*unveils chandelier* *blasting organ sound* BUUUM! BUM, BUM, BUM, BUM, BUM!

No I'm just kidding! If you haven't read the description though, while I do not own the "Phantom of the Opera" musical or original book, this is a retelling not totally reliant on either. I actually would like to turn this into an actual book eventually, so I'm posting the rough draft of it here for feedback. Hope you enjoy the first chapter and the chapters to come!

Théâtre National de l'Opéra
Paris, France
Late Summer, 1883

Christine yawned, stretched her arms, and then rubbed her eyes as she trudged her way upstairs to her room. Although she had been awake and up and about for just under an hour already, she wished she'd gotten better sleep the night before. This year's summer had been unusually cool, and the draft that had recently made its way into her room certainly didn't help much either. She'd been wondering if she should ask one of the maintenance workers to see if they could fix it. But hers was only one small room in this vast, enormous palace of finery and gilded gold that was the Parisian Opera House, which she'd called home for the last eight years. Though even after all that time, she still sometimes found it ironic that she, a working class girl, could call such a magnificent monument to singing and dance her home.

Shaking her head to refocus on the matter at hand, Christine looked around her room – which was twice as long as it was wide, though it wasn't wide all that much – and soon her eyes landed on the bucket and two scrub-brushes on the side. Just as quickly though, she caught sight of three knives propped up against the wall in a row. Smirking, she didn't hesitate to pick one of the weapons up. The hilt fit into her grasp perfectly, and she felt the smoothness of its blade as she moved two fingers across it, from the hilt to the sharp tip. Without another thought after, she swiftly turned and hurled the knife to the opposite end of the room, where the blade struck and stuck to the makeshift target set up on the wall.

Smiling with satisfaction once she saw she'd hit her mark, Christine strode to the target and pulled the knife from the target, which she then lifted to see the dozens of other scratches from all the other times she'd thrown one. Like scars on human skin, she knew the marks would never fully come out of the wall. Fortunately, no one would ever have to know, and heaven knows what would happen if anyone did. Or so the girl thought until she heard a voice in the doorway behind her.

"Still throwing knives, I see?" the young feminine voice asked before chuckling with amusement.

Christine flinched but then couldn't help but laugh a bit as well when she saw it was an old friend of hers. "Meg!" she exclaimed, trying but failing to sound angry. "Don't startle me like that! You know I scare easily!"

"Forgive me," the girl standing in the doorway continued to laugh, "but I simply couldn't resist!"

"As you usually can't," Christine countered humorously. But she then gave a concerned frown as she added, "I do hope you tell no one of this, though."

"Why would I?" Meg asked. "Who would believe me anyway if I told them I know a simple maid who can throw a knife like a highwayman?"

Christine laughed a little bit again, until she truly took in what Meg had just said, and frowned again. "I hope you aren't poking fun at me."

Meg returned her frown when she realized she'd erred. "Oh, no, of course not," she shook her head. "I'm sorry."

Christine then realized where she too had erred, and shook her head back at Meg. "No," she said, "I mustn't be so sensitive." She then looked fully at her friend and added, "Pardon me though but, what are you doing up here?"

"Oh!" Meg exclaimed as she quickly remembered. She hesitated for a moment though before she replied, "Um, Maman wanted me to tell you that…" She trailed off nervously, before forcing the words out of her mouth. "She said that the new theatre managers and their patron will be coming later today rather than tomorrow as originally planned."

"What?!" Christine asked with shock. "What are you talking about? We already have a new prima donna coming to visit for the first time today! It's going to be hard enough work preparing for that."

"Don't get short with me," Meg defended herself. "I'm simply relaying what she said. As far as I know, she didn't arrange for this. The new theatre patron apparently wished to come today at the last minute."

Christine let out an exasperated sigh. "Then I wish he had thought that through further than he must have! I wouldn't be surprised if he should have no manners at all!"

"Oh come now, Christine," Meg gave a bit of a smirk. "Even if he does turn out to be a rude and stuffy old man, that doesn't mean you should lose your manners as well. Maman doesn't need to manage you as much as she does me!"

