A/N: I don't own "Phantom of the Opera" or "Au claire de la lune", just the OC. Enjoy!

Phantom of the Opera – Behind the Trapdoors…

Chapter One - In She Came

The snow drifted to the ground, coating everything in its path. The stars winked gently upon the snow-coated streets of Paris below, their glow mystic and gentle compared to the brash lamplight of the walkways. People scurried to their homes, eager to get out of the cold and bleakness of the night. They avoided the lone, tattered figure that made her way towards the alley by the grand opera house.

Clutching at her threadbare cloak with frozen fingers, the girl took a moment to gaze up at the building's beauty. A smile worked its way onto her chapped, blue lips, as memories of a happier time danced in her mind. Adjusting her wicker basket onto the crook of her elbow, she stepped into the darkened pathway by the Palais Garnier, her tired grey eyes searching for a resting place.

"There." There was a set of crates that were to be taken away, creating a barrier from the rest of the alley and the door that provided a way into the opera house through the backstage and worn corridors. Her breath came out a slow puff of smoke, her body engulfed in the chill the air readily offered. Setting herself down onto the slush coated floor, she curled into a ball and looked about cautiously before taking out a stale piece of bread and tentatively biting into it. Her stomach had been assaulted with hunger for days since she ran away, but she hadn't dared to eat any of her food until now. She chewed the bread pensively, wondering what to do next now that she had made it to Paris. She knew she had an uncle who lived in the area, but she had never seen or met him, which would make things extremely difficult. She was already a poor, bedraggled peasant in the eyes of passersby and those of great status…even if she did find him, would the servants even consider letting her come into his home and see him?

The door swung open suddenly, startling her out of her thoughts as an elderly woman stepped into the night, hissing curses as she checked her basket.

"Mon Dieu, how could I have forgotten the brandy for him?!" the woman's voice crackled, the feather in her bonnet fluttering and bobbing above her head. Pursing her lips in frustration, she turned her head to glare at the darkness when she noticed the young girl staring at her with intrigue. "What's the matter, girl? Never seen a woman going out to make a last minute purchase?" she snapped, already in a foul mood.

"Your dress is torn," the girl commented quietly, stunning the old woman. The child was at least twenty, from what she could tell, and her voice was as sweet and soothing as a nightingale. "…may I fix it for you?"

"Fix it?" the old woman repeated, glancing down to see the irksome tear in her ash-black skirt. "I haven't got any string-"

"I do," the girl offered, slipping her bare hand into the basket and withdrawing a spool of matching thread and a thin, shining needle. "I won't be long."

"Just what makes you think I'll let you?" she huffed, though the girl intrigued her, so she walked over to the child and let her get to work. She watched as she girl shivered, her body softly quaking as she worked. Her fingers, though stiff and cold, managed to move deftly, making each stitch count as she fixed the skirt. It wasn't but a minute later when she bit the thread and scooted away from the old woman.

"That should do it," she nodded, putting her belongings back into the basket.

"Well…!" The elder knelt down and checked the skirt, her fingertips caressing the fabric where it had been stripped apart earlier thanks to a loose nail in the floorboards. The skirt felt like silk, as if it had never been ruined. "You have some talent," she nodded gratefully at the girl. "Seamstress?"

"Yes and no," the girl smiled, blushing as she coughed into a worn out handkerchief tucked away into her sleeve.

"I suppose I'll have to pay you," the old woman said, reaching into her own basket when the girl shook her head.

"No, Madame, all I ask is you let me stay in this corner until morning," the girl responded, tightening her hold on her cloak as a breeze blew by.

The woman squinted, struggling to get a better look at the figure in the dark, contemplating a notion in her head. "…are you looking for work?"

She blinked at the question, stunned at first, before answering, "For the time being, yes, Madame."

"Hmm…" The old woman tapped her cheek decisively before offering the girl her hand. "Go on, take my hand, child. I won't bite," she reassured the girl, helping her to her feet. "There is a room inside that is used for old costumes that are in dire need of repair. It's to your left, just down the hall to the third door on your left again. There's a cot there – you may spend the night and then I'll have you put to work once I speak with the managers."

"Madame-" the girl began to protest.

"Don't argue with me, or I'll change my mind," the elder huffed indignantly, her feathered bonnet wavering as she jutted her chin out in defiance. "I can assure you it's better in there than out here."

The girl stared at the woman, startling her with a gentle, heartwarming smile that slowly graced her weary but beautiful face. "Merci, Madame. You are too kind."

"Bah," the woman spat, rolling her eyes. "I must go. Remember, when you enter-"

"Turn left and find the third door to my left once more," the girl cut her off, nodding her understanding. "Thank you again, Madame-"

"Giry. I am Madame Giry, concierge for this fine establishment," she beamed as she spoke, her chest sticking out a bit as her feather continued to quiver and bob at her movements. "But what is your name?"

"Angelique Archambault," she introduced herself, curtsying to the elder, startling her even more so.

"Such a strange child…" "Very well, Angelique. Go to your room and I shall return shortly," she promised, bowing her head to her before taking off rather quickly for a woman of her age.

Angelique watched the old woman leave before cautiously turning the knob of the door and entering the building, the warmth of the establishment rushing through her. She gave a relieved sigh before shutting the door once more, looking about as she warily stepped down the hall as she had been instructed, making her way to the third door. Entering the room, she gasped as she saw an assortment of gorgeous fabrics and outfits that were torn and worn, in dire need of repair. She dared to let her fingers slide over one of the nearest dresses, its shimmering champagne hue calling to her.

Setting her basket onto the floor by the cot, she pulled her hood off of her head and released her auburn locks from their hold. As the bun was undone and came down in tangled waves, she sat on the rickety bed and sighed, exhausted and thankful all at once. From somewhere towards the front of the opera, she could hear a woman singing to the eager audience, her voice resounding in the air, though a bit pompous and overbearing at some notes. Her mother's face flickered into her mind, her voice floating in her memory. Prompted by the happy thought, she couldn't help but sing out softly.

"Au clair de la lune

Mon ami Pierrot,

Prête-moi ta plume,

Pour écrire un mot…"

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she did so, her knuckles quickly wiping them away. Heaving another melancholy sigh, she lay herself down on the cot and closed her eyes, weeping still. As she drifted off to sleep, she dreamed that an angelic voice sang sweetly to her, as if to comfort her after all she had been through and assist her on her way into slumber land.

"–Ouvrez votre porte,

Pour le Dieu d'Amour…"