A/N: Happy One Hundred and Fifth Anniversary Phantom of the Opera! Now, I am going to say this right now (to quote 500 Days of Summer), this is not a love story; this is a story of girl meets boy. Or rather, Maid meets Phantom. She is the Harley Quinn to the Phantom's Joker and their relationship is not meant to be envied or wanted in anyway. Also, this story is the result of listen to the Phantom of the Opera soundtrack basically on repeat all throughout my Winter Break and, as a result, there will be reworkings of Phantom songs, as well as songs from other musicals, in this story. The complete playlist can be found on my profile, as can the costumes. Anyway, hope you like it and please review!

Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera or the Phantom of the Opera song "Prologue," which is the song featured in this chapter.

Prologue

1905

A woman in black with dulled red hair and many scars across her face wandered through the decaying halls of the once grand Opera Populaire. Once it had been so full of light and magic and music and beauty… but just like everything in life, those had died as time went on. In the distance, the sound of a gavel echoed throughout the hallowed halls, but she paid no mind. As long as those money grubbing fools were occupied with pawning off the memories of others to make a few hundred francs, she could do what she'd set out to do. Strolling into the former Prima Donna's dressing room, she opened the mirror and headed down once more into the dusty cobweb covered passage, lighting a candle as she went. Finally, she reached the boat on the glassy, undisturbed lake and began to glide over the darkened waters once again. Reaching the distant shore, concealed almost completely in the mist on the lake, she stepped off onto the island and descended into the lair, gently taking sheets off of the furniture as she swept by, imagining the music that used to fill the very being of this hideaway, whether it be that cacophonous symphony of his or the gentle tinkling of the little music box. She spun around in the room, taking it up again, imagining a masked man at the organ working furiously at the organ as she painted and sketched on the steps. She sighed, breath sending dust swirling through the air like snow.

A hidden heaven, yes indeed, she thought to herself. Every piece a perfect match to memory. She sighed to herself. I think of this place, even today:the silent nights in which we two would just make art. She turns to the dusty organ. I wonder… will you still play once more before we part?She sat on the filthy throne, not caring for the dust, before she flexed her fingers and began to play her Phantom's piece as she imagined herself going back to the time when they were young, and alive, and the closest thing to happy either of them had ever been.

1880

A young woman in maid's clothes with bright red hair and many scars across her face sat in a secluded corner of the Opera Populaire, sketching the gorgeous carved angels of gold being devoured by disfigured demons around her, the songs of the opera echoing through the halls, providing the music she needed to make her art.

"Valentine! La Carlotta's thrown another tantrum, said I didn't do a good job cleaning her dressing room, she wants someone else to do it right," an older, relatively large brown haired woman called to the red head, who groaned and rolled her eyes.

"Why me?" the young woman whined.

"Because everyone else is busy, and if you're free enough to be sketching, you should be able to clean the great prima donna's room," the older woman pointed out.

"Be careful Lorraine, don't let the ghost hear you praising Carlotta like that, or he'll drop something on you," Valentine teased.

"Don't joke about that child, now go, before we both lose our jobs," Lorraine shooed the younger woman away. Chuckling to herself, Valentine hurried into the dressing room and began her work. Another day spent dusting and drying and sweeping and scrubbing, getting my hands eaten away by lye, until they go numb with pain, she lamented as she polished the mirror. As long as I make rent, can eat, and perhaps put a little extra for paint, pencils, and canvas, who can complain? she admitted, polishing the frame. As she got to the right top corner, she noticed something odd. There was some kind of latch on the mirror, like the kind used for secret doors. Furrowing her brow, she triggered it. The mirror slid open, revealing a passage behind. Gasping, Valentine gazed into the darkness, seeing nothing but black. Glancing behind, back into the bright, golden, gilded dressing room, the maid considered her options. If I go down there, I could get fired for not cleaning the dressing room or for snooping in places I'm not supposed to, she noted. Turning back to the darkness, she also noted, but who's to say anyone will notice me being gone? Besides, what if I find something worthwhile down there? Smiling to herself, she grabbed and lit a candle from the prima donna's vanity, before clambering through the mirror and descending into the darkness. The cold stonewalls gave nothing away, the candle barely lit the way two feet in front of her, and soon the passage split into multiple paths. Now what? she wondered. But the faint sound of an organ playing in the distance caught her attention and following her ear she headed toward the familiar noise. Suddenly the path opened up and she found herself in some sort of underground cavern, with swirling mist upon a vast glassy lake, illuminated by hundreds of flickering candles. Drinking up what was perhaps the most beautiful sight she'd ever seen, Valentine's eyes were eventually drawn to a collection of candles across the lake. An island perhaps? The young red headed woman reached down to test the waters. Doesn't seem that deep to me, she thought. And I can swim well enough if it is. So, hiking up her skirts, Valentine braved the lake and started to wade across to the supposed island, the ripples she made making the candlelight reflections on the water flicker and wave as she went. After finally crawling upon the bank of the island and smiling as she noticed the beautiful black wooden carved gondola, she stepped up a staircase until she found herself looking down into an open area with a great organ and throne surrounded by the grandest candelabras she'd ever seen. Drawing her knife as a precaution, she began to descend the steps into the hidden haven. Suddenly, something was around her neck and she was thrashing about, trying to breathe, but failing due to the rope that was currently choking her. Desperately, she thrust her knife behind her. The shout and growl of pain and the rope lessening the pressure on her throat told her she'd hit her mark and she wildly stumbled away, yanking the hangman's noose from around her neck.

