What had she been thinking? She could've chosen anywhere, absolutely anywhere to hide, but she had chosen the Opera House. How she'd managed to slip in, she'd never know, but she had, and now she was lost. Lost in the basements of the Paris Opera House. She had no doubt that she was safe from the police, but she was unsure that she'd ever find her way out.

Stumbling in the dark, she wandered for hours. In her earlier desperation to get as far from the police as she could, she had gone down as far as she could. Now she could find no way back up.

After what seemed like an eternity, she stopped and rested against a wall, shutting her eyes and calming her shaky breath. She rubbed her cold arms with her hands to warm them. In a matter of minutes, she had slid down to the floor and fallen asleep.

•

She woke up on a small sofa in a poorly lit room. How had she gotten here? She sat up and immediately spotted a man with his back to her. He wore a black shirt and pants, and there was a black cloak draped across one shoulder. A whisper dared to venture from her lips.

"Monsieur?"

His turned around. A white mask covered all but the lower portion of his face. He strode over to her, gripped her wrists, and thrust her into a chair. "What were you doing in the Opera House basements?" he demanded.

Still recovering from the sudden shock of being flung harshly into an armchair and questioned like a common criminal, she hugged herself protectively.

The man sighed and sank back onto the sofa. "Forgive me, Mademoiselle, for acting so harshly. You have happened too close to my abode, and I am quite protective of my privacy."

She nodded, wondering why then it was he had brought her here.

"Now then, Mademoiselle, what were you doing in the depths of the Paris Opera House?"

"I was running away and got lost-"

"What were you running from?"

She realized now how foolish she had been to answer so quickly and so honestly. How could she tell him what she was? He was her only hope for getting out of wherever she was now. There was no telling what he would do if he knew the real reason for her running so franticly away from the police to end up lost in the Opera House basements. He couldn't know what she really was. She averted her eyes from his face, but could still feel his gaze upon her.

He didn't need her answer to tell him who and what she was. She wore a necklace with a small, circular charm dangling from it. An even smaller diamond-shaped jewel was set in the center of the miniature gold disc.

Prostitutes, though honorable citizens and government officials tried to hide it, were common on the streets of Paris. So desperate was the government to make this city perfect, they had outlawed it. This was a law that, for the most part, was kept just as secret as those who broke it. Those who were aware of the existence of the law would realize the need for the law, and it would become common knowledge that Paris was, indeed, not so perfect.

Still, the way the young woman before him held onto herself, how she had hugged herself protectively in her sleep, and her poorly hidden modesty told him that she did it for the money, not pleasure.

He still wanted to hear it for himself.

"Answer me, Mademoiselle."

She looked back at him and sighed. "The police."

The man smirked. "And why were the police chasing you?"

She looked away again, and he decided she'd been tortured enough, so he continued talking without getting an answer and stood up.

"Others who wonder so close to my abode-"

He lived under the Opera House?

"-often die within the hour I find them."

Her breath caught in her chest.

"But I think that, in this case, a different solution can be found."

She allowed herself to breathe again, when he whirled and leaned over her, one hand on each arm of the chair, trapping her.

"I know who you are and why you were running from the police. You're a prostitute, a whore, a woman of the street," he hissed, grabbing the charm on her necklace and tugging on it lightly.

She pressed herself as far against the back of the chair as she could. "Please, sir, surely the other solution…? It isn't, I hope…?" She shut her eyes against tears. How could she have let herself be convinced to take up that necklace, the mark of a prostitute? It had been necessary for survival, but it was demanded of her too much, and she was sure that one day it would be her death. Tears were stinging her eyes when the man spoke again, softer now.

"No. Such an innocent soul should not be forced to thrive upon such horrors," he said, dropping the chain around her neck and taking her chin his hand to gently turn her face towards him. He smiled softly. "I realize it is only for your very survival that you've taken on such a role. I have been lonely here for too long. I am about to make an offer. Stay here with me and respect me, and you may stay here, in the Opera House."

She scanned him. "Why?" she inquired, somewhat suspicious.

He chuckled softly and stood up. "As I said, I have been too lonely here for too long, living here underground. You are looking for an escape from the nightmare you've turned your life into. I believe we can both benefit from this arrangement."

Her eyes searched his partially masked face, looking for a catch. She was sure there was more to it, there had to be, but she was not about to turn down a way out of the rut she'd fallen into without considering it first. She took a deep breath. "Who exactly are you?"

Sweeping his cloak back, he bent at the waist into a deep bow and straightened quickly.

"The Phantom of the Opera, at your service. But, please, Erik will suffice. There is no surname, I named myself. And you are…?"

