The Palais Garnier was a bustling building filled to the brim with working artist and savvy patrons alike.
Little Ballet rats scattered about in as their ballet mistress, the stern Madame Giry, herded them into rehearsal. Even Giry's own daughter, the tallest of the young bunch, Meg tried to get out of it.
The chorus members nervously chattered as the prima donna, La Carlotta, threw a tantrum about her costume, or the lights, or the violinist or whatever displeased her at the moment.
The composer monsieur Reyes impatiently tried to distract the beautiful woman from her rage and move along with rehearsal. Monsieur Gabriel, the chorus master, was too much a coward to stand up to his demanding Diva.
The managers, Andre and Firmin, hid away in their office and instructed their long-suffering secretary Remy to keep everyone out.
Everyone meaning monsieur Erik De Champdivers.
Erik has been a long-standing and respected member of the music world. The opera house at large owes its astounding success to his influence and dedication. The managers owe him their livelihood and every penny they've made since arriving. And god knows he won't let them forget it. The towering man strode purposefully to their office. Dressmakers and prop boys kept their head down and scurried out of his way. No one wanted to get caught staring at his bone white mask. His abundant wealth made him intimidating enough without his array of masks hiding his face from the world.
He marched past Remy and threw open the office door.
The two managers jumped. Firmin sighed and steeled himself for at least an hour of cutting remarks about the progression of Erik's newest concerto.
Below them, beneath the floorboards beneath the empty rooms below, stands a young girl wandering down a dusty catacomb.
Her bright green-blue eyes watched every shadow, her small hungry body jumped at every sound, and her nose twitched with the dust swirling in the air.
She was clutching the food she had stolen from the world above.
Her feet sought to bring her back to her abandoned palace on the shores of a glassy underground lake.
The songstress in her made her stop, right underneath the stage.
She could hear the echoes of wonderful music dance through the air.
The notes traveled to her ears, and she corrected her posture, just like her papa taught her.
She inhaled a full breath of air and sang.
Little did she know to above world heard her and feared her song.
They heard her haunting notes and luring sirens' song.
That's when the whispers began.
"It's the Phantom of the opera." said the hushed voices.
Christine Daae finished her song and gathered her things.
She began her decent back underground.