Hello! This is my first attempt at a POTO fanfiction! Resident theatre dork, at your service. I love hearing from everyone, and I hope you enjoy the story! This is the longest first chapter I've ever written at nine pages and 4,000+ words! I'm very excited! Anyhoo, I always forget disclaimers, so here we go: I don't own the Phantom of the Opera characters, music, plot, dialogue, or…ya know, any of that stuff. I do own Adelaide Acord, and Genevieve. And, unfortunately so, Beliveau too. Enjoy!

-McKenna

Paris, 1919

"Madame, can I help you?" An older woman asked as a lady walked into the Opera Populaire for their auction. The lady looked around nervously, especially when they landed on the music box sitting on the stage. The Opera had been closed for a good number of years now.

The woman who had walked in glanced up, eyes searching for a segment of recognition. "I-I'd like to make sure I get something from here."

The older lady nodded understandingly. "My name is Antoinette Giry, please, come with me here. We shall talk before they start."

The uncomfortable woman cleared her throat. "My name is Genevieve. It's a pleasure to meet you." She replied, eyeing the abandoned Opera house warily.

"That is a lovely name." Madame Giry complimented the strange woman. Raising an eye brow, she waited for her to respond as they took a seat in two chairs.

"Thank you." She whispered. "I was named after my older sister, who worked at the Opera Populaire. She ran away from home at quite a young age, and I never actually met her."

Madame Giry looked at the woman with sheer surprise. "You say she worked at the Opera Populaire?"

The woman nodded gravely. "Yes, after it was rebuilt in 1872."

"I do not remember a woman named Genevieve. Perhaps I wasn't around by then…" Antoinette thought deeply about each individual she had met after the fire, but not a soul stuck out to her that was named Genevieve.

"Tell me, Madame Giry; were all those stories about The Phantom of the Opera true? And his love, Christine Daae?"

Madame Giry cringed, but her face grew softer at the mention of two people so close to her heart. "Many a person has asked me that, my dear. Yes, they were true. It is sometimes very unfortunate…"

"What's that?"

"Well, no one ever seems to remember the other half of the story. Perhaps because she was not as popular as Christine Daae…"

"If I may, what are you talking about, Madame Giry?" Genevieve asked, cocking her head to the side.

Madame Giry smiled fondly at the past years. All the memories that washed over her gave her warm feeling. She suddenly began wondering how Raoul was doing now that Christine had been dead for two years or how Erik was…Even Meg, her own daughter. It had felt like a lifetime, and her heart ached for the past times at the Opera Populaire. The life they all shared together was full of love, even if it was a hidden and sometimes dark one.

"The Phantom of the Opera fell in love once more."

"And?"

"And this time, they lived happily ever after."

The Opera Populaire, Paris, 1872

If there was one thing to love about the opera house, Adelaide Acord decided, it was when the show was over, and everyone was out celebrating, or cozying up in their beds. The theatre was dark; it held the shadows of the show that had just recently ended for the night. The silence contrasted tremendously with the music that usually surrounded the vast space.

For a simple stagehand, Adelaide had a deep affection for the performing arts, but, however, was not quite…cut out for the actual performing part. Her work as a stagehand had only just begun about a month ago, and yet she learned quickly the best places to hide, the best places where her constant muttering to herself, or her singing, or even sobbing, could not be heard. She learned to keep to herself, to be diligent, and especially: to stay away from the other stagehands.

All the other stagehands were men, and didn't take her presence lightly. They often treated her like a dog, always making her do work that a single, small woman wouldn't be able to handle, always pining blame on her. On top of it, the men always made the most inappropriate of advances on her. What's more, they went through her things.

Adelaide, being practically poor, stayed in the stagehand headquarters, where the others often slept as well. Some had cots, some make-shift hammocks, but she was one of the few that slept on the hard floor. Not lately was she, however, as the men were getting restless more and more, bugging her more and more. She had now taken to sneaking out of the headquarters once they were all knocked out from their horrid drinking habits, and sleeping on the catwalks.