Christine couldn't help but chuckle again once she heard that. "You're right," she agreed. "After all, we are both twenty years old."

"And yet Maman insists on grouping me with the younger girls," Meg tried sounding annoyed yet couldn't take the amusement out of her voice. She then stood straight though and added, "But no matter. She wanted me to take you to the dance rooms. She said she will meet with you there to explain your new duties."

Pressing her lips together as she already felt the load of the day's work on her shoulders, Christine said, "I can barely contain my excitement."

"Me neither," Meg then said. "So do hurry, won't you?" Without waiting on her friend, the youthful young lady then started hastening down the stairs. Christine opened her mouth to call for her to wait, but seeing as she was already wasting time just by doing that, she relented and hurried after her. Fortunately, she quickly caught up with Meg, and the two of them made their way through the living quarters of the Opera House side by side.

As they did so, Christine couldn't help but notice – as she oftentimes did – how remarkably different she and Meg were from one another. The girl beside her was already dressed in her white danseuse costume, matching the white ribbon holding her hair in a bun. In the early morning light, her hair was the color of sand on the sunniest beach, and her eyes the color of the blue sky above. All of this reminded Christine of how utterly dull she knew she looked. She wore a common brown dress and a faded apron, identifying her to all as a working maid. And whereas Meg had hair and eyes that would make men flock to her, Christine's eyes were brown, and her lifeless hair the color of mud, as far as she was concerned.

And yet while the girl next to her was at least five times as pretty as she, Christine didn't think she could have asked for a better best friend. Ever since she first came to the Opera House when it was inaugurated eight years ago and had first met Meg, they had grown close enough to consider themselves sisters. Although they were rather different personality and appearance wise, and although they could argue much the same as two sisters could, neither ever had any doubt that the other would be there for them.

Such were Christine's thoughts when she and Meg finally made it to one of the three dance rooms, if the giggling from the young girls already inside was any indication. Meg stopped right next to the open doorway, as if to stay hidden just out of view, and had she not lifted her hand for Christine to see, Christine would have run right into her. She was about to ask what Meg was doing, when the fair-haired girl put her finger to her lips and shushed her slightly. "Three of the girls inside are new," Meg whispered. "Listen!"

Though she was forming an idea of what Meg was talking about, which happened just about every time the troupe of danseuses gained new members, Christine still listened in. The giggling ceased, and the voice of one of the older girls – Martine, Christine recalled her name to be – could be heard.

"Even if there are ghosts on the grounds of the old house," she said, "surely you don't think they'd come to haunt the new one?" Christine's eyes widened slightly, and despite thinking that what she was hearing was nonsense, she couldn't help but listen in further.

"Oh I think so," another girl – Daphné – replied. "And I am willing to wager at least half of the servants do as well!" Gasps and intrigued "ooohhh"'s could be heard.

A slightly younger voice then spoke up, making Christine think she was one of the younger newer girls. "What do you mean?" she asked somewhat nervously. "Are there really ghosts haunting these grounds?"

"I believe it," one of the older girls – Rosalie – said. "In fact, I remember one night in particular, one of the stagehands went to one of the cellars just underneath the house. When he came back up, he looked as pale as a sheet, his eyes wider than I'd ever seen a person's eyes get!"

Three youthful gasps came up, and another older girl – Modeste – quickly spoke right after. "Perhaps it was that ghoul said to dwell in the underground lake this house was built over!"

One of the newer girls gasped again and asked, "This house is standing above a lake? I didn't know that! No one ever said anything!"

"Why would they have?" Rosalie spoke again. "Why would they risk upsetting the ghost living down there?"

Feeling the tension of the situation heating with every word, yet not able to walk away from it, Christine stood still where she was, feeling a bit sorry for what she knew was coming for the new arrivals. "W-what does it do?" one of them asked. "I-if he's, upset, I-I mean?"

"Oh, as long as you stay away from that cellar, he won't be bothered at all," Rosalie replied. "But you wouldn't dare want to actually go in there, especially by yourself, and especially after midnight." Christine gave a confused face as she asked in her mind, Midnight? Why is it always midnight? Nevertheless, she continued to listen, or, rather, at this point, eavesdrop, feeling all the naughtier with every word she heard.

