AN: This is set 14 years before the movie, and characters from the film will pop in and out.
Chapter 1: The First Note
October, 1856
Paris
"And beneath the mask, a face so grotesque and twisted, his own mother pronounced him a demon at birth and refused to raise him!"
"Ahh." The gasp was unanimous from all the young girls huddled together on the floor, as they listened to Mademoiselle Florentine tell them chilling tales of the Phantom of the Opera.
Arielle was no different from the others, clutching her shawl tight around her to keep the cold out, leaning forwards slightly to better hear Mademoiselle's whispers. Tonight was the perfect night for such tales! The October nights were becoming increasingly more cold as Autumn progressed, and the chill called for dark tales. With her blue eyes as wide as her friends around her, she listened with rapt attention.
"What happened next?" Nicole asked intently; almost hiding her face in her brunette curls.
Mademoiselle Florentine took a deep breath for effect, and even though they all knew the story by now, the suspense building up was tangible in the air.
"It was taken in by a gypsy fair, and kept on show, so that the world would know of the devil's child," she whispered darkly, "Kept in a cage, with nothing but the barest scraps to keep it alive, a bag over it's head to stop others from having to look on it unless it was on show. They-"
"How horrible." The sentence was barely breathed out, but everyone heard, and turned to stare at Arielle for having uttered it. Suddenly nervous under their stares, she pulled her long braid of black hair over her shoulder, grasping it in hand and tugging on it to distract herself. "I just meant-"
"What was horrible was the demon child," Sophie butted in, "He deserved it for being so ugly."
"Sophie!" Madame Giry's voice cracked through the air like a whip, "Surely you would not judge a person so harshly simply for the face they couldn't help being born with."
The blonde girl turned pink, and all the rest of them jumped, no one had heard Madame Giry approach. Even Mademoiselle Florentine looked a little flustered at the presence of her senior. Madame Giry may be the same age as Mademoiselle Florentine, but she had a strength and presence that gave her the automatic authority over the other woman.
She strode into the centre of the circle of girls, standing in front of Mademoiselle Florentine, the braid of blonde hair around her head seeming to be a crown as she gazed over them all regally. Every girl shrank back a little under that stare, and Arielle bit her lip, already worried about what would happen next.
"The Opera Ghost is no monster," Madame Giry said clearly, "He is nothing more than a lost soul, whom we are lucky enough to house here in the Opera House." She turned and fixed Mademoiselle Florentine with a hard look, "And I would hope that none here would speak with certainty about what they do not understand. Mademoiselle Florentine, it is the girls' bedtime, I will see to them now."
"Yes, Madame," Mademoiselle Florentine rose from her chair and left the room swiftly.
Once the other woman had gone, Madame Giry turned back to the girls, and Arielle felt her direct eye contact as she addressed them all, "To bed girls, you have rehearsals tomorrow, and I don't want any of you being tired."
"Yes, Madame," they all chorused quietly, and then rose in unison to make their way back to their beds.
Arielle slipped quietly into her bed, but didn't sink immediately below the covers. She waited patiently as Madame made her rounds saying goodnight to the girls, it wasn't something that she had to do, but she did it anyway. Most of the girls that shared Arielle dormitory were aged between five and ten, with her sitting in the middle at 7, and many missed their families while they stayed here. Of course, they were the luckier ones. Arielle knew that more than a few girls in this room were orphans, who had come to live and train in the ballet dormitories when their parents had died. She missed her family, but she knew that it was small hardship compared to having no family to miss.
And so she didn't complain or fidget as Madame Giry spent a little longer talking to those girls, she simply waited.
When Madame finally approached her bed, Arielle sat up a little straighter, "Madame, may I ask you something?"
"Is it about the Opera Ghost?" Madame Giry inquired; taking a seat on the edge of Arielle's bed.
She nodded, "I just wanted to know... who is he really? Why does he hide in the Opera House? Why is everyone afraid of him?"
"Well my dear," Madame smiled and gently motioned for Arielle to lie down so that she could pull the covers up over her, "He is just a man, nothing more. He hides here in the Opera House, because it is where he belongs. He is an artist, composer, architect, and magician; this Opera house is his stage, and his home. And why do people fear him? People will often fear what they do not understand."