This night was not quite different than any; she brought her prized possession: a collection of Shakespearean works, and lay on the catwalk with much stillness. As she read the twenty-forth sonnet, she paid attention to the way the opera house heightened her senses. Smiling to herself, she laid the book across her stomach, contently watching the stillness of a once very chaotic place.

It had been a year since the opera house had collapsed with the fire caused by the chandelier crash. The Opera Populaire had been successfully restored to its former glory, and the company was in rehearsals for its first show, a reprise of Hannibal. Because of the past events, the previous Prima Donna, Christine Daae, was not working with the company any longer, and so a new Prima Donna reigned over. She was, undoubtedly so, much more talented than La Carlotta, but nowhere near Christine's undeniable talent. Of course, this was what Adelaide had gathered from those who had previously worked with the Opera Populaire during that particular season. Her sources never remained quite reliable.

The Phantom of the Opera, or so he was dubbed, fell in love with a young chorus girl, Christine. He tutored her, creating a weapon of her talent. Yet, she believed he was only an Angel of Music, not a real man, which was still within speculation. She, however, was in love with a young Vicomte, Raoul. To make a seemingly long and detailed filled story made short, she left with Raoul, leaving this Opera Ghost heartbroken. No had heard from him during the rebuilding of the house, but due to strange occurrences in the past few months, even a newcomer like Adelaide could only assume that the Phantom was behind it, if, of course, he really existed. Adelaide was always interested in the most fascinating of stories, and took enjoyment in believing in them, however.

His latest stunt, a backdrop to crash on the stage while the newest Prima warmed up, caused Adelaide to get a nasty blow to the stomach and head by the stagehands. All knew that it was not a stagehand's fault, yet it was an excuse to take a day's frustration out on the girl.

So here Adelaide Acord was, using a rag on her head, and lying lazily on the catwalks. She always wondered if she would run in to him, but she hadn't yet, to her disappointment. If she was being truthful, Adelaide couldn't help but be severely curious of the supposed ghost. Every time he did cause a bit of trouble now and then, she couldn't help but smile lightheartedly as she watched the flick of a cloak disappear into another hideaway. The little tricks probably shouldn't be taken so lightly to a person who had to clean up after them, but it was always keeping her on her toes, that was for sure.

Adelaide found herself becoming increasingly anxious in the darkness. She began to hum, lulling herself into another world. Eventually, she found herself smiling as she sang aloud, louder than she had ever once dared. After she finished her song, she laughed at herself, her sound echoing off the empty theatre walls. She was disturbed from her other-worldly moment when she felt the weight of the heavy book leave her stomach, and a few seconds later, when the crash of the book falling to the stage sounded. She cringed, effectively hurting her bruised stomach and head, as she pulled herself into a sitting position on the catwalk. Her leg hung off lazily, and she sighed, hoping no one woke up. Rubbing the sleepiness out of her eyes, she glanced carefully back down to the stage floor to make out where the book had landed. However, with all her searching, she couldn't spot the rather thick book that had fallen. She slowly turned herself onto her stomach, and began refining her search, deeply interested in how she wouldn't be able to spot the book that had just fallen.

She blew mahogany curls out of her face as she turned back around, huffing as she made to get up from the catwalk. She steadied herself as she stood to her full height, a mere four feet and eleven inches, hanging on to the ropes tightly. The boards creaked under her bare feet, and as she looked back up towards her next destination: the next catwalk.

Someone stood upon it, their silhouette barely visible in the darkness of the theatre. Adelaide gulped, unsure of what to do. She struggled to find her voice.

"W-who are you?" She squinted. "If you're one of the stagehands, just…please, leave me alone. You've done enough damage today." She said, rather venomously towards the ending of her statement as she reached up to her head, feeling the bruise tenderly. The figure only shuffled more towards her, and her eyes adjusted, just barely making out the detailed outline of a white porcelain mask.

With an extended reach, the Shakespeare collection was handed back to Adelaide, tucked inside a single rose and sealed envelope. Adelaide gathered the things, staring at the book in amazement, then looked back up to thank the kind stranger.