"If you happen to do so," Rosalie spoke on, "if you happen to come across a pair of black eyes against a white face staring daggers at you through the door…" Even if she couldn't actually see it, Christine could feel the shaking of the younger girls inside. Rosalie continued, "If any of that happens to you, then you can look forward to his hands, or worse, his Punjab lasso, wringing your neck until you're strangled!"

Immediately after, as though reacting to someone coming up behind them, the three young girls inside shrieked, and the older girls' laughter followed shortly after. Meg as well was giggling at what she was hearing. And while Christine let out a few chuckles, she had to speak her mind. "A bit mean though, don't you think, Meg?" she asked. "Making up these silly stories to scare every new girl?"

Meg turned around to face her friend, tears starting to form in her eyes. "Oh, it's only a bit of fun!" she exclaimed softly, to keep the girls inside from hearing. "Why not have a little bit of initiation?" As though it were some sort of secret club, Christine thought as she rolled her eyes and smirked at her friend's gaiety.

Before either of them could say another word though, both girls jumped slightly and turned around the moment they heard and felt the double tap of a cane on the wooden floor. The two of them found themselves facing a stern-faced older woman, who much resembled Meg, her fading brown hair wrapped in a tight bun and her imposing dark green dress immediately setting her apart from the two young ladies in front of her. Her blue-gray gaze landed on the fair-haired girl as she said in a strict voice, "Meg Giry?"

Gasping lightly at knowing who she was standing before, Meg briefly bowed and breathed, "Maman, pardon me!" As though seeking a way out, she quickly pointed out the girl next to her and hastily added, "I-I've brought Christine, a-as you've asked me to!"

"I see," the woman said, her cold eyes remaining firmly on her daughter, "and I thank you. Now…" She took two steps forward, though Meg didn't dare take two steps back. The older woman, her gaze never leaving Meg, pointed into the room and ordered, "Over to the barre, with the others, if you please. And remain there until I return."

"Oui, Maman," Meg nodded, trying to keep her voice from shaking. After briefly bowing again, she hastened into the room, where the other dancers were already assembling at the barre, as though they too had heard the stern mistress outside. Only when her daughter was inside did the older woman turn toward Christine, her somewhat steely face softening slightly.

Nodding deeply in respect, Christine gave a small smile as she greeted her, "Good morning, Madame Giry. Meg said you had sent for me?"

"Good morning, Christine," the ballet mistress greeted her back. "Yes, I have sent for you. I trust Meg has told you that we have more guests coming today than we had originally prepared for?"

"She has," Christine nodded. "The two new theatre managers and their new patron, as well as our newest prima donna come from Milan?"

"Quite," Madame Giry nodded back. "Now, I do beg your pardon for calling on you on such short notice–"

"Oh, think nothing of it Madame, begging your pardon," Christine interrupted her before excusing herself. "I'm always happy to help where and when I can. What is it you need me to do right now?"

Despite having been interrupted, the older woman smiled softly as she replied, "This might sound like a lofty assignment, but I believe you are capable of the task."

Christine stood up a bit straighter and took a step forward, intrigued at what she was hearing. "I'm listening, Madame."

"The new prima donna, Carlotta Giudicelli, is planned to come to the house by the nooning hour," Madame Giry explained. "It is expected that at least one of the serving maids attend to her whenever she is here. After thinking it over, I decided I would hand the over such a position to you, as I have deemed you the most capable for it."

Her dark eyebrows raised and her brown eyes wide, Christine would've staggered slightly if she hadn't the nerve to quickly compose herself. Out of all the things she'd expected to hear from the Madame, she hadn't seen anything like this coming. "You wish for me to attend to Mademoiselle Giudicelli?" she asked in disbelief, her heart starting to pound with anxiety. Changing her tone then, however, she went on to say, "I mean, it certainly is no trouble for me. I've just never had such a big responsibility laid upon me before."

"Nevertheless," Madame Giry said, "I am confident that you will do well. But we have no time to lose." She then pointed down the hallway, indicating to Christine that she was directing her to the opposite side of the building. "The most important matter at hand is that Mademoiselle Giudicelli's new dressing room must be readied for her arrival. She is the most expensive prima donna we have had in years, therefore we absolutely can't afford to make a bad first impression."

