Been dying to write a Phantom fic for over a year now. And here it is!

Phantom of the Opera belongs to Gaston Leroux... and too many movie makers to even bother with.

Chapter 1

France! Paris! The Opera Populare!

Yes the Opera Populare! So beautiful, so classic, so…so…

Boring.

My name is Alexa Martin. My family is taking a vacation in Paris… and as much fun as that sounds… I'm bored out of my skull.

I'm about 5'3", black hair, I'd say it goes a little past shoulder length. I have chin-length parted bangs and one blue streak on my right.

You'll normally see me in a dark blue hoodie. It's ripped and worn in places, the elbow of the left arm is held together with safety pins… rather… all the holes in my hoodie are held together with safety pins.

My pants of choice are Tripp pants. The back hem on all of them is sort of ripped apart. I have assorted colors. Today I'm wearing my blue pair. It's sort of a blue day, not because I'm sad or anything. I tend to beat up the emo kids actually, but I digress. Finally my shoes, they're black canvas converse, they're about the only thing I wear that isn't completely ripped to shreds.

Hmm, anyway back to the Opera Populare. We're taking a tour here today. I don't know why, it's just a bunch of fat men in drag singing soprano, nothing much really to talk about, unless you're talking about the gold, half-naked statues that appear to be everywhere.

I wasn't even paying attention to the guy leading us around. After all, there's not much one can hear with a pair of headphones in their ears going full blast. I followed the group silently, looking at the paintings on the walls, how ornate the architecture was, what have you.

We stopped at the entrance to one of the boxes, box 5. As our guide talked everyone seemed to lean in, as if they were really interested. I guessed maybe that was the old King of France's private box or something back in the day. These old fools got excited over the stupidest things.

As the tour continued, and I made my way past the box I saw a shadow move. I paused mid step, turning my head to look up the stairs. I didn't see anything. I thought maybe a kid had gotten curious and run up to explore, and against my normal inclination to leave whoever's little brat to run off and do something stupid —I mean come on, if you can't watch your kids it's your own fault right? — I followed up.

"Alright you little brat. You shouldn't be playing up here, y' know." I said walking up the stairs into Box 5 "You're parents are going to get all worried and start yelling and bawling and-" The box was empty. "aaand I'm talking to myself." Sound coming from below caught my attention.

"Once more if you please Senora." I heard echo up from the stage. Well, while I'm here I might as well enjoy myself and catch a little bit of failed singing right? I mean most people pay for this experience.

I leaned up against the balcony staring down at the stage. There stood a woman dressed in a red dress, behind her stood a bunch of skinny girls with chains attaching their wrists together. My eyes drifted to the back wall of the room. Gold statues were backed against the walls, eyes covered, ropes around them. I was starting to see a pattern here. Bondage.

A shrill off key sound burst up from the stage, louder than my MP3 music, the sound nearly shattered my eardrums. Was that supposed to be singing? It was horrid! No wonder the Opera House had to resort to holding tours. No one wanted to come and have their ears assaulted by that! I flipped around to race out of the room and saw a curtain move out of the corner of my eye.

"Ah hah." I knew I wasn't crazy, the little runt was playing hide and seek. I walked to the curtain and pulled it aside quickly.

Nothing.

That was it. I had to have been crazy. I was actually going to leave this time, but I noticed something. A crack in the wall. These guys couldn't even bother to make their oh-so-special box look presentable. I ran my finger along the crack. It went all the way down to the floor, but stopped before it came up to my full height. Not only that, but the crack was perfectly straight. Another crack ran perpendicular to the first one, starting at the wall and ending where the vertical crack ended, and when I pushed on the crack, part of the wall gave way a little and then sprung back into place.

I placed my hand on the panel that gave way, then after a quick glace around, pushed on it. It gave way about an inch then made a click sound. I pulled my weight off of it and it popped out a little past the wall. It was one of those little magnetized cupboard type doors. I pulled it open and looked inside, not that I should be snooping around an opera house or anything, but who cared. Anything to make this place more interesting.

Thanks to poor lighting I couldn't see anything inside. It was pitch black. I reached my hand in, it definitely went farther than two feet, there had to be a light switch or something. I popped my head back out of the door and looked around. If I was going to be snooping then I needed to 86 the headphones.

The singing toad onstage was still screeching her heart out, I doubted any noise I made would be heard over that, and otherwise the box was quiet and devoid of life. Plus I figured I had a few minutes before anyone in the tour group got really worried about my absence.

I poked my head back into the hidden closet, running my hand up and down the nearby wall searching for a light. After a mini futile search, favored the guess that they had a little string attached to a light bulb in the center of the room instead. You know, one of those really old set ups. This place seemed to fail at modernizing anything.

I stepped in, and to my horror my foot didn't come in contact with the floor, in fact, it didn't come in contact with anything.

I flipped around as I fell, only to catch the light disappear from the door I came in through. I flipped and spun as I fell down the hole, slamming into the wall at least once in the process. After what seemed like a minute, everything opened up and I stared down at my reflection for a split second before slamming into it.

It felt like I had hit the ground, and it certainly knocked the air out of me, but it gave way as soon as I hit it. I automatically held my breath, reaching my arm out. It was water. I opened an eye, murky water. I pushed myself up with my arms and broke the surface gasping for air, my heavy ass clothes threatening to drag me under.

About two yards away was a ledge, it came about a foot over the water, and was made of old stone. See what did I tell you, lack of modernization. Who knows how much of that ledge had eroded and was just a hair away from crumbling. But it was dry ground.

I pulled myself up, and once out of the water pulled off my hoodie and let it plop, laden with water onto the dusty stone floor leaving me with just my black tank-top and my painfully heavy pants on. I wondered how I would possibly go about explaining this. I could come up with a lie about some stupid kid and a fountain or something, that is, if I didn't get caught trying to make my way back to the main floor by any security personnel.

I stood up, my waterlogged pants making it slightly difficult, and picked up my hoodie, wringing it out over the underground lake, wondering if I could do the same with my pants or if the risk of getting caught in my underwear by some security guard was too high.

I paused, mid thought, mid wringing, and froze. There was someone behind me. My brain raced. Security guard? Did they allow guns in France? What would someone think if they found some random person in the basement of the opera house? I went with security guard, loaded gun, freaked out, and raised my arm up to about eye level right as a rope slipped over my head and tightened.

I was pulled back slightly but fought against it, pushing my arm forward, effectively loosening the threatening lasso and spinning around, losing my footing on the stone ledge and plummeting back into the water.

I burst back out of the water screaming every profanity that I had learned in my 17 years of life, only to find a man, wearing half a mask and dressed in a turn of the century suit and looking at me with a vaguely horrified expression instead of a security guard.

"What the hell do you think you're looking at you turn of the century freak!" I snarled, fighting to keep myself afloat.

That seemed to snap him out of his horrified daze. With a loud crack he straightened out the noose-rope that I had neglected to notice a moment before.

Well f*ck.