He was gone.

Terribly confused and rather tired, Adelaide snuck back to the stagehand headquarters, slipping into her blanket on her designated spot on the floor. She was, of course, given the worst spot; there was always a nasty draft wafting in during the night, and all she normally had was the one blanket. As she settled the blanket around her tonight, she leaned up against the wall, using the slight light from the window to examine her book. The cover was slightly dented, and some of the pages had foxing around the edges, but it was still intact and as useful as ever. Adelaide smiled at this.

The rose, a single, gorgeous blood red rose, with a simple black ribbon tied around it, made Adelaide shiver. Had it not been the same gift that Christine Daae received when the Phantom was…

And for the part that intrigued her to most: the sealed letter. The red wax, stamped with a large skull, opened effortlessly, revealing a rather short letter in rather sloppy and quick writing.

Mlle. Acord,

I beg of you to accept my deepest apologies, as I learn today that it is of my doing that has caused you harm. Your fellow stagehands shall get their consequences in due time, not to worry.

I personally prefer sonnet 33, myself.

-O.G.

Adelaide smiled to herself as she tucked the letter and rose into her book and settling into a slumber.

The next day, Adelaide hung around the catwalks, where she was normally posted. It was her job to make sure the ropes were always tightened, and keep the backdrops in check. Besides, she quite enjoyed this shift. Not only was she alone and secluded from the other stagehands, but she got to witness the flicker of a cloak when the infamous Opera Ghost made his daily rounds.

"Aye, Acord!" Charlie, one of the more tolerable stagehands called. Adelaide hung over the side of the catwalk and raised an eyebrow. "Boss wants ya to clean box five."

Adelaide sucked in a breath. She knew that the Opera Ghost was awful strict about no one ever setting foot in the box. She also knew that Beliveau, otherwise known as the cruel, sick boss, knew this. She slowly climbed down to the main floor, Charlie handing her a broom when she fully descended. She took it with a frightened look to her, but began to carry herself up to box five, seemingly willingly.

When she reached the box, Adelaide first checked for any lurking people, then diligently began doing her duties and cleaning. When rehearsal began in a full motion swing, she couldn't help but being taken aback by the glorious view. She found herself entranced by the dancers and the singing and the grand scenery, and she slowly sank into one of the chairs in the box.

That was when a catwalk came crashing down. The ropes had been cut. It was, Adelaide recognized, the catwalk she had been laying on last night. But, instead of holding her, the catwalk held Beliveau and a few of his cronies, who came tumbling down with the boards and rope. Angered beyond belief, Beliveau stood and called out Adelaide's name with such enormity, she felt her seat shake. Adelaide began to shake herself. Who knows what would happen to her now? She bolted from the seat, about to dart out of the box and into one of her close by hiding spots when she was distracted by the Madame Giry's very distinct voice:

"We have a letter." She announced, opening it.

"Beliveau and Company,

Consider this as a sign of warning. Should you even think of blaming, then harming, an innocent woman for my own mischievous actions again, the consequences will be much greater.

-O.G."

Madame Giry folded the letter back up and smacked Beliveau with it over the head. "Harm Mademoiselle Acord once more and I will have you swinging from the rafters like Joseph Boquet!" She threatened, storming off stage. Adelaide watched with delirious amazement. She had never even guessed that so many people actually knew who she was.

A small smile eased on her face, Adelaide turned to leave once more, when she clashed with another body. Shaking her head at her mistake, she laughed.

"I beg your pardon, Monsieur." She said sheepishly, blushing. She made a move to walk around him, but was stopped when the man's arm shot out and grasped her own. She looked up, a bit horrified.

Half of the man's face was covered with the white porcelain mask that looked strangely familiar to Adelaide. She stepped away as the man released her.

"T-the…you're…"

He looked anything but happy.

Adelaide smiled in spite of herself. "The Opera Ghost. The Phantom of the Opera." She whispered, rolling her eyes at the tragically loaded nicknames he had been given.