"Oh no!" Christine shook her head enthusiastically. "Of course not." She then winced though when she remembered something important. "I'm afraid I left my cleaning tools in my room."

"No need to fetch them," Madame Giry assured her. "Simply ask one of the other maids and I am sure they won't mind lending theirs to you. Either way, I am entrusting this job to you, and I pray that you do well."

Smiling at the rather motherly encouragement from the older woman, Christine nodded. "I will, Madame," she promised. "Thank you. I won't disappoint you." She then nodded deeply one more time and said, "Good day."

"And to you, Christine," Madame Giry nodded back. The two then went their separate ways, the older woman to the ballet room, and Christine toward the opposite half of the Opera House, taking her skirt by her hands as she began to make haste, her heart still pounding nervously against her chest.

After traveling down at least three hallways, she managed to make her way to the first floor. And not too long after, she came to the main centerpiece of the Opera House: the theatre itself. Though hesitant, as she often was whenever she came to this place that felt almost like hallowed ground, Christine forced her feet forward across the stage. Once she made it to the middle of the fine wood floor however, her feet somehow found a mind of their own and stopped, forcing her to look around the giant room that looked as grand as a palace. Although she had been in the theatre itself and even on the stage several times in the years she'd lived here, for whatever reason, it felt so much larger than usual this time.

Her eyes first caught sight of the stage-lights that ran across the front of the floor. Until two years ago, candles waiting to be lit laid inside the sconces. Ever since the house had had electric lights installed, however, lightbulbs had been fitted in in place of the candles. Beyond the stage lay the orchestra pit. And further past that, the dozens if not hundreds of red velvet seats that stretched to the back of the theatre for what felt like a mile. And that was only the first floor of seats. Four more rows shaped like half-circles, bordered with railing and supported by columns of magnificent gilded gold, stretched up to the dome-shaped ceiling, where even more fine, meticulously crafted gilded gold encircled the brightly colored painting that called back the mastery of the Renaissance, and the Opera House's crown jewel in the center: the ornate, beautiful chandelier, shining and sparkling like a giant diamond as it hung rather precariously from the center of the ceiling.

Although the building itself was less than ten years old, whenever Christine walked through this area, she often felt as though she were walking into a great palace from the glory days of Rome. For her, although she had never actually been there, not even Versailles itself could compare to the grand testimony to human engineering and achievement she now beheld. She could only imagine how much more majestic the theatre must look to one performing onstage. While Christine had unfortunately never had that privilege, she sometimes in her spare time couldn't help but imagine the near heavenly glory she knew surrounded the theatre and especially the stage whenever there was a performance. It was something she'd always wished to experience ever since she could remember, whether or not it ever actually did come true.

She was quickly drawn back to the present however when she heard someone whistle at her. Christine turned around and saw one of the stagehands looking at her from the wings. "You just going to stand there or belt somethin' out Mademoiselle?" he asked in jest. Immediately, Christine remembered that she had an assignment to attend to. Without pausing to wonder if the man was merely joking or if he was intending to be vulgar, she took up her skirts again and finally managed to get on her way again, marveling at how she remembered which direction she was supposed to go.

Subtracting the time she spent gazing around the main theatre as though mesmerized, it took about the same time Christine traveled from the ballet room to there to travel from the main theatre to the dressing room for the Opera House's prima donna. There was a bit of a pause when she'd asked one of the maids to lend Christine her tools. When Christine had told her why, the girl – or rather woman, since she was somewhat older – raised her eyebrows at her, chuckled slightly, and wished her "luck," before giving Christine her tools and going away to tend to some other business of the house with another maid. Christine had wondered at the woman's remark ever since. Certainly, she knew that personally attending to the new prima donna would be no simple task. But she knew Madame Giry, wise and careful woman she was, would not have laid this responsibility on her were she not capable of bearing it.

