BEFORE STORYBROOKE

The feverish young woman, too fat and the wrong shape to be attractive, stringy black hair soaked with sweat, was removed from the coffinlike box where she was bound, her gag loosened with the chans that held her limbs - but her mouth opened, a scream of wordless, perfectly operatic notes in an unfamiliar melody emerged, and the attendant replaced the gag in surprise.

"You see what he what he's done to your precious? What your 'phantom' has done to her?" A carnivorous smile was bared to the young Vicomte's face, but he only saw the female monstrosity, this singing monster that under torchlight looked nothing like the lass of his memories.

"You will rid us of him - but you want the girl? Why? No," he continued. "It matters not. Those eyes. Whatever he did - it cannot be undone, can it?" He came close to her, saw her eyes widen in fear at his approach. "Do you know me, Christine?" he removed the gag the constabulary had left, was greeted by... a scream? A melody? "Do you know me, my love? Do you remember?" He held up her scarf, her red angora scarf that he was sure she'd remember - but her eyes grew only more fearful, and the Vicomte realised there were soprano lyrics in her operatic screams.

"Angel of Darkness, cease this torment!" She sang.

His cobalt eyes blinking away the pain, he replaced her gag, and saw her fear diminish as his distance from her grew."

"Take her, demon," he said. Clearly I can never truly comfort her. Not after what I allowed to befall her. Take her to your Hell - and God grant me the courage I will need to live my days, before I join you both."

The odd demon cackled in delight as it - no, he almost lovingly replaced her bonds. Pale in the torchlight, his garb appeared to be a century or ten behind what the people of this place wore. A puff of smoke, and the foul creature was gone, along with the box and its occupant. Only an asymetrical white ceramic half-mask remained, the image of a rose somehow garish on its exaggerated right cheek.