Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera, Erik, Christine, Nadir, the shah, the khanum, or any other Phantom characters. I do, however, own all of the Channings, the witches, and a variety of other random characters.

Really this chapter isn't necessary to the rest of the story until later; really it just explains some reasoning for the rest of the story. I apologize if the first couple of paragraphs of the prologue are a bit slow, but trust me, it does eventually pick up. I promise that by the second chapter, the story will be much quicker-paced.

Reviews would be much appreciated, so don't be afraid to tell me what you think. Spellbound should be updating again soon, and I hope everyone will be eagerly awaiting updates in the future.

Thank you and enjoy!

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Prologue: The Disappearance of the Precious Little Magician

The broiling heat of summer had finally arrived and reduced the cool spring breeze to nothing but a faint memory for the inhabitants of the sleepy French village of Mortroux, the majority of whom had taken to spending the hot afternoons in the shelter of their shady little homes. Even the children and pets dared not venture out into the sweltering summer sun of Creuse, Limousin. Typically, the only time that the village inhabitants spent any amount of time outside during the summer afternoons was when cottony clouds, carrying the threat of rain, blanketed the sky. Despite the need for a bit of rain, the adults were always quite wary of the prospect. To them, rain meant it was time to stay indoors, as did the summer heat, and the winter cold and snow. Therefore the inhabitants of Mortroux spent nearly all of their time waiting inside their homes, attempting to avoid the weather.

One of the few exceptions to this pattern of behavior was a hunched, wrinkled woman who enjoyed sitting in the shade of her dilapidated porch in an ancient, rickety rocking chair –– even on rainy days ­­–– and sipping tea out of a beautiful, though slightly chipped, china cup. She was known to her neighbors as Madame Leuriste, a distinguished widow who had moved to Mortroux with her French husband, Jacques Leuriste, before he died peacefully in his sleep. The neighbors never could quite ignore the fact that Madame Leuriste was born and raised British, and they concluded that therefore she was a gossip by nature.

Nevertheless, they went to no expense to hide their conversations and secrets from Madame Leuriste, who was rumored to be both deaf and mostly blind. Her neighbors continued to be blissfully ignorant of the obvious truth that Madame Leuriste was far from being either deaf or blind and actually had exceptional vision and hearing. How else could she have lived alone all of those years? Those rumors were simply their reasoning for why the old widow tended to keep to herself instead of paying nosy visits to her neighbors houses and discreetly envying the beautiful rose bushes that grew in front of the Channings' house next door. In fact, on this particularly hot day, Madame Leuriste was watching the fascinating activities of little Lara Channing.

Lara was the daughter of Michael Channing, a British man of Irish descent, which was made obvious by his flaming red hair, dark emerald eyes, and numerous freckles. Really, Lara hardly resembled her father, with her pure, porcelain skin, bright green eyes, and fair, heart-shaped face. The only characteristic that they seemed to share was their red hair, but Lara's hair was silkier and a deeper shade of red then her father's, nearly the color of freshly drawn blood. Other than that, she looked nothing like her father, who seemed to be a fairly plain man. It was common belief that Lara must have received her good looks from her mother, who apparently had died four years previously when Lara was only three years old, supposedly in some sort of accident involving a fire. After the accident, Michael and Lara had immediately moved to France, where Michael had gotten remarried to a younger, French woman.

His new wife's name was Amnette, and she was much loved by all of the neighbors. She was a sweet, young woman with straight, silky hair as black as a raven's feather and grey eyes. It was rumored that she had just celebrated her nineteenth birthday when she eloped with Michael against her parents' wishes. That was when they moved to Mortroux. After they settled in, they almost immediately ended up with a child, a baby girl who greatly resembled her mother with the exception of her dark emerald eyes and pale skin. Her parents gave her the name Jasmine, an unusual and uncommon name. Jasmine was pretty like her mother, but they were both pretty in a different, more innocent way than Lara. The two half-sisters couldn't have been more opposite, and it wasn't just because of the age difference between three-year-old Jasmine and seven-year-old Lara.

