AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Here it is, kids. I'll admit, it didn't quite turn out how I wanted it, but I have hope for the other chapters. I'd like to remind you that this fic is more based off the musical than anything, as I like it more than any other medium. But if you've never seen the show, you should still be able to follow it. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own any character, place, etc. mentioned in this story. They are property of Gaston Leroux and/or Andrew Lloyd Webber, and their respective copyrights.

Chapter 1

Paris stood proudly to her residents on this fresh September morning. The sun was peeking out ever so gracefully to greet the world. Already the citizens of this beautiful city were bustling about their business. A small patisserie owner was wiping down the windows of his shop. Next door, the woman who ran the jewelry shop opened the blinds. Store owners all over the city unlocked their doors and customers hurried in.

Celeste Moreaux, however, held no interest in a chocolate pastry or diamonds, nor the finest wines for the fall or the sheerest fabric. Today had in store something of more merit. This very morning Celeste had been summoned from her small English flat to audition for the managers of the world renowned Paris Opéra. This was the opportunity she'd dreamed of all her life. A chance to sing opera, her life's calling, in the country of her birth. On top of that, the interview was at the most famous opera house in Europe!

Her chest tightened with excitement and anxiety. Although she was born in a small village outside Avignon, in the south of France, she had lived most of her childhood in England and parts of Italy. Celeste had left with her mother when she was a toddler after her father left them for his other family. Madame Moreaux decided to give her child a life of excitement, rather than focus on their diminishing finances and lack of a father figure. So Celeste and her mother sold their cottage and everything they couldn't carry on a journey and purchased a trip to Italy. There, Celeste studied with the greatest of Italian divas and ballerinas.

When she was fourteen, she moved to Venice where she was quite the little starlet. She sang in many parts in many operas until she was invited by the Royal Family in England to sing at the Royal Opera House. She accepted without a second though, and began the journey to London. Unfortunately, along the way, her mother grew ill and passed away shortly before settling in England. Celeste was heartbroken. To keep her mind off her grief, she threw herself into her work. And she had done so for the last four years. Then, out of the blue, her manager recommended her to Paris, where an unfortunate accident rendered them without a principle soprano or tenor.

And that's what she was doing here today. She clung to her worn leather bag as she made her way up the stairs of the Paris Opéra. Celeste shivered as the building loomed over her coldly, golden angels sneering at her from their pedestals. Both amazed and intimidated by the grandeur of the opera house, she began to wonder what frightened her about this place, and what intrigued her. It had to be the stories. On her commute back to France, she'd heard numerous things about the fall of the Opera House. She hadn't believed a word of them, naturally, but even so they added some flavor to Parisian culture. Honestly, anyone with common sense would know better than to believe that a ghost in dress clothes haunted the building and fell in love with one of it's principle singers. Celeste giggled at the thought. Such rubbish would only make a good story to tell children to frighten them.

She opened the large doors and entered into the foyer. On her left, a door opened and a woman with pitch black hair and a cane entered through it. She wore flowing black garments and a matching bonnet perched on her head. Celeste smiled warmly at her and walked over. "Excuse-moi, Madame, but I am looking for the managers here. Could you tell me where their offices are?"

The woman stopped and stood very straight. She held her body very strongly and offered a firm grin in return. "Bien sûr. Just down this hallway on your right and up the wooden stairs. This will take you to a narrow hallway. There will be door on the right that says 'Managers.'"

She thanked the woman, and after climbing a second flight of stairs, Celeste found the office of the managers of the Opera. She pulled out a slip of paper and read their names to herself to remind her of them. A Monsieur Firmin and a Monsieur André. Her mind wandered to the gossip surrounding them as she raised a hand to knock on the door. According to the girls on the carriage, the infamous Opera Ghost would send them hateful notes, commanding them to obey his orders or else. Celeste sighed and shook her head at those silly fillies, deciding to turn her mind to the task at hand. She rapped briskly at the door and stood patiently.

A few moments later, a tall, handsome man answered the door. He was younger than she expected, especially considering the numerous graying hairs on his head. His face was worn and slightly pale. He smiled wearily at her and held a hand out to her. "You must be our new girl."

Celeste smiled back and shook his hand. "Yes, I do hope so. I'm Celeste Moreaux."

The man patted her hand before gently leading her in. The office was painfully bare, a cream colored wallpaper and a few wall sconces. In it, it contained two desks, one a dull oak and another a deep cherry. Both were buried under a mass of paperwork. As Celeste looked down at her feet, she noticed the carpet had once been a deep red, but now just a faded mass of rust colored cigar burns and wine stains.

The manager indicated himself and then another man in the room. "I'm Monsieur Firmin, and this is my partner, Monsieur André. André, this is Mademoiselle Moreaux, here to audition for us."

Monsieur André stood from behind his desk and walked over to Celeste. He was a very stout man, with an unmanageably thick mustache. He appeared to be about the same age as M. Firmin, but with hair much grayer. His eyes were welcoming, and instead of shaking Celeste's hand, he raised to his lips and brushed it against them. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle."

Celeste bowed her head and grinned. "And you, Monsieur. I have with me a letter of recommendation from the managers from the last opera house I performed at, and-"

M. Firmin nodded and held up a hand respectfully. "Ah, yes. We received a letter from them as well. Can't remember what we did with it though." He began to rummage though a stack of envelopes on his desk, flipping through all kinds of letters and packages. "Where was it you were at, again?"

