' The Opera Ghost really existed. He was not, as was long believed, a creature of the imagination of the artists, the superstition of the managers, or the absurd and impressionable brains of the young ladies of the ballet, their mothers, the box-keepers, the cloak-room attendants, or the concierge. No, he existed in flesh and blood, though he assumed all the out-ward characteristics of a real phantom, that is to say, of a shade. '

Selection from

Le Fantôme de l'opéra

By Gaston Leroux

Passion.

If you were to look the word up in the dictionary, you might find something like this:

pas·sion ) (pshn)
n.

1. A powerful emotion, such as love, joy, hatred, or anger.

2.

a. Ardent love.

b. Strong sexual desire; lust.

c. The object of such love or desire.

3.

a.Boundless enthusiasm.

b.The object of such enthusiasm.

4. An abandoned display of emotion, especially of anger.

In Gaston Leroux's novel, Le Fantôme de l'opéra or, The Phantom of the Opera, the character Erik's passion was the young soprano, Christine Daaé.

In The Phantom of the Opera, Leroux describes Christine as 'gentle', 'modest', 'calm', 'dreamy', 'innocent' and 'dedicated to her art'. She is young, beautiful, and talented, but easily deceived. Because of her naïve nature, she is easily fooled by Erik into thinking that he is the Angel of Music. It may have had something to do with her emotional ties to the story of the Angel of Music, stories her Father used to tell her.

'Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing. Her hair was gold as the sun's rays and her soul as clear and blue as her eyes. She wheedled her mother, was kind to her doll, took great care of her frock and her little red shoes and her fiddle, but most of all loved, when she went to sleep, to hear the Angel of Music…' began the story her Father must of told her many times before he died. Her willingness to believe that Erik was the Angel of Music might be blamed on the story.

The name Erik means 'All-Powerful', and in Gaston Leroux's tale, he is. He seems to be able to appear and disappear at will, he takes Christine through her dressing-room mirror, he is shot at and yet is not hit. He builds magical houses underground, and a room of mirrors. He is a genius in all fields, but as the saying goes, 'There is a fine line between genius and insanity.' He is obsessed with Christine Daaé, and he is willing to kill all those who stand in his way. And yet, near end of the story, he lets his rival- Raoul de Changy- go with the woman he adores, and at the end, he dies of a broken heart.

'He had a heart who could have held the empire of the world; and in the end he had to content himself with a cellar.' –Gaston Leroux.

There are some who say Erik was far too strong to simply die of a broken heart. Some who say he had to have lived on. But if he had lived, what would have happened? Would he have met another, and become obsessed with her? Yes, there are many who would object to that theory, but it is certainly possible. For what he had for Christine was not pure love, but obsession, easily mistaken for pure love by a man who had never known love a day of his life. In fact, in Leroux's novel, he admits:

" 'Then I made her understand that, where she was concerned, I was only a poor dog, ready to die for her…' "

So, if he had found another, could he become obsessed with her, or learn to truly love? But who could ever replace Christine Daaé in his heart?

If he had found another, would he not try a different approach? Tricking Christine did not work. Lying as to his true identity did not work. And, in his mind, perhaps even being kind did not work. So what else could he try?

This is a story exploring three questions: Could Erik 'fall in love' again? And if he did, how would he act upon it?

And if he found another, who would it be?

This is a story of passion, in all its forms.

And this is the story of the Little Innocent.

Edited Authors Note:

For those of you who have read this story before: Since the prologue was deleted, I have now combined it with the first chapter.

I have taken forever to fix this problem due to life, love, loss and writer's block. Please forgive me.

Authors Note:

Thank you for reading this. This chapter is no-where near as good as I had hoped it would be, but writing it seemed more difficult then I thought. It isn't near as long as I wanted, too, but that was the perfect place to end for where I want to pick up in the next chapter.

Disclaimer: I do not own Le Fantôme de l'opéra (The Phantom of the Opera). It belongs to Gaston Leroux, and no one else.

That being said, please do not sue me.

Every night and every morn

Some to misery are born.

Every morn and every night

Some are born to sweet delight.

Some are born to sweet delight,

Some are born to endless night.

We are led to believe a lie

When we see not through the eye

Which was born in a night to perish in a night,

When the soul slept in beams of light.

God appears, and God is light

To those poor souls who dwell in night,

But does a human form display

To those who dwell in realms of day.

Selection from

Auguries Of Innocence

By William Blake

Trinetta Pettet never dreamed of becoming a famous singer. She loved Opera enough, of course, and was dedicated enough. She may have had enough talent, even. But every time she walked onstage and the audience was there, staring, watching her every move, listening intently for any mistake, judging her in an instant…

…she always felt sick, and she was only a chorus girl.

So why did she work there? If she felt so ill every time she was performing, why did she choose that as a career, instead of staying home and raising a family as most women were expected to?

