I do not own The Phantom of the Opera or Final Fantasy.

The Phantom of the Opera – Prologue

"Every Story Has A Beginning…"

Ifalna cradled the crying infant in her arms, "Are you sure about this Mademoiselle? This is your-"

"I've told you my decision already Ifalna!" Lucrecia whispered violently, clutching her dress tightly due to the stress of her current situation. "I'm sorry Ifalna. I just can't…" the frail woman stopped mid-sentence and let out a heart-aching sob. She stared at her son in the other woman's arms and held her arms out.

Ifalna gave the woman a sympathetic look as she gently handed her the baby. Once he was in his mother's arms he settled down and snuggled into her chest.

"What about Hojo? Giving the baby to me doesn't stop him from asking questions." Ifalna interrogated out of fear of said man.

Lucrecia was silent, gently caressing the right side of her son's face; the deformity that had led to all this chaos. "I'm going to leave Hojo." She said simply. "Vincent and I are going to try and work things out."

Ifalna narrowed her eyes, "Does he know about the baby?"

"Yes," she replied, "he doesn't approve of this but I have no choice…" A loud crackle of thunder heard from outside caused her to flinch and lose her trail of thought.

"Tout le monde a le choix." Ifalna said bluntly.

"Don't judge me Ifalna." Lucrecia cried out, tears forming at the edges of her eyes.

Ifalna just simply shook her head, her thick auburn hair swaying behind her, "I cannot judge you. Only the planet herself can do that…Mademoiselle." She added the last part on curtly as she took the baby from her. "You should be going now Lucrecia. It will be a matter of time before they figure out that you have taken leave; Elmyra can't hold them off for long."

Lucrecia silently nodded and began to leave, yet she stopped and glanced at her child one last time, "Take care of him Ifalna. Protect him from this cruel world because I can't!"

Ifalna didn't have time to respond as the woman quickly departed, leaving the latest chapter in her life in Ifalna's arms.

15 Years Later

He could hardly contain his excitement. There were so many people. Kids running down the street. Gypsies performing in the streets while vagabonds begged for coins on the sidewalk. The aristocrats were dressed in their absolute best, laughing, chatting, completely oblivious to the poverty around them. Nonetheless, every one of them had a stunning masquerade mask adorned on their face.

For the first time in his life he felt whole. He didn't want to sound ungrateful – he loved his life, he truly did. He loved the cottage they lived in. The river he and his sister would play in and how their mother would scream at them to be careful. He loved the piano sessions he would have with his mother. He loved how their father would take them into the forest and show them everything nature had to offer. Everything was so secluded…and that was exactly what he hated about it. He had always wanted to leave with his father during his occasional visits to the city, but his mother would always say no. He never questioned it. Never. Not until a week ago.

Aerith, his eleven year-old sister, was going to leave for Midgar. Something about going to train as a ballet dancer with some aunt they had never even met. He had hardly been paying to details at the time because he was trying to keep himself from shouting.

It didn't last long. "Why does she get to leave and I can't!" He yelled, clenching his fists tight.

Ifalna frowned, "We've already talked about this-"

"You always say that! What's the difference between Aerith and me?" He was beginning to shake and unwanted tears were forming in his eyes.

Gast put an arm around his son and spoke softly, "There is no difference. You both are the sa-"

He shoved his father's arm off and stood, "Stop lying to me! It's my face isn't it?" An immediate silence came over the trio. He didn't realize what he had said until it had already left his mouth.

Deciding to escape the awkward silence before it got any worse, he ran to his room, slamming it hard behind him. He had barricaded himself inside his room for two days. They had left him alone mostly accept for Aerith. She had kept knocking on his door, asking if he would play with her. Ifalna would leave food at the door and his father try to get him to come out.

At the end of day two, his door opened and someone sat on the side of the bed.

"You know you just can't sit and mope all day right?" Ifalna questioned.

She received a huff in response.

"Well then," she said getting up, "I guess I'm going to have to tell your father that you're not going because you refused to pack. It's a shame to because I was so looking forward to seeing my sister aga-"

"Pack." He said as he turned to face her, his interest peaking.

She smiled at him as she sat beside him on the bed again, "Well if you want to go to the city you're going to need to take your best clothes."

His eyes brighten as he hugged onto his mother tightly, "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"

"Now before you get all excited. There is one more thing." He let go so she could stand up. She walked towards his door and opened it and picked up a box sitting outside his door.

"Every year at the opera house that I use to work at with my sister they would hold a huge masquerade party. It was so beautiful. I'm so happy that you'll get to see it too." She whispered as she slid the box towards him.

He opened the box and inside it was filled with…masks.

"You're father got them yesterday. We all have already picked ours out, now it is your turn."

She watched in amusement as he tried each one on. He sat aside the ones he didn't like and made a neat pile for the ones he was fond of. He was reaching inside the box for the next mask when he froze and frowned.

"What's wrong?" she glanced at the box nervously, scared that something had upset him again.

"It's broken." He responded sadly, lifting a mask out of the box. Ifalna stared at it as she took it from his hand. It was ghostly white, rigid where the cheek and nose where placed, and it was strangely soft. It was half a mask fit to be placed on the right side of your face. She laughed darkly to herself, 'How ironic.'

"It's not broken mon amour." She reached for her son's face affectionately, softly placing the mask over the right side of his face. She reached for the hand mirror he had been using to see how his masks looked and held it up.

He was silent for a moment as he stared at his reflection. Finally, he slowly reached up and ran his fingers against the smooth surface of the mask.

"I like it." He whispered.

Ifalna could do nothing but hold her son. It was getting harder to protect him from this cruel world.