Jasmine was sweet and innocent, and Lara was fiery and fierce. Jasmine hardly ever got into trouble, while Lara was constantly being caught at her mischief making. Jasmine was already more sociable than Lara had probably ever been. All of the neighbors immediately favored Jasmine over Lara, just like their father Michael who would shower Jasmine with gifts and praise and Lara with insults and disapproval. Jasmine enjoyed playing with the other children and clinging to her mother's skirts, while Lara preferred to hide among the thorny rose bushes –– Madame Leuriste never could figure out how Lara managed to remain unscathed by the thorns –– entertaining herself with what Madame Leuriste had concluded to be magic tricks. In fact, at this very moment, Madame Leuriste could see Lara snapping her fingers, sending little tufts of flame, which swiftly morphed into animal-like figures, up into the air with each snap. Madame Leuriste often jokingly called Lara her very own, personal, little magician.

Every little bit of information Madame Leuriste knew about the Channing family, she had learned by observing them, eavesdropping on them, and discreetly listening to the gossip of her other neighbors. At first, Madame Leuriste never could quite figure out why the Channing family fascinated her so, at least until she first noticed Lara's magic tricks. Madame Leuriste wasn't sure why Lara always hid before engaging in her art, but she suspected that there must be a deeper reason for it than simple shyness. But little did she know that on this particularly scorching afternoon, a few of her questions would finally be answered.

At that very moment, a sudden, unexpected breeze swept over the landscape, catching Lara's latest flame creation, and carrying it off its course. The serpentine flame bent in the breeze and curled elegantly around a nearby rose bush. There was a long moment in which both Lara and Madame Leuriste simply watched in dumb fascination as the serpent continued to wind around the bush, a dark mist of smoke lifting away from the serpent like an old skin. Suddenly, the whole bush erupted in flame, and both spectators cried out in a horrified realization that the rose bush had caught on fire. Lara panicked and attempted to pat the fire out with her hands, but she only succeeded in giving herself searing burns.

The door to the Channing house swung open with a loud screech, and M. Channing himself stepped over the threshold, combing his hand through his red hair absentmindedly as he searched for the source of the disturbance. He turned toward the quickly spreading fire, and his mouth fell open in shock.

"Lara!" he exclaimed as he sprang into action and rushed to the aid of his daughter.

By then the other neighbors had started to emerge from their houses or peer through their windows, all of them curious as to what could possibly be causing all of the noise and activity outside on such a dreadfully hot day. Even Amnette was drawn out of the house, little Jasmine clinging desperately to her skirts.

"My Lord! Michael! Don't let Lara so near the flames! She'll get hurt!" Amnette gasped when she saw her husband and stepdaughter trying in vain to stifle the flames.

M. Channing roughly pulled Lara away from the fire, despite her panicked protests of, "Wait! I can help!" and "No! You can't do this! The house is going to burn down unless you let me help too!"

"This is all your fault, you little witch! I think you've helped out enough!" he growled fiercely at her in response before returning to his impossible task of suppressing the fire.

Her father's angry words had frozen Lara in place, her feet rooted to the ground. Her uncontrollable panic had instantly vanished when she had finally stopped her desperate attempt to fix her mistake. She spread her feet apart to take a better stance and raised her arms high above her head. Then she gently lowered her arms in front of her, palms down, and the flames followed the motions of her hands. The wall of fire slowly died down until nothing was left but the ashes of the once beautiful rose bushes. Lara gave a big sigh of relief and glanced around nervously as the neighbors' interest was lost as quickly as it had come, and they returned to the privacy of their homes.

"Michael! Thank the Lord you're safe!" Amnette exclaimed, lifting her skirts slightly, so the delicate fabric wouldn't be dragged through the dirt and ashes as she hurried toward her husband. "Do you have any idea what started the fire?"