"Do you understand him then, Madame Giry?" she asked; snuggling down into her bed.
"More than most, my dear," Madame replied with a sad little smile, "More than most."
Arielle smiled in return, "Goodnight."
"Goodnight," Madame pressed a kiss to her forehead, and then rose to move to the next girl.
When Madame was finished, and blew out the candle by the door as she left, Arielle heard a faint whisper to her left.
"Arielle, why did you ask Madame those questions about the Opera Ghost?" her friend, Katarin questioned softly.
"I just wanted to know," she replied in equal tones.
"But why? Aren't you scared of him?"
Arielle turned over onto her side, "No, no I'm not."
~0~
She didn't know what woke her in the middle of the night, but something did. One moment she was sound asleep, deep in a delightful dream about summertime at home. The next, she was wide awake, her eyes staring blindly into a black room. There was no sound around her, save for the quiet breaths of her sleeping friends. Faintly, she could hear the sound of late night Paris, it drifted into the room with a cold draft from a crack in the wall somewhere.
For a few moments she lay in her bed, the covers drawn up to her chin to keep out the cold, and smiled as she thought back over her dream. Back at home with her family, her parents hugging her at every opportunity, her big brother dangling her in his arms.
But then another thought hit her. Had the Opera Ghost ever had that? What had his family been like? Had he even known them? A wave of sadness washed over her. At least the orphan girls here had known their families, and had some memories to cling to. Did the Opera Ghost even have those?
An idea seized her.
In a moment her covers had been thrown back, and she had crept silently from her bed. Reaching her arm deep under her bed, she groped around for her little writing table, shivering in the night air. As soon as she felt her fingers touch the smooth wood, she pulled it swiftly towards her. The harsh sound it made as wood slid over wood caused her to wince, and look around. But no one stirred, and she exhaled softly.
Slipped back under her covers as quickly as she could, she grabbed her shawl to wrap around her shoulders as she sat upright against the hard headboard. Pulling the little table into her lap, she lifted the lid and pulled out a sheet of paper, a pan, and the little stub of candle she kept in there. Fumbling around further, she found one of the matches floating around the bottom, and struck it against one side of the table.
By the light of the spluttering candle, she began to put pen to paper.
Dear Opera Ghost,
Tonight, Mademoiselle Florentine was telling us stories about you, but I didn't really enjoy them. She said that you were a demon child, that your parents had cast your out and you had been raised in a gypsy caravan, kept in a cage and put on show. She told us that you were ugly beyond all hope of beauty, and to look upon you was painful.
I think that that is mean, has she ever seen you? I didn't think that anybody had, so how can anyone know what you look like?
I asked Madame Giry about it later, and she told me that you were nothing more than a man, and that this Opera House was your home, which is why you live here. She said that people don't understand you, and that's why they are afraid of you. Do you know Madame Giry? Because she seemed like she might know you.
I don't know if you'll even find this, but people say that the Opera Ghost lives in the dark places of the Opera House, so I'll put it in the little passage that runs behind the dormitories, and goes down to the old storeroom. No one uses it, so maybe you'll find it.
Arielle La Farge
She had no way to seal the envelope, so she simply tucked the open flap inside. Her letter written, she gently eased herself out of bed, trying not to disturb the writing table, and slipped her feet into her shoes. Taking her candle stub over to the lamp Madame Giry had blown out, she relit it, and blew out her own light, leaving it on the table by the door.
The old hinges creaked a little as she opened it, but once again, her fellow roommates were too deep in sleep to be woken by the noise. She barely noticed the cold now, her excitement too great as she padded down the stairs to the old passage way. Not a soul was awake in this part of the Opera House, and so no one saw the little girl make her way through the halls.
Once she arrived, she found a crack in the wall to slip her little note into, leaving half of it hanging out, easy for anyone to see. She looked at it for a while, and felt a smile widen on her face.
It stayed there as she tiptoed back to her bed, and she wore it in her sleep through the rest of the night.