She loved to sing, and deep inside, she loved to perform. She loved hearing the audience applauding, loved wearing the magnificent costumes, and loved spending every day of her life in music. After a performance, she could look at her face in a mirror, and love who she saw.

Not that she couldn't do that any other day or night…but there was something special about her after a performance. She glowed. Only after a performance did she look…stunning.

Trinetta's looks were really quite plain before a performance. Her skin was sort of milky in some places, sort of a pink-and-light-brown color in others, and her cheeks were far too rosy. Her nose was long, yet small, and was entirely too straight. Her lips were small and only partially full, her teeth were merely off-white, and her neck was far too long. Her hair was waist-length and very curly, and a mixture of light brown, dark brown, and golden brown, yet it was still very plain. The sides of her hair were usually clipped back by plain black pins, in order to keep it out of her eyes.

Her eyes were probably the most beautiful thing about her. They were black, large, and oval-shaped, and shone with a sort of innocent light.

She was very petite; thin and short, unlike most of the other girls in the choir, who were tall and slender. She was nearly a head shorter then everyone else, but then, 'everyone else' was rather tall.

But after a performance…after a performance, her skin was rosy, and it glowed. He eyes shone with joy, her hair was completely down and sometimes it seemed more golden; her teeth were pearls, and she stood a little taller. She was proud of her talent.

She was…actually, she didn't know how talented she was. She had studied for years, but some things she simply hadn't understood. Her voice was lower then most of the other women. Though she was officially a mezzo-soprano, she could also sing contralto with ease, and even sometimes, tenor. Though she did not necessarily learn quickly, she could remember notes. Most of the time, if someone sung the song once to her, she could remember it.

However, sometimes…

"Mademoiselle Pettet, your mouth is not moving." Monsieur Reyer pointed out. "Do you not know the words?"

Trinetta's black eye's met Monsieur Reyer's in apology.

"No, I do not."

"Mademoiselle Pettet, we perform in a week!" he exclaimed. "You must know the full libretto by then!"

"Yes, Monsieur Reyer. I will know it by then."

"Good." He sighed. "We need all the mezzo-sopranos desperately."

Trinetta nodded, and lifted her libretto up to her eye-level, and she began to study the words as Reyer addressed how one of the baritones was standing. After a few minutes, the piano began again. However, before anyone could sing, the door swung open to reveal an out-of-breath stagehand.

"Monsieur Reyer." He said. "Where are the managers?"

"They are meeting with Madame Barret, the ballet mistress. Why?" Reyer demanded.

"I…" he let off the sentence, glancing at the choir. Reyer sighed and left the room, leading the young stagehand by the shoulder.

Meanwhile, the choir glanced at each other, wondering what to do. Trinetta, after a moment of watching the door curiously, returned to studying the libretto. However, she didn't have much time, for only a few minutes later, Reyer rushed back in and snapped,

"Rehearsal is over for the day! Monsieur Merle, work on your posture, and Mademoiselle Pettet, know the words!"

Then he went back out the door, and was gone.

Trinetta slowly walked down the halls of the Paris Opera, ready to go home and finish learning the libretto. However, as she passed the foyer that led to the manager's office, she stopped, hearing raised voices. She glanced towards the office, and saw that the door was open a crack. Curious, she took a few steps closer to the door and listened.

"What are we going to do, Moncharmin?" Monsieur Firmin Richard, one of the managers, asked the other.

"I don't know, Richard!" Moncharmin exclaimed.

"Perhaps we should try to cover it up?" Firmin asked.

"How? Her family…"

"Just until the season is over! Listen…"

Trinetta didn't listen. She was suddenly terrified of being caught. She continued on her way out of the Opera.

Trinetta Pettet walked offstage with a blissful smile on her face. She could still hear the audience's applause. Of course, it wasn't for her. It was for Carlotta's understudy. But it was superb to hear, nonetheless.

Why was it Carlotta's understudy, anyway? Where was Carlotta? Was she ill, again? And if she was, did it have something to do with the Phantom? He had returned after nearly two years…had it really been two years since the Christine Daaé kidnapping? Two years since Count Philippe de Changy was found, drowned in the underground lake? Two years since his brother left for the North Pole? That long?

Trinetta had often wondered what had happened to Christine. She had known her, briefly, while Christine was in chorus. Trinetta had just joined the Opera, and Christine had already been working there for years. Christine had always seemed so distant, so…so much a part of another world. Trinetta often wondered if, somehow, Christine had known that one day the Phantom would kidnap her. Not literally, of course, but perhaps a feeling, a feeling that one day something terrible would happen, or that the Phantom was connected to her in some way.

But then, of course, she'd place those ridiculous thoughts to one side. No, Christine was most likely simply daydreaming.

Trinetta headed towards the dressing-rooms, releasing her hair from the clips, her first question - Where was Carlotta? – forgotten.