She halted a few feet away from her husband, for he had lifted a hand to stop her from moving any closer, but his eyes were locked on Lara. "Michael!" she laughed nervously, her fleeting smile turning down into a frown. "What is the meaning of this?"

He didn't take his gaze off of Lara as he stiffly commanded through gritted teeth, "Go. Back. Inside." Amnette opened her mouth to protest, but Michael interrupted her, "NOW!" Amnette gave a start, but quickly recovered and hurried inside with little Jasmine tottering quickly after her with all of the grace of her fellow three-year-olds.

As soon as the streets were clear of any spectators –– Madame Leuriste being the exception, or course, due to her supposed handicaps –– Michael stomped loudly toward his daughter, his face twisted with fury. "You!" he growled, "You were doing it again when I specifically told you not to!"

Lara lowered her head in shame, and her gaze was locked on the dirt and ashes covering her bare feet. She refused to look at her father, and she instead focused on how to discreetly clean her feet off a bit. She decided to lightly shuffle her feet and wiggle her toes to shake some of the soot away, which turned out to be fairly ineffective. She continued this process in vain as her father continued his rant.

"You are just like her! Always causing trouble with your dark ways! Constantly sneaking off to practice in secret! Endangering the lives of everyone around you! I always knew you would end up just like her! Just as abnormal! Just as deranged!" He paused momentarily to take a deep breath before continuing in a desperate voice, "Are you trying to get caught in the act? Do you want your mother to go away for ever?"

Lara's hands had balled up into little fists, continuously getting tighter as her father threw insults at both her and her birth mother. Finally with the mention of Amnette, Lara snapped. "SHE IS NOT MY MOTHER!"

"Well, I married her, so she is now!" her father retorted, his face turning bright red with anger.

"NO!" Lara screeched, stomping her foot defiantly against the ground, "I HATE HER! AND I HOPE SHE DIES!"

Her father raised his hand to slap her, but Lara quickly fled from his reach. This only angered him more. "YOU COME BACK HERE!" he shouted, taking a step forward as Lara took several more steps back. He was now trembling with anger, and he threw his hands into the air, as if throwing Lara from his life. "You know what? FINE! YOU GET OUT OF HERE AND NEVER COME BACK!"

Lara glared fiercely into his eyes, the bright green orbs melting into pools of venom. "FINE THEN!" And with that, she stalked furiously away from him, disappearing down the beaten road, following the setting sun.

M. Channing finally stomped up the porch steps and met Amnette halfway through the door. Amnette glanced over his shoulder and asked, "Michael? Where's Lara?"

"I told her to leave," he grumbled, keeping his gaze cast down at his wife's feet.

Amnette stared at him expectantly for a moment. Then she gave a short laugh, "Come now...Be serious."

"I am being serious," he replied evenly, his face grim. "I really threw the little monster out of the house."

Amnette's mouth fell open. "YOU DID WHAT?"

"I said I threw her out." There was not even a hint of remorse in his voice.

Amnette exploded, "HAVE YOU GONE MAD? IT'S TOO DANGEROUS OUT THERE! HOW COULD YOU DO THIS?"

"Darling, calm down…Please! It's not a big deal!"

Amnette looked like he had just slapped her in the face. "Not a big deal?" she whispered in disbelief. "Not a big deal? Your first-born child is out walking the dangerous streets alone, and it's not a big deal? Have you gone mad?" There was no response. Amnette took several deep breaths and finally groaned, "Which way did she go?"

M. Channing reluctantly pointed down the path Lara had taken. Amnette aggressively pushed past him, careful to shoot him a furious glare as she marched outside. Once on the road, Amnette hiked up her skirts and began running down the path. Little did Madame Leuriste know, but that was to be the last time she would ever see Amnette Channing alive.