"Who are you and what do you want!" she shouted, brandishing her knife wildly in the darkness, having lost sight of her attacker.

"Me? Who are you, to invade my home and attack me in such a manner!" a magnificent disembodied voice yelled in reply. Valentine rolled her eyes and made a noise of annoyance.

"Oh my apologies monsieur," she responded, words dripping with sarcasm, "but you did just try to kill me and most do not expect to find anyone living the catacombs of the Opera Populai–" She stopped when she realized what she'd said. A man. Had just tried to kill her. In a hidden passage of the Opera House. Which was supposedly haunted by a ghost. She paled. "You're – you're him, aren't you. You're the Phantom of the Opera!" The silence was a good enough answer for her and her jaw dropped. "My God. Half of me is considering running back upstairs and telling the whole house what I've found."

"And what's to stop me from killing you where you stand?" the voice shouted, echoing around the room.

"Nothing, though you didn't let me finish. If I am to die, will you at least allow me to draw this masterpiece of a home?" she requested, hurriedly taking a pencil and small notepad from the bodice of her dress.

"Draw? You want to draw this hell?" The ghost sounded almost confused, as though completely naïve to the grandeur of his home.

"Hell?" she repeated, turning around in hopes of somehow finding the phantom so as to address him properly. "This is heaven dear monsieur. The way the light reflects on the surface of the lake, the way the fog glows because of the candles, and how the boat rests on the mist makes it look like it's floating on clouds. And my dear phantom, that's just the lake. Your home is a masterpiece. It all looks like it's right out of a fairytale. I could spend an eternity painting the organ alone." She frowned when she realized how bare it was for a home. "I am assuming that this is just your entry way, however, unless you are truly a ghost and have no need of a bed or kitchen." There was silence for a brief moment.

"Brava mademoiselle," the Phantom whispered in her ear, and Valentine rushed forward, pointing her knife at him warily. He was tall, lean, with slicked back black hair, and dressed in all black, save for his white button up shirt and porcelain mask. Ignoring the mask, she stared defiantly into his brilliant black and blue eyes and he simply smiled. "I'll admit, I have never seen such bravery from anyone, much less a common maid." She lowered her knife tentatively.

"So… you're not going to kill me?"

"No, I am," the Phantom assured her and she raised her knife at him again. "But, because I am feeling merciful today, I will allow you your last request." She blinked.

"Really?"

"Would you rather I killed you now?"

"No monsieur, I'll take your offer," she said, sitting down on the steps. She frowned when she realized her notepad was slightly damp. "Do you by any chance have some paper monsieur? Mine's gotten a little wet." The Phantom sighed, before going over by his throne, opening a secret compartment and throwing her a notepad of paper.

"Now get to work," the Phantom ordered and Valentine settled on the stairs and began her work. However, she did not get very far along before she became aware of a presence behind her, and a warm breath on her neck.

"Are you so deprived of company that you are willing to distract me from my work just in order to keep me here longer?" she questioned.

"Don't flatter yourself mademoiselle. I was merely observing your work," the Phantom shot back.

"It's Valentine, and you can observe my work all you want when I'm dead." The Phantom looked at her curiously. This girl was perhaps one of the strangest people he'd never met. She held no apparent fear of him and had stared defiantly back into his eyes, not even seeming to take notice of his mask, which drew people's attention more often than not.

"You don't fear death Miss Valentine?" he inquired. She shrugged, not looking up form her work.

"Not particularly. People like us don't last long in the world. We make a mark, however large or small, and then we die, though if we are lucky, our work lives on. Look at Mozart. Died penniless and is still one of the greats."

"'People like us'?" the Phantom echoed, confused at his inclusion. Valentine smiled and looked up at him.

"I figured from the organ your are a musician, and likely a composer too," gesturing to the instrument and sheet music scattered around it. The phantom looked her over again.

"You are much more intelligent than I thought." She smirked at him.

"I was intelligent enough to find this place, wasn't I? Then again, poor Lorraine has trouble seeing anything in front of her face, so it makes sense she never found the latch."

"Enough talk, finish your work," the Phantom ordered, turning back to his organ.

"You started it," Valentine pointed out, but continued anyway. It seemed as though she went on sketching for hours upon hours, her pencil gliding, swirling, and dusting across the page, and it was only when the pangs of hunger began to affect her stomach did she realize that she wouldn't be able to do this in one sitting. "Monsieur, it's getting late, people will begin to look for me, and I'm not entirely sure I properly closed the mirror behind me, so if you do not wish to be discovered, I suggest you let me return for the night." The Phantom straightened up at his organ and glared at her.

"What's to stop you from turning me in?"

"And miss the chance to finish my greatest work of art yet?" she pointed out, gesturing to the notepad. He surveyed her for a moment.

"If you do not return to sketch tomorrow–"

"You have my permission to hang me from the chandelier as a warning to all those who may trifle with you," she assured him. He looked her over again, before nodding curtly.

"Very well. I will escort you out." Valentine nodded, and they headed back to the lake, where the Phantom helped her into the gondola and guided it across the glassy dark lake, sending ripples flowing across the water. Once they reached the other side of the lake, Valentine stumbled onto the dock, before turning back to the mysterious man she'd met.

"Well, good night Monsieur le Phantom," Valentine bid him, relighting her candle and making her way up to the surface.

Little did either of them know this was the beginning of a colorful and rather strange relationship.