His lips twitched, but he did not say anything to her. He whipped his cape around, walking sharply around the corner. All that was left behind from his mysterious appearance was a wax sealed letter, addressed to Mlle Acord.

Adelaide gingerly picked up the letter as Madame Giry slowly walked into box five. She glanced warily at the letter, then met Adelaide's confused glare.

Madame Giry found it hard to speak to the poor girl. "He seems interested in you." She whispered, her throat tight.

Adelaide considered this quietly. "But, I don't sing. He's interested in musicians and singers."

The Madame's face did not falter. Well, he had always been full of surprises. "No? Well, what does the letter say?"

Not so sparingly, Adelaide quickly tore the letter open. Clearing her throat, she read aloud: " 'Mlle. Acord, It came to my attention that you do have a talent for projection of an untrained, yet surprisingly adequate voice. If you wish for additional training, I offer my assistance. O.G.'"

Madame Giry snatched the letter out of the curious stagehand's grasp and sent her along. She sat in one of the find velvet chairs, re-reading what he wrote, and waited for him to come to her. Eventually, she could sense his looming presence behind her.

"What is this about?" She asked in a quiet voice. The man behind her sat in a chair where the light didn't hit him directly.

He stayed silent momentarily. "She can sing."

"Erik, you cannot recreate her." Madame Giry replied in a low, grave, and very solemn voice. She did not dare to make eye contact with him.

"I'm not trying to!" He growled viciously. "Besides, that nobody stagehand could never amount to Christine."

Madame Giry turned to him. "What do you want from her?"

The Opera Ghost grumbled. "I miss teaching the art and craft of music."

The woman stood briskly. "Do what you must, but do not, under any circumstances, force this girl into anything." With that, she whirled away, leaving the Phantom alone in the box.

Adelaide hissed as she lightly prodded the bruise/cut combo that brushed her left cheekbone. Beliveau was, undoubtedly so, very angry at her.

She gathered her book, now stuffed with a rose and two letters, and snuck away from the quarters. As she walked around the fly space of the auditorium, she thought about the Opera Ghost's offer to be her tutor. While she enjoyed singing and only wished she was as good as some, she felt nervous to jump at his offer. After all…with what happened to Christine…

Adelaide shook her head, ridding her head of the judgmental thoughts. Sighing, she decided to try something. The Phantom heard all, hm?

"Ya know, Phantom…I feel very…Oh, I don't know the word. It isn't pity. You've been without a friend, and then all with her. I don't know you so well, Monsieur, but I'd certainly like to. I don't have any friends, either." She laughed weakly, her hand subconsciously brushing the stinging cut. "I'm not sure why I'm here. You intrigue me, true. But, I mean…a stagehand? I only used to dream of being a graceful ballerina. Now look at me!" She laughed both bitterly and darkly.

She set the book on the catwalk, and slowly sank herself down, too. "I'm sorry, Phantom. If the stories are true, and you did let her go to be with the Vicomte…well…" She smiled wryly at the darkness. "You're the better man in my book."

Silence ensued, and Adelaide found herself reading Juliet's monologue aloud, her voice hardly above a whisper.

"A better man, eh?" A deep voice sounded from box number five, Adelaide jumped, positively startled. She uttered a cry as her rose fell from the book pages and down to the stage floor.

"I-I…"

"Your name?" The man inquired. Adelaide was paralyzed with fear as she realized all together that she hadn't really thought this all out. The Phantom of the Opera was a murderer, a kidnapper, a chaotic, masochistic, lying, insane man who was rumored to look like a monster. Why, Adelaide thought to herself, would you ever do this?! And to think Madame Giry had tried to warn her…

"Y-You know it," She found herself answering. "Adelaide Acord." She stood up shakily, trying not to tip herself over in the process. The least she could do is not embarrass herself in front of the Phantom of the Opera…

"I am the Phantom." He said, but his voice did not carry from box five anymore, but from stage left. Adelaide quickly hurried down, searching for her rose desperately. A hand, gloved with fine, black leather, held it out to her. She tenderly took it, thanking him with murmurs.