"I was with the Royal Opera, in London. The managers told me this establishment had some sort of incident in which...oh, what was it? Your two divas? One quit and the other...?"

"Frightened away," M. André interjected, accidentally dropping several of the envelopes on the floor. "Drat," he grumbled, easing himself onto the floor to collect them.

Celeste knelt and began gathering the letters. Then a certain envelope caught her eye. It was different from the others, made up of a dark, heavy parchment. But most of all, Celeste noticed the seal. A menacing skull, curled into a wicked smile. Beside each eye socket was a letter, in elegant script: 'O' and 'G.'

Furrowing a brow, Celeste held up the letter and examined it. "What a curious seal. I've never seen a seal like this before." M. Firmin quickly strode over and yanked it from her hand. "Er...sorry, Mademoiselle Moreaux, but this is highly confidential. I'm sure you'll understand."

Celeste blinked and gathered the rest of the envelopes, standing. "Of course. I apologize, I didn't mean to pry."

Monsieur André stood as well and accepted the letters from Celeste. "Quite alright, my dear. Now, it was the Royal Opera, you say?"

She nodded and pulled a letter of her own from her leather bag. "Yes. Before that, I traveled with my mother to different theatres all over France and England. If you'd like a list, I'd be glad to write one out for you."

André shook his head. "No need. To perform at the Royal Opera is qualification enough. I will take that letter, however." He reached out a hand to her. Celeste placed the crisp envelope into his hand. As André scanned the page, Firmin walked over to his desk and suggested the plush chair in front of it for Celeste.

After she sat, Firmin sat in his own chair and folded his hands on the sleek finished wood of his desk. "So, Mademoiselle Moreaux, what circumstances influenced you to leave the Royal Opera? Surely you weren't fired."

Celeste shook her head. "No, sir. Mister Whittingham, the manager-in-chief of the Opera, mentioned to me the incident with your former singers. He also mentioned that because of said incident, you were closing for the season and when you re-opened, you'd need a new lead soprano. He said that I should come to audition for you and that singing here would be a good opportunity for me."

André, having finished the letter, approached the two and nodded. "You do seem qualified for the job. What do you think, Monsieur Firmin?"

Firmin nodded as well. "I agree. I say we give her the job."

"Just like that? Without an audition?" Celeste interjected.

André sighed heavily. "Well, you see, my dear, there just simply aren't any more applicants. Everyone else who is qualified is too frightened of the place. I don't know if you know this but, we had a bit of a...problem...along with our sopranos leaving us."

"I understand completely, Messieurs." Celeste offered. "I'll confess, I've heard the tales of the famed 'Opera Ghost.' And you needed worry. I don't believe a word of it. I'm sure your sopranos had important reason for leaving, nevertheless, I won't pry into your business any more than I need to."

The men looked nervously at each other. "Well, then, it's settled," M. Firmin said. "We'll begin rehearsals this Thursday, and until then, here's a copy of the libretto."

Celeste beamed. "Really? Oh, Messieurs, thank you!" She stood and shook their hands, accepting the libretto from Firmin. She glanced down at the title page, flipping through the sheet music and notes. "Pretentious Woman? I've never heard of it. Whose is it?"

The managers looked at each other again. "It's from an amateur writer here in the city. He sold it to us to get a start on his music career," André said. Celeste cocked an eyebrow and nodded, continuing to read her music.

"This is the most challenging music I've ever seen. Your amateur must be some genius. Or completely ignorant."

The managers both chuckled uncomfortably and escorted her to the door. André spoke first. "We're sorry to rush you, Mademoiselle, but we do have business to tend to, several other appointments to meet. Please, make yourself at home. If you need, please take advantage of our new housing annex. Your assigned dressing room will be the one at the end of the hall backstage with the miniature staircase. And, by all means, be careful."

'Be careful?' Celeste was confused. What an unusual warning, especially when one hasn't even begun work yet. Was it because of the 'problems' her new managers were having? Or was it something much more? Celeste found it rather strange that she hadn't even been in the building an hour and so many odd things had occurred. She decided instead to keep quiet and smile gratefully. "Thank you, again, good sirs. Thursday, yes?"

The managers nodded and said their goodbyes, closing the door. Celeste sighed, both relieved that she had been employed, and uncomfortable that the managers seemed so eager to get rid of her. Shrugging her shoulders, she instead figured it would be best to check out her new dressing room and try to find empty quarters in the housing annex.

Celeste made her way down the staircase and out to the foyer, taking the grand staircase to the stage and backstage areas. What she didn't know was that while she being interviewed, and even now as she walked, a pair of silent eyes hovered steadily over her, watching her every move. The figure stalked her wordlessly as she trekked the aisles and the passage backstage. It leered eagerly as Celeste maneuvered through the old sets and costumes to her dressing room. She couldn't see the form of a man that loomed overhead as she padded up the three steps inside, and danced joyously around the room. The specter smirked, and decided he'd watch the child later. He had some business to attend to.

Meanwhile, Celeste collapsed on the overstuffed pink chaise and looked around. The room was very handsome, with screens for changing clothes, a lustrous vanity and most enticingly, the huge floor-to-ceiling mirror along the back wall. She rose from her seat and stood in front of it, running her fingertip along the shimmering gold trim around the edges. This was much nicer than anything she'd be given at any of the places she was employed at. Celeste was determined to stay here until the end of her singing days. She vowed, then and there, to let nothing chase her away. Nothing.