Paris, 1870

As the carriage bounced its way along the craggy, cobbled streets of Paris, Charlotte de Chagny leaned her forehead against the window pane that separated her from the bustling of the city, stomach twisting with a bundle of excitement and nerves. Her breath fogged the glass despite the warm weather, smudging the bright colors of dresses and storefronts. "There are so many people!" Charlotte exclaimed in a hushed voice, knowing her words would come out slightly slurred, but too reluctant to turn away from the window. Across from her, Raoul nodded. He did not share in her childish wonderment, but then again, her brother was accustomed to travel and city splendor. He had not spent his whole life shut up in their family's manor as she had.

