A/N: This is my first POTO story and also my first story written in English. Tips and Trics for grammar are very welcome. So are reviews (: I know the first chapter isn't really much exiting but I always find it difficult to start a story.
Disclaimer: I DO NOT own anything doing with the phantom of the Opera, even though I really wish I did. I only own my written pages, storyline and my interpretation the characters.

Please enjoy, and tell me what you think! The story will mostly be written in meg's perspective and sometimes Erik's.

Chapter One

With my mother's hand on my shoulder I watched my best friends début from the wings of the Opera Populaire. She was only halfway through the song, when I felt the hand on my shoulder leave and I sighed, enchanted by Christine's voice. I watched her as it soared through the theatre and made the people watch her in awe. When she was done, the crowd exploded with applause and shouts, wanting more of this new, beautiful soprano.

'Christine!' I yelled after the performance of Hannibal, running down to the little Chapel still wearing my ballet clothes and point shoes.
'Christine,' I smiled, when I saw her on the floor, lighting a candle for her father. I frowned when my voice echoed a third time through the chapel.
She looked up to me and smiled her beautiful smile.
'Meg.'
'Why in the world are you hiding in here? Everyone upstairs is looking for the mysterious new prima donna of the Opera Populaire. You were perfect'
'Please Meg don't be ridiculous. I'm no prima donna.' She denied, but smiled proudly.
'I just wish my father were here to see me shine on the stage.'
Suddenly feeling as sad as she did, I kneeled to the cold floor, careful not to sit on her dress and took her hand in mine.
'I'm so sorry.'
'You know, when my father died, he told me he would send the Angel of Music to me. I dreamed since then that he'd appear. But when I sing, I can sense him, like my father is always with me through this Angel.'
I smiled softly at my friends story and began to rise.
'You're hands are cold, dear, and you are as pale as a ghost. Maybe it's time we return to the light of the dressing rooms.'
She nodded slowly and slowly rose from the floor.
'Maybe you can even find a handsome suitor in the mass of admirers you have gained through your performance tonight. You really sang like an Angel tonight.'
She looked at me, shocked.

'The Angel won't allow it Meg, I promised him to put all my time and passion into music. I can't be distracted by anything.'
I sighed, nodded, too tired to start a discussion about her Angel tonight.
My mother and I got her to her dressing room safely and after a quick hug, I bid her goodnight. Swiftly I walked back to the dormitories where I had a small room for myself since I was born and raised here in the Opera Populaire. I quickly changed into my nightgown behind the changing screen and stared for a moment to the stars. I knew the pain Christine experienced, even though my pain wasn't as fresh as hers. My father died when I was six years old and I still missed him, watching me from the wings with my mother.
I shook the melancholic thoughts away and covered my body with the covers as I laid down on my back on the bed.
Only seconds after I finally floated away into a most welcomed night of sleep.