothing but the normal. Politics or someone committing a crime...which all board him, considering when the opera season was done, he was left with little to do.

Then in big bold letters comes across the screen, it seemed Sombra’s daughter was finally coming home to him. My face comes across, he never seen such beauty that only reflected the night itself. My scarlet locks cascaded over my shoulders like waves red.

“and such delict features……mmmm “the phantom said as he raked his eyes over my face to my lips. He felt a hunger like no other, as he stood up from his chair which was black with lions carved into the front of the arm chair gothic in style.

“soon my scarlet angle ……. the angle of music will have you under his wing” the phantom said as he departed into the shadows as they bellowed behind him.

To be Continue…….

The angle of music sings songs in your head

Author's Note

Please give me feedback if you want another chapter