He was suddenly yanked out of his thoughts when he felt a tug on his jacket. Aerith smiled at him through her butterfly mask. It was embellished with glitter, jewels, and tiny ribbons. Of course all of it was in different shades of pink; her favorite color.

She pointed forward and his gaze followed. Then his eyes rested on the most beautiful building he had ever seen in his life.

"It's the Opera Populaire. The most famous opera house in the world." Aerith whispered, her emerald eyes widening in excitement.

"That's where you're going to practice ballet?" he asked in amazement.

"Yep." She giggled at him. When she spoke again, her voice became more distant and mysterious, "When we are older and I'm the most spirited dancer in Midgar, will you come watch me dance in Box 5?" Her emerald eyes shimmered at him in the dark car, as she clasped his hand.

He smirked at her, giving her small hand a squeeze, "Of course I will. But why Box 5?"

Aerith leaned close to him, so close that he could feel her breath when she spoke, "Mommy said that when she used to work at the opera house that only the most famous, respected, and attractive men sat there."

"Then Box 5 shall be reserved until I, the Phantom arrives!" he joked, lifting his cape in a playful matter, earning giggles from Aerith. When he had finally come out of his room and unveiled his mask, his father commented that he looked like a phantom. They had decided that when they got to the city, they would buy him a cape to complete his attire.

"What are you two giggling about back there?" Ifalna asked from the passenger seat.

"Nothing." Both children answered in union, immediately sitting up straight.

Ifalna arched an eyebrow, but remained silent until they reached the opera house. "Now remember be respectful to your Aunt Elmyra." When the children nodded in compliance, she continued. "She will be waiting at the entrance and will probably be the only one not wearing a mask. Comprendre?" The children nodded again. "Your father and I will be in once he parks the car."

Once she was finished, the pair hurried out of the car and raced towards the opera house doors, earning amused glances from the passing aristocrats.

Nevertheless, Ifalna was far from amused, she was completely terrified. "Je suis inquiet Gast." She said to her husband, who was one of the few people who could understand her native language. "What if someone wants him to take his mask off?"

Gast sighed. Ifalna only spoke her native tongue when she was stressed or was showing affection. Now was currently more of the former than the latter. "No one is going to ask him of that, Ifalna." He reassured.

Ifalna shook her head vigorously, 'What if Lucrecia is there or," her voice dropped to a deadly whisper, "Hojo."

Gast grimaced at the mention of his former colleague, "Hojo only saw his son once and afterwards wanted him dead. For all we know Lucrecia could have told him she gave his son to us. To him he probably thought we were doing the world a favor." He said in disgust. Gast would never understand how someone would kill their child just because of the way they looked. "Besides he seemed more interested in the son that wasn't even his."

"Vincent's son."

"Yes, Sephiroth...wasn't it?" Ifalna confirmed with a nod, "Besides if Lucrecia is there, she wouldn't dare say anything."

"But-"However, Ifalna didn't finish her sentence as a sudden impact rammed into the passenger side of the car.

He could barely breathe. He didn't know what time it was or how long he had been running. All he knew was that his parents were dead, his sister and Elmyra couldn't help him, and he was alone. It was all because of one reason only; his face.

They were inside of the emergency ward in the hospital when Elmyra had received the news. She slowly walked over to them and explained everything. Their parents had been hit by a drunk driver. He was now in police custody and would go to jail.

"But that doesn't bring Mommy and Daddy back!"Aerith sobbed.

"I know." Elmyra held Aerith as she cried.

He didn't really want to cry in front of Aerith but soon he couldn't help himself. Soon a nurse had come to assist Elmyra in comforting the children. She spoke softly, asking him if he was okay, did he need or want anything. He didn't really mind; it was nice. She wiped away his tears with soft, warm hands. Then she reached for his mask.

A loud bloodcurdling scream escaped her lips as she leaped away from him, dropping his mask on the way. More screams came as people began to stare at him.

"Monster!'

"Creature!"

"Kill him!"

Elmyra quickly let go of Aerith and stood in front of him, almost as she was shielding him from their harsh words. Elmyra was trying to calm them down but none of it worked; they simply just got louder and louder.

His breathing started to get erratic and his head started to hurt. It was the same feeling he had when he had gotten angry at his parents…

Without thinking he grabbed his mask from off the floor and ran for the nearest exit.

The last thing he heard was Aerith calling his name.

He was currently inside a cellar that seemed to be abandoned by its owner. He creep silently through the tunnel until he reached a large, forbidding door. Not seeing the point of knocking, he pushed hard against the oak door and almost chocked on the amount of dust that stirred up.

But what lay beyond the door was enough to make him keep going. The place was enormous. It was some type of catacomb, laced with cobwebs and old statues mounted on the walls. In the middle, slicing through the walkway, flowed a waterway, and he wondered where it led.

'Hopefully to a bed.' He thought wearily to himself. It wasn't like he could go back up to the streets; he had no money and if anyone saw his face again…

"No!" he shouted to himself. That would never happen again. He adjusted his mask and set out into the darkness that was his new home.

So do you like? P.S. Leave a review please!

I hope me not saying The Phantom's name wasn't confusing while reading. I don't want to reveal who he is until much later and obviously I couldn't call him The Phantom yet b/c he hasn't "earned" the title yet. Get it? Got it? Good! xD

I decided to have Ifalna speak French because in the original story of FF7 she is a Cetra and I wanted something to set her apart. Also since TPOTO takes place in Paris, I wanted to have some allusion to it since I was keeping the setting in-game. So that's why she speaks French!

Ifalna's Dialogue in French:

Mademoiselle - Miss

Tout le monde a le choix – Everyone has a choice.

Mon amour – My love

Comprendre - Understand

Je suis inquiet Gast – I'm worried Gast.