"Desiree."

"No surname for you?"

"At one point, surely, but not now. It is better for… my type to not mention any affiliation with anyone else."

"Very well. What do you think of my offer?"

Desiree, as her name had now been mad known, hesitated. "I'm not sure. I need some time to think about it."

"Again, very well," said Erik, nodding once. "There is a room where you can stay. Why don't you sleep on it and decide in the morning?"

She nodded and stood up slowly, then followed him out a door, down a hallway, and stopped at a wooden door. He took a small key out from beneath his cloak, inserted it into the lock, and turned it. There was a click, and the door swung open slowly.

Erik walked around the room, lighting gas lamps that provided just enough light to see the contents of the room without lighting it particularly well.

There was a wardrobe against the wall opposite the door, and a vanity on the wall to her right. Against the wall opposite the vanity, there was a large, four-poster bed, and laying at the foot of it-

"Why is there a bed and a coffin?" Desiree inquired, staring at the empty box.

"I can have the bed removed if you like."

She jerked her head to look at him with wide, surprised eyes. "N-no… that's quite alright."

A smile played on his lips. "I thought so. I'll leave you now. You should be able to find everything you need in the wardrobe. Please consider my offer. Good night."

Before Desiree could respond, Erik had shut the door and was gone. She listened to his receding footsteps for a moment, then looked at the coffin again uneasily.

She shuddered, and, trying not to think about it, walked over to the wardrobe and opened its doors. Inside were dozens of dresses. Many were dark shades of blue or green, though there were some that were more pastel, and a few warm colors. She ran her hand along one in awe. What were these gowns doing here, in the house of a man who lived alone underground?

But he wasn't a man, she reminded herself. He was a phantom. That didn't change the fact that these dresses were completely out of place down here, but he was a phantom. A phantom? What exactly was a phantom? What was the difference between a phantom and a ghost? A ghost was dead, was a phantom, in some way, alive?

She shut the doors of the wardrobe and seated herself on the bed. Should she be scared of this 'phantom'? Was it dangerous to stay here? More dangerous than returning to her past lifestyle? She looked over at the empty coffin. It threatened her for some reason.

Was living with this 'phantom' as empty a threat as that vacant coffin? Or could it really endanger her?

She leaned over to look past the edge of the bed and into the coffin. Its inside was lined with black satin, and it was rather plain. Still, she shivered.

An occupied coffin would not be any more of a threat than this empty one. Scarier, but no more of a threat. That's what this coffin was. It was frightening, but harmless. Just like this 'phantom.' Scary, but not endangering.

She laid back on the bed, not caring to change, and fell asleep weighing the dangers of staying with an unknown man claiming to be a phantom, in comparison with returning to life as she had lived it before and forgetting this whole incident.

•

By the time Desiree had fallen asleep, Erik had just started thinking. He paced back and forth in front of his organ. Many who were more familiar with his ingenuity would have thought he knew what he was doing. Unfortunately, he didn't. He had stumbled, literally, upon her on his way to tonight's Opera. At first he had though she was dead, but upon further inspection, he had determined that she was breathing. He wasn't one for killing a sleeping person, but he didn't want to leave her there either. So he had taken her back to his house. Now he wondered what he had been thinking. What had he been thinking? He was furious with himself now for being so hospitable, so pitying. And then he had invited her to stay! It was true, he was lonely, but what had gotten to him so much that he had invited a complete stranger to stay with him in his house?

As angry as he was with himself, he could not deny that he wanted her to stay there. He had recognized right off, even with the instability of her voice, that it was beautiful. Not so much as Christine's, but still quite magnificent. The voice was not the only beauty in this young woman. She herself was quite attractive. Her long, dark brown hair fell halfway down her back and curled in some places to just such a degree that her hair was not straight and not curly, but a happy medium. She had hazel eyes that had looked green in a certain light, as he had noticed when he had flung her into the chair earlier. Her skin was fair, and the shape of her face and her eyes complimented each other nicely.

But he had changed since Christine was there. He had been passionately in love with Christine before, a desperate man. He had also been deeply involved with his music at the time. He still composed a lot, but not as much as when Christine was here. Now that she was gone, he was constantly haunting the Opera House. He had gotten tired of playing dead, and was restless. He had needed to get rid of the pent-up energy and mischief. He had developed a more cruel sense of humor. He still had his passion and his emotion, but it was more balanced now with his chaotic side. It was also better protected than it had been when Christine was here. He would not be so quick to fall in love again.

But that was not to say that he wouldn't fall in love.