AN: This is a one-shot I wrote for school. Imagine that the opera house is across from the De Chagny manor for this I had to compare two houses.

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Andrew Lloyd Webber and Gaston Leroux

Christine sat in the DeChangy garden humming to herself quietly. She stared across the lush green garden to the streets of Paris. The golden mansion, with a blooming garden in front of it, overlooked the dank city streets. Across from the grand mansion was the Paris Opera House. Christine knew that underneath the extravagant exterior of the Populaire was a dark cellar down below. The underground labyrinth was filled with an overwhelming darkness and the always present feeling of loneliness. Some say the infamous Opera Ghost lived there, while others believed he was a crazed recluse.

Christine, refusing to believe in far-fetched rumors, knew he was nothing but a man. She sighed as she walked through the botanic land in front of her home. Christine's home, the glorious mansion, had a lush garden filled with a seemingly never ending supply of flowers. The garden had a vast array of flowers, ranging from petite daises to tall sunflowers. Glaringly absent was one type of flower- the forbidden red rose. Memories of a crimson rose tied neatly with black satin, evoked remnants of Christine's former escapade as a chorus girl in the Opera Populaire. Christine, a soprano at heart, missed music.

Her home, though filled with love and warmth, was devoid of the glorious sounds of music that she had taken for granted in her days at the opera. The famed Opera House was never repaired to its former glory. The soothing marble of the exterior had slight burn marks on it. The chandelier that once hung, high and mighty from the ceiling, lay draped and forgotten on the stage. The gleaming gold is tarnished and dusted. Five levels below the scuffed stage sits a dark misty lake. Upon the lake, a lone gondola floats, seemingly non- tethered, waiting for its owner to come and row it. Christine recalled the gondola ride she and the phantom took to reach his underground lair. The home was musty, cold and muggy. The lights shone from the candelabras giving the room an unearthly eerie glow. A large pipe organ sat, menacing and cold, in the middle of the room. Brilliant original pieces of music were always heard wafting up from the cellars to the dormitories where the ballet rats slept. It always lulled Christine to sleep and she basked in the sounds of the hypnotizing melody filling her ears at night.

"Christine" a gentle voice said, breaking her from her reverie.

"Come in Christine. It is getting late" the Vicomte, her husband, said. With one last longing glance at the Opera House, Christine turned away from her sordid past and walked to the ivory doors in hopeful anticipation of the future.