When she finally got to the dressing room itself however, Christine had much the same reaction as when she'd walked across the stage only ten minutes before, even though she'd been in the prima donna's dressing room far less times than she'd been in the main theatre. The room of course was much, much smaller than the main theatre. But it was no less grand. The walls were a soft rose color with gilded gold bordering it at the ceiling. A miniature chandelier hung from the middle of the ceiling. Instead of gaslights like the ones in her room, there were electric lamps. There was a luxurious looking chaise longue chair in the rococo style against one wall. A Persian rug containing countless detailed artistic renderings covered the rosewood floor. And of course, at the back of the room itself was the lavish gold and ivory dressing table and massive mirror, one which might be found in the home of a countess, duchess, or even queen.

Christine hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should even dare disturb what seemed to her like perfection. But then she remembered that it simply wouldn't do for the new prima donna to come into a bit of a dusty and unmade dressing room. Thus, Christine rolled up her sleeves, and quickly got to work.

As she did so, as was often the case when she worked, her thoughts began to wander a bit. Much as she wondered what it would be like to be onstage during a performance, she wondered what it would be like to have such a dressing room to herself. Of course, Christine had never truly been much for traditionally feminine things, though, whether this was because of her otherwise unremarkable appearance or simple personality preferences, she couldn't guess. But, while for most of her life she couldn't stand the idea of constantly trying to be the lady when boys got to do mostly fun things, every now and then Christine had wondered what it would be like to look and be treated the lady for at least one night.

Truth be told, she was a bit jealous of Meg and the ballet dancers and how they could mesmerize an entire audience with their otherworldly graceful physicality. With that thought, she felt a slight bitterness as she felt even more envious of how the altos and especially the sopranos in the house could enchant and bless those same audiences simply with the sounds of their voices. Who knew? Perhaps she too would have been one of them, if not for one incident, one painful memory which she'd often tried but never succeeded to fully blot out of her mind. That time when her singing voice was stolen from her and her father was forced to begin an early journey to the grave he now lay in…

Realizing just where her mind was wandering, Christine shook her head in an attempt to skip over that unpleasant event to the slightly happier ones that followed; when she first came to live in the Opera House eight years ago; when she first met Madame Giry, the closest thing she'd ever had to a mother for most of her life, however stern and strict she could be; when she first met her best friend and surrogate sister, Meg; and of course those increasingly rarer times spent with – as well as letters received from – another dear friend of hers…

Just as she was thinking this, Christine heard a rapid knock at the door. Her heartbeat quickening anxiously, she rose to her feet, hastened to the door, and opened it to see another one of the housemaids. "Oh, thank heaven, you're here!" she breathed a sigh of relief. "We've been looking all over for you!"

"What do you mean, you've been looking for me?" Christine asked, her eyes now has wide as the girl's in front of her. "What is it?"

Pointing down the hall frantically, the girl replied, "The new prima donna, Carlotta Giudicelli! Her carriage is pulling up to the Opera House! You're needed!"

Feeling her heart jump in her chest, Christine just barely avoided skipping over her words. "But, but I, I've only just finished scrubbing the floor! What if she slips and falls!"

"Hopefully it'll be dry by the time she gets here!" the girl replied as she pulled Christine out of the room and lightly pushed her down the hall. "Just go! I'll get all of your things out!"

Knowing she had no time to object, which would only be time wasted, Christine nodded. "T-thank you!" she called before gathering her skirt in her hands and not just hastening but running down the hall and then down the stairs.

As she raced through the Opera House, Christine's thoughts raced even faster in all directions, always just out of her grasp. Most annoying. It's not even the nooning hour yet! one of her thoughts objected. Never mind that! another shouted. You promised Madame Giry you would not disappoint her! Now get moving! Heeding that thought in particular, Christine hurried even faster through the house. So much so that by the time she got to the great hall, she very nearly tripped over her skirt, just narrowly avoiding a very uncomfortable trip down the grand staircase. Nevertheless, she kept her speed as she got closer and closer to the main entrance. And yes, indeed, yes! She finally made it to the outside!

And just as she did, Christine caught side of perhaps the most splendid gilded carriage pulled by two pairs of the fanciest white horses she'd laid eyes on coming up to the great stone staircase that graced the front of the Opera House. Somehow, she managed to keep the feeling in her hands as she held her skirt in her grasp and hurried down the stone steps toward the carriage, her heart beating more madly than it had in a long while.

