(A/N: I DON'T OWN PHANTOM BUT I OWN MIRABELLA. I WISH I HAD GERARD BUTLER.)

I am alone.

I am always alone.

My sister and I never got along – they were always happy to run around Paris in there flouncy, pink dresses while I stood back and watched them in the lacy, v-necked, black gowns I favored in lieu of all that frilly crap.

My mother died – she had the voice of an angel. She was beautiful, with long, flwoing golden locks and eyes as deep a blue as the many, many, many watery oceans.

My father … hates me. I inherited his black hair and rebellious disposition. And he hates me for it.

But one thing that came out of nnowehere was my eyes.

Father always says "Mirabella, your eyes are so weird and red and orange and like my fire, now go clean the fireplace." And then he beats me. I wish I liked drinking. I'd get drunk to chase it all away.

… I don't know.

I also sing. A lot. I got that from my mother. It's what lifts me from this booshwah countryside hell. I can also play the bass guitar and violin and piano.

And today I am trying out for one of the musicals at the Opera House. They are putting on The King and I.

I wish I had the spirit to be Anna … maybe my mother will be with me when I try out.

I know I sing like an angel, but with my looks, I think it's more like a devil.

Is france ready for me? I don't know.

But here's hoping. I can't stay with my beautiful, blond sisters and my loathing father. I am running away. Yes. It sounds marvelous. A life amongst the ballerinas and stagehands and singers and theater goers is what I want.

The countryside was boring anyway.

(A/N: I'm sorry its so short, but this is just the enticng intro, so PLEASE REVIEW. Or Mirabella might die, lol. Please. It's my first fanfic and I need advise.)