"Do you accept my offer?" He demanded suddenly. Adelaide soon felt as if she were in horrid danger again. The way the Phantom's haunting blue eyes glared at her struck her deliriously. She did not answer him, only observed the man.

The unmasked portion of his face was handsome. Freshly shaven, with ghostly pale skin, he lived up the term 'ghost'. His eyes, clear as day, were blue, yet murky with a certain hate. Slick black hair on his head, and soft-appearing lips. His height towered over Adelaide, seemingly. He dressed nicely, his clothes clearly tailored to his body. The mask added to the mysterious attraction she felt to him. Adelaide knew what hid behind the mask, however. Although she knew, it didn't seem plausible that a handsome man would be…ugly.

Eventually her staring became a nuisance. His lips pulled into a snarl as he growled at her. "Well?" He spat.

Adelaide blinked. "Sorry." She replied with a new found confidence. "I would like to accept your offer."

The O.G. eyed her warily. "We start tomorrow." He turned to leave quickly, but was stopped by Adelaide's pleas for him to wait. Turning back to her, he watched her fumble for her words.

"What would you like in return?"

"Excuse me?"

Adelaide sucked in another breath. "I said, what would you like in return? I'd like to repay you for your time with me." She cleared her throat, gently fingering the cover of the Shakespeare book.

The Opera Ghost hesitated. "R-read to me."

Adelaide smiled down at her book. "Then why not start tonight?" She cracked open the book, flipping to sonnet thirty-three, in which she began to read aloud. While she paced the stage, she heard the Phantom back up in box five.

In the middle of a line in the sonnet forty-two, she yawned, then chucked with embarrassment. When she glanced up at the box, she couldn't tell if he was still there or not.

"Good night, Phantom." She said softly, like a slight caress. All fear or doubt she had previously held of him dissipated. Maybe she'd finally have a friend and who better than the Phantom of the Opera? Biting her lips, she couldn't stop her excited grin to slip.

Suddenly, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Was it her new found friend? She whipped around on the balls of her feet, merely to see Beliveau standing with an evil smirk and glass bottle. Adelaide gulped.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here? Hm? Waiting for your little Opera Ghost?" Beliveau grasped Adelaide's think wrist with his empty hand, dragging her close to him. "You've caused me much trouble you little brat." He spat, dropping the glass bottle on the stage floor, the sound the glass bottle on the stage floor, the sound of shattering glass making Adelaide cringe.

Beliveau threw her to the ground, rolling his eyes. "I wonder if your protector would like to watch me take you. Right here in his opera house!" Beliveau raised his eyebrows while fumbling with the clasps of his trousers.

Adelaide's stomach filled with panicky disposition, as she stood and threw a fist in his face. Beliveau groaned, throwing his arms around her waist and another over her mouth. She struggled, kicking and desperately clawing at his hands.

Beliveau suddenly howled in pain, watching blood gush from a cut on his arm administered by Adelaide. He once again shoved her to the ground, as he clutched his bleeding arm.

"You bitch!" He called. Adelaide clutched her cheek as Beliveau stood over her. Ducking her head from his blows, she promised herself she wouldn't back up at him.

She pulled her hand, covered in a mix of her and Beliveau's blood, away from face as she suddenly felt Beliveau's presence removed. The Phantom, instead, stood over her, holding Beliveau's collar in his hand. Adelaide gasped, pushing and scooting herself away from the men.

"You wouldn't want to become more of a murderer now, wouldja?" Beliveau asked in choked whisper.

The Phantom growled, releasing him. "Go."

Beliveau did not have to be told twice.

"P-Phantom?"

He sighed just loud enough for her to hear, and turned to her. "Can you stand?"

"Yes, of course." She mumbled, steading herself. He watched as she struggled, finally just coming over to her and sweeping her up in to a bridal fashion. She groaned. "Where are we going?"

"Shh." He shushed her gently, "Relax yourself."

Adelaide was wide-eyed with fear, but forced her eyes shut, not wanting to see another moment.