Disclaimer: I don't own any story associated with Phantom of the Opera.

My first attempt at writing fanfiction…I've been an avid reader of it forever though. I'm just in one of those hopeless Phantom of the Opera spells right now. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter One

Christine wandered down the wet, dark tunnel, unable to feel afraid. It was all she could do to remember how she got here. She had spent a relatively normal day rehearsing for the upcoming production of Hannibal, and she thought that after the hours of dance practice that some solo music lessons would be nice. Plus she thought that sitting would be a nice change. Meg had asked if she would like some company, but Christine assured her that she would only be in there for less than an hour, and she would go to bed immediately afterward. While she did intend to sing alone, there was always the possibility that the ethereal voice from within the walls would join her, so she almost always declined company while singing. She recalled sitting cross-legged on the floor of her dressing room while singing to her reflection, watching her facial expressions and making sure to keep her shoulders and back straight (as a certain teacher had instructed her to do), when something odd had caught her eye. There was the slightest gap in between the frame of the mirror and wall, and it would have been otherwise impossible to spot it had she not been sitting so vainly close to the mirror, as plenty of sixteen year old girls do. Mildly interested, she had only meant to stick the tip of her finger in the gap to inspect it, and to see if perhaps the mirror was hanging crookedly on the wall, when the whole thing shifted one inch to the right and sent cool air rushing into her face, which in turn earned a complete and utter look of shock from the young ballerina and immediately piqued her interest. Naturally, curiosity got the best of her, and before she could think to grab Meg to see this amazingly terrifying discovery, Christine slid the mirror the rest of the way, revealing the long passageway. It only took a moment for her to put on an average-looking, thin robe and some slippers that happened to be nearest to her, grab a candle, and descend into the unknown darkness.

The Phantom sat quietly in what he called his home, arranging his diorama for the next night's presentation of Hannibal. He had every intention of making it possible for Christine to sing the beautiful melodies for the lead role, so naturally he had her preparing for the solos as of late in what one might call their sessions. He also knew, though he refused to consciously acknowledge it, that he planned for Christine to see him face to face for the first time after the performance. He had known for some time that they would have to meet in person at some point, or rather, that she would have to meet him in person, and he concluded silently to himself that it could only be after a moment of great triumph for her, partly because she would be in awe from the entire evening, and therefore might react better, and partly so that he could relish in her success and triumph. He liked to think that she owed her buttery smooth voice to him, but he knew all along that her voice was a gift that could only be bestowed on her from birth. He just so desperately wanted to share it with her. It was only then, in that moment, so lost in thought, that he realized he was simply holding the figure of her and staring at it with what he could only guess might be complete adoration painted on his face. He owned many mirrors, yet he never looked in any of them, and so he could only feel his facial expressions through emotion rather than knowing how they looked displayed on him.

He very carefully set the figure back where he had it originally placed, and decided to pay Christine one last visit for the evening, and one last visit before she was due to perform the following night. She just didn't know she was to sing, yet. An almost wicked smile crossed his face as he thought of what misfortune would befall the screeching Carlotta the next afternoon. As he stood up, though, he heard a distant, yet distinct, clamoring about. His entire body went still, and he quickly regained his composure and silently gathered his gloves. Somebody was close to his lair.

"Company…" he muttered darkly to himself. Not for the desire to murder or terrify someone, but more of a bitter and resigned type of audible thought. Company was the last thing he wanted, save for one person. But that would be impossible without great effort on his part. He eyed a length of rope on the rocky ground, contemplating on whether to scare the intruder off before they made it too far or to deal with it quickly so as to prevent further exploration by others. He deftly picked it up and quickly bundled it. He thought to himself that it would be best to just decide when he gets to the person, for he would surely get to them before they made it to him.

Christine had made it through what seemed like miles of hallways and down a few flights of stairs before she completely lost her nerve. After she saw a few rats and had a cockroach scuttle across her feet, she decided she was way in over her head and had no business being in this seemingly secret part of the opera house. She had of course heard all the talk about the opera ghost, but she never could believe it or pretend to believe it as much as the other girls did, so her growing fear was not of a specter come to throw a noose around her neck. Surely this ugly, dark passageway had to be some route used by the maintenance crew, or a city crew, and the route to her mirror was just a seldom used, forgotten path. But as she neared a large, winding staircase and saw just how far down it went, she realized it must be connected to the catacombs of Paris, and not even the bravest soul had any business being down there. She would just get back to the safety of the dormitories and tell everyone of what she had found, so that she wouldn't be so alone in keeping this terrifying piece of information a secret. Then something could be done to ensure that her mirror could never open like that again, and the wall would be completely filled to how she assumed it to always be. To think that the other side of her mirror opened up to this labyrinth made all the hairs on her arms and neck stand up. Perhaps it would be best to just change dressing rooms altogether.

