April 17, 1882 (?)
My name is Rebecca. I'm from 2008. I have no idea how I got here or why, or if this is even real. I found this notebook and have decided to write down the goings on to try and keep my sanity, though it's very possible I've already lost it and this is one big, vivid hallucination.
Shouldn't think like that. It's bad to do that. Ok. I am here. It is 1882. I find myself in the Paris Opera. I wasn't in Paris a day ago. I was at home. Never mind. Was wondering aimlessly if I'd died or fainted. Met a charitable ballerina named Marianne who offered to let me sleep under her bed since I'm clueless as to where to go/what to do. Did you know the Opera houses its dancers? I didn't. Apparently the Phantom of the Opera exists? Isn't he from a book? Am I in an alternate reality? Why am I here?
Marianne tells me a phantom haunts the Opera. Maybe she's kidding. Maybe I ate too much cheese and this is a dream.
The Phantom of the Opera is a guy with a mask and a cape who is scary. There is a girl involved. That's all I know.
What the hell am I doing?