Madame Leuriste didn't find out about Amnette until late the next morning. It was a cloudy and ominous day, but to Madame Leuriste's surprise, all of the neighbors were outside, identical grim expressions on every face. The only people that were not outside were the Channings. There were dark whispers and murmurs being exchanged all over the neighborhood. Madame Leuriste heard her other next-door neighbor, Maurine Figgarte, shout to the Remiers across the street, "WHAT'S GOING ON? YOU ALL LOOK LIKE SOMEONE'S DIED!"

The Remiers glanced at each other, and then sweet, but gossip loving, Marie-Claire shuffled across the street to enlighten ignorant Maurine. "My dear," Marie-Claire began sadly, "Have you not heard?"

"Heard what?"

"Last night, M. Montraire was out driving his carriage on old Clairvente road, when he pulled over on the side of the road behind the brush to rest his mare. You do know how he loves his nighttime drives…"

Maurine nodded her head in acknowledgement and urged Marie-Claire to continued, "Go on then! Tell me what happened!"

"Patience, Maurine, patience…" Marie-Claire waited until Maurine's mouth was firmly closed before continuing, "Well, he started to hear noises, a lot of shouting. He said one of the voices was that of a female child, and there were a few more voices, all male, but he claimed they spoke in some foreign language. He suspected it was Arabic, and he thought he caught the word shah occasionally mentioned in their conversation. Now he thinks that they may have been Persians if he had heard them correctly, and they were discussing the shah of Persia.

"Anyway, he walked a bit closer and peered through the brush and saw a group of four men, all of them dark and vicious-looking. He said there was a tall, lanky one; a short, burly one; one with a hood who seemed to be the leader; and one with a missing eye. He said that the lanky man had his arms wrapped tightly around a small, struggling child with red hair. At first he thought the child had been hit so hard that her head was bleeding, but then he realized that the blood he believed he saw was the just the girl's strange red hair. And whom else do we know with bloody red hair besides little Lara Channing? He figured it must have been her.

"Then all of a sudden, another figure appeared, a woman, and she began screaming at the men to let the girl go! They simply laughed, and the burly one tried to grab the woman, but she fought back. Then the one-eyed man thrust his hand quickly away from his chest, and then let it fall immediately back to his side. At that exact same moment the woman suddenly collapsed to the ground, a dagger sticking out of her chest, right where her heart would have been. M. Montraire swore that he never even saw the flash of the blade! The next thing he knew, little Lara was shrieking in horror, but her captor quickly covered her mouth with his hand to muffle her screams. He said the men just kept laughing and laughing, until the lanky man gave a pained yell, and the leader slapped the poor girl. M. Montraire thought that Lara probably bit the man's hand in an attempt to escape, and the leader wanted to teach her some obedience.

"Finally the men disappeared into the woods on the other side of the road, and M. Montraire waited for a few minutes to be sure they weren't going to return, before he carefully approached the woman's body. He looked closely and was horrified to find that the woman was actually sweet Amnette Channing and that she was dead. He picked up her body and carried it to his carriage. Then he drove his mare as hard as he could to get back to Mortroux as quickly as possible. He immediately went to M. Channing and told him the whole story. The poor man was a wreck when he heard the news! And I don't blame him! Two wives dead, and now a daughter spirited away by a bunch of barbarians!"

Madame Leuriste was completely numb; only her ears were still in working condition. Apparently Maurine was less sympathetic to M. Channing's losses. "I don't see why he let them out alone at night in the first place. And why didn't M. Montraire act faster? A true gentleman would have risked his life to protect two fine ladies! He is no man! Just a coward!" Maurine criticized in her usual loud, stuffy voice.

Maurine continued to bumble on about the faults of every person involved with the murder and kidnapping, but Madame Leuriste was no longer listening to her, or to anyone for that matter. All she could think about was little Lara Channing. Who were those men? Where were they taking her? Why did they want her? What would they do to her? But the biggest question on her mind was this:

What would become of her precious, little magician?

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Thanks for reading, and I promise I will try to update again soon!