As she turned rather quickly to hurry back, her foot caught an unseen step and she dropped her candle stick, causing a loud clatter and sending her candle rolling several feet away from her and extinguishing in a puddle. "Oh…" She cried softly, not because she jammed her toe when she tripped, but because her only source of light went out. "No…" She muttered helplessly, suddenly feeling very alone. How stupid she had been to come all this way. For all she knew she wasn't even at the opera house anymore! She could be far away underground somewhere in Paris. These thoughts continued swirling through her head as she hurried through the dark, holding up her skirts with one hand and running her other hand along the wall, using it as a guide. Too terrified to cry, she suddenly had the sensation one has when they instinctively know they are not alone, that she was running from something, or someone. She made her legs move faster, and only hoped that she was picking up her pace, as she couldn't see anything.

The Phantom half walked, half jogged down a small passageway parallel to where the intruder was running. Whoever it was didn't have a light, so he could only assume they lost it somewhere along the way. Naturally, as he wished to remain unseen, he didn't light the candle he had with him, and only relied on his well-adjusted eyes, as well as the knowledge of his whereabouts, to guide him. He had found the person easily, and now as he moved in the tunnel adjacent to the main corridor, he relied on intersecting passageways to let him know the person was still running, evidently trying to escape. He sneered quietly, reveling in the knowledge that they must sense his presence, and it caused them fear enough to turn back and run away. They had most likely already made it to the staircase, however, and he guessed from what he knew about human nature that if this one escaped there would be more later on. The fate of this stranger sealed, the Phantom quickly side-stepped through an intersecting hallway and into the path of the escapee, who promptly fell smack into him with a scream.

Christine knew too late as soon as she heard the swish of fabric that whoever was with her down there was right in front of her, so the scream was already out of her throat before she even collided with them. As soon as her body hit the body of this tormenter, however, the atmosphere quickly changed and this terrifying stranger remained perfectly still.

The Phantom grinned as he heard the scream, then recognition hit him like a ton of bricks. He had heard this sound, this voice, a hundred thousand times over. He had heard come it from a little girl playing with her adoptive sister, arguing with ballet girls, crying, singing, and speaking. All the while getting more beautiful as the owner of the voice got older. His expression twisted into agony in the dark as he shoved the rope into an inner pocket of one of his many layers. He was disgusted with himself. His arms reached out to steady her, and before he could help it, he breathed her name. "Christine." It wasn't meant to get her attention. He was just identifying what was in front of him before he knew he had even spoken. He felt her entire body freeze, and for a few seconds they stood there like that. They were both frozen with fear; she for her life, and he for considering taking her life. He heard her intake a lung full of air, undoubtedly getting ready to scream, and quickly yet gently shushed her. "Ssshhh, calm yourself, ssshhh. It's alright, Christine…" He could feel her body tense again. He hated to make her uncomfortable, to scare her. He just needed to reassure her.

Christine's head started to swim. She was so terrified, now this voice, the familiarity of it, she instantly knew the voice as her Angel of Music. "What, how…" She couldn't seem to get any coherent words out. "It's you…how..?" And she was crying from confusion and fear and relief. The Phantom took this opportunity to try to soothe her. Anything to keep her from screaming. He didn't want to take the chance of someone hearing her, and it would also cut his heart like a knife to have her screaming in fear of him. For his biggest fear would be for Christine to fear him.

"Don't cry, Christine, don't cry, you're alright, you're safe…" He wanted nothing more than to grab her with all of his might and hug her endlessly. For now, he only held her shoulders very lightly to steady her. He hated for her to meet him like this, for he knew he could never undo this encounter. He didn't want the first time to speak her name right in front of her to be like this. He wanted to say her name to her face in a much more meaningful setting, as a means of praise in the light. Not in the dark as a means of quelling her terror.

Christine felt like she might faint, and all she could manage to get out was "You do have a body."

The Phantom froze. He quickly replayed a conversation in his head that he had had with Christine just a few short weeks ago during one of his deceptive sessions. He had watched her from above, where she couldn't see him. He noticed she was playing with the fabric of her dress a bit more than usual and inspecting the ends of her hair far more than she normally did. She had asked about the details of his existence point-blank, yet still tentatively. "Do you have a body?" It had taken him aback so much that all he could do was ask her what made her curious. She had explained that she couldn't get Meg to believe an angel was tutoring her and keeping her company. The Phantom had realized at that moment that her faith in an angel was dwindling along with her childhood, and the faith in the existence of a man was sparking along with her womanhood.

The Phantom gulped. Never had he been put on the spot so suddenly in his entire life. This girl had no idea what she did to him, the effect she had on him.

He was broken from his reverie in just enough time to feel her go limp in his arms.