Only when Christine left the last step did she finally let go of her skirt, straighten her posture, and put her hands in front of her to look the serving maid as she walked as hastily as she could toward the carriage, which stopped just as she approached it. Once the carriage halted, the footman got down from his place at the back and strode stiffly to the side door. Once his gloved hand rested on the golden handle he said as though announcing royalty, "The new prima donna of the Paris Opera, Signorina Carlotta Giudicelli!"

Trying her best not to bite her lip or twiddle her fingers, Christine watched as he opened the door. And out came, or rather, out stumbled, what was perhaps the most extravagantly dressed woman she had ever seen. Indeed, Christine thought for a moment that she might fall to the ground below, but she quickly caught hold of the footman's cuff before allowing him, or rather ordering him, to help her straighten upright on her feet.

The woman's face reddened in annoyance as soon as she regained her balance, and with a shrill voice she screeched at the footman, "Is it really that hard to fold my skirt into the carriage in a way that will not make me crash to the ground when I come out of it?!" The footman's face remained expressionless, much as a butler's would, and the woman let out an "Ugh!" of frustration. "Just see to it that it does not happen again!" The footman nodded. And by now, all of Christine's attention was on the woman she had been assigned to attend, the woman she couldn't help but look from head to toe at.

This was Carlotta Giudicelli? She had expected someone of fine taste, but perhaps not this fine. From what Christine could tell, she appeared to be in her late twenties or early thirties. She was slightly plump, as most prima donnas were. Against her cream-colored skin, she wore black gloves and an elaborate dress that Christine thought – but didn't dare comment – was a rather ugly shade of green. When she got to the woman's face, Christine's eyes widened a bit when she saw she was wearing rouge, a bit of a scandalous substance. Her hazel-colored eyes didn't seem to know how to truly smile. Her elegantly styled hair made Christine's eyes widen even more when she saw that it was bright red. Not auburn or chestnut, as one might expect, but true scarlet red. And on top of her hair, she wore a flowery hat that matched the hideous green dress.

"Well, can you speak?" the woman barked in a similar way a poodle might. "Or are you just another dumb and witless girl?"

Although taken back a bit by the woman's attitude and choice of words, Christine nonetheless regained her composure and did her best to keep her voice steady as she replied, "Um, good day, and welcome to our fine Théâtre National de l'Opéra. My name is Christine Daaé, Mademoiselle–"

"Signorina!" Carlotta spat at her, rolling her r's for effect. "I am pleased to have a French maid, but I myself am not French! Remember that, wench!"

"Yes, of course, Ma–" Christine shook her head briefly to correct herself, but was only slowly able to say the right word. "Signorina…"

"Good enough," Carlotta said, though she didn't smile or seem satisfied at all. "Let us be going now! This so-called summer weather is getting far too cold!"

Somehow being in the presence of this overly bedecked peacock of a lady made Christine a bit more dimwitted than usual, for only then did she realize something surprising. "You know already? That I am to be your maid, I mean?"

"But of course!" Carlotta replied, incredulous. "Why else could you be here other than to fetch me?" Without pausing, she added, "Take up my skirt train, will you? I do not want to further risk defiling it after what happened just now." Clearly this woman was used to being obeyed at a moment's notice, judging by her commanding tone of voice and the ease with which she spoke it. Still, despite how this self-proclaiming queen was already getting under her skin, Christine remembered the promise she'd made to Madame Giry.

"O-of course, Signorina," she nodded. She then bent down and gathered Carlotta's train in her hands as though she were gathering the train of a bride at her wedding. Again, without pausing, as though she knew that Christine had taken up her train right then and there, Carlotta huffed before taking a hand fan out of her reticule – evidencing that she wasn't truly feeling the unusually cold weather as she'd just said – and then walked on, up the stone steps and toward the main Opera House.

As Christine rolled her eyes in exasperation, she could only hope that Signorina Giudicelli wasn't any more high-maintenance than she was already proven to be. Otherwise, keeping her promise to the ballet mistress would prove far more difficult than she originally thought.

Reviews would be appreciated.