Author's Note: I've been a fan of Phantom of the Opera for several years. Also, when done well, I'm a fan of gender bends. Over the past week, I've toyed with the idea of casually re-telling the tale of PotO with the genders reversed. Yes, this sounds stupid and clichéd, I know. However, I think Phantom's story could work well with a female anti-hero. With the pressure that has always been on females to look beautiful, a horrible facial deformity would be all the more devastating. It feels odd writing fanfiction again, after such a long break. I hope this "grand return" to the world of fanfiction can be worth it to you, my reader. Enjoy.

Prologue:

Sunlight stung Erika's eye as she attempted to peek through the gap in the curtains. Applause and laughter erupted from the audience as the current act came to an end. The ten-year-old ducked into the shadow of a torch as juggling conjoined sisters, Remedy and Charity, bowed their way off the stage. The smiles on their faces vanished as their gaze fell on Erika, and swiftly they turned and walked away without an acknowledgement.

"And now, mesdames et messieurs, may I have your attention?" the Carnival Master's demanding voice sheared the smoky air. "This next spectacle is among the rarest you may ever lay eyes on."

Erika pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Despite the summer heat, she felt cold.

"Three years ago, a woman came to me and exchanged this strange creature for a bottle of red wine," the Carnival Master spoke to the silent, waiting crowd from beyond the curtains.

Erika let the shawl slip from her shoulders. That was her cue. She inhaled deeply and stepped onto the stage. Blazing daylight overpowered her senses – they were so accustomed to the dark, the sun was practically blinding. The crowd stirred and muttered as Erika made her entrance.

The Carnival Master's hand urged Erika closer to the audience. The girl's sight still hadn't adjusted, but she could sense hundreds of eyes on her. Her breathing became hot and suffocating underneath her bandages – strips of brown gauze wrapped around her head, leaving only her left eye exposed.

"I warn the women in the audience to avert their eyes immediately," the Carnival Master kept a heavy hand on Erika's shoulder, the other hand undoing the binding of her gauze. "I give to you…the Faceless Girl!"

With a few rough movements, the gauze loosened and hung around Erika's neck. She closed her eyes, finally able to take a full breath. The first reactions came from women who hadn't taken the Carnival Master's advice. They screamed in horror as soon as the bandages fell away. Men gasped, babes began to cry in fear, and the entire audience stepped several paces back from the stage.

Erika wanted to run, to flee from the eyes and the bright light that exposed her to the world. The Carnival Master's hand held her in place.

"The face of a demon, indeed," he combed his beard with his fingers, "but would you believe, ladies and gentlemen, that this creature possesses the voice of an angel?"

The crowd didn't change its reaction. Quite a few audience members were trying to revive the women who had fainted. The Carnival Master nodded to the piano player seated on the far side of the stage. Music drowned out the sounds of the flustered audience, replacing it with a lively tune. Attention returned to the stage, and the eyes were there again…staring at Erika.

Erika's fingers tapped the outside of her thigh through the skirt of her dress, dancing along with the notes. She knew this piece by heart, and allowed herself to lull into a trance as she recited the melody with her fingertips. Her trance was shaken when the Carnival Master's fingertips pressed into her shoulder, giving her the message: Sing, damn you.

Performances were the only time Erika's half-formed lips had the freedom to move. So, she sang. She knew there would be no applause for her, not for the creature people paid to be horrified by. But still, she sang.

A hard knock rattled the door of the small carnie wagon Erika called her room. The child quickly set her quill in the inkwell and blew out her candle. With her wagon set at the end of the caravan, the only one who ever came near her during off-hours was the Carnival Master. He must have seen the light from her candle and known she was up late again. Erika jumped into her hammock and threw the quilt over her head, preparing for sleep.

The knocking came again. Erika's breathing hitched. Normally, when she was caught staying up past curfew, she would go without punishment as long as she went to bed as soon as the Carnival Master started knocking. A second knock only meant a punishment was coming. Erika waited for the lock to come undone, but it never did. Instead came a third knock, and a voice.

It was a man's voice, but not the Carnival Master's. "Hello? Is anyone in there?"

Erika sat up, alert but unsure of what to do. No one, not even the other freak shows, came to visit her; especially not at night. She didn't recognize this voice at all, and she wasn't allowed to speak with anyone outside the carnival.

"Who's there?" Erika asked into the darkness.

The distinct click of the door lock. Only the Carnival Master had a key to her door. Was he with this person? He must've been. The door opened, but strangely no lantern light followed the two sets of footsteps inside the wagon. It was late at night, why didn't they have a lantern? Erika began to feel uneasy.

"Are you the one they call the 'Faceless Girl'?" the man's voice asked. He was now right beside her bed, shrouded in the night.

"Yes."

The candle on the table suddenly flicked to life. Erika saw the two figures standing beside her in the instant the candlelight was born. A man dressed in a neat black suit, and a small boy – about half Erika's age. She recognized neither of them. With a gasp, she threw her hands up to cover her face from these strangers. Her gauze was sitting in a basket on the opposite side of the wagon.

"You can't be in here," Erika muttered behind her hands. "Please, monsieur, you need to leave."

There was a pause.

"Is this yours?" The man's voice asked.

"Monsieur?"

"This score. Is it yours?"

Erika tensed. She knew the man was talking about her composition. She'd left it sitting out on the table in her rush. It was her first attempt at an aria, its melody inspired by the song she sang at every performance.

"Oui, monsieur," Erika said softly, "it's mine."

Another pause. Erika could hear her breathing ventilate between her fingers.

"Young lady, this is quite an impressive piece," the man said. "For someone of your age…where did you learn to compose?"

Erika slumped further into the hammock. She jumped when she felt a tap on her knee. Her middle and index finger opened on the left side, and she turned her head to see the little boy reluctantly holding something out to her.

"We got this for you," the boy said. He pulled his hand back as soon as Erika took the item from it.

It was a carnival mask, one of the cheap party favors sold at the souvenir booth during performances. Gaudy red lace bordered the mask and bright orange fabric decorated its face. It produced a similar look of disgust on Erika's partly-exposed face that others had when they looked at her.

"We'll give you some privacy." The man closed his eyes and covered the eyes of the boy.

Erika was grateful for something to hide herself, but she also had taste. She picked at the loose cheap fabric of the mask, ripping it off to expose the smooth white plaster beneath. Only then was she comfortable putting on the garment.

"Thank you, monsieur," Erika was astounded to have a covering she could breathe easily through.

The man opened his eyes and smiled at Erika. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Monsieur Giry," he bowed and patted the boy's head. "This is Marc Giry, my son."

Erika nodded in greeting. "My pleasure." She noticed Monsieur Giry was holding her sheet music. She stared at him, afraid he might damage her hard work.

"And what might your name be, mademoiselle?" Giry asked. "My son and I have seen you on stage several times to hear you sing, but they've never once given us your name."

"Why must you know?" It had been three years since anyone asked Erika for her given name. The last time she'd given it, her mother had signed a life-long contract with the carnival for her.

"Ah, well, it doesn't matter right now," Monsieur Giry offered Erika his hand, "we can't dawdle here much longer. Follow us, we're taking you away from here."

Erika's jaw hung agape behind the false beauty of the pale mask. Away from here? But what of the Carnival Master? The other carnies? Her contract?

Giry gently rolled the score and concealed it inside his pocket. "We don't want to leave these behind," he said, "treasure isn't meant to be abandoned once it's been found."

With a hidden smile, Erika rolled out of the hammock and slid on her shoes, ready and willing to follow this man and his son to the ends of the Earth.

The trio stole through the darkened city streets, towards an unknown destination. The mask Erika had been gifted clung uncomfortably to the unblemished side of her face, making her head and neck feel unnecessarily hot as she tried to keep pace with Giry. Although better than the heavy gauze, she wished to hide only her disfiguration. She was tired of the restrictions a full-facial covering posed. She wanted at least for her voice to be free, even if the rest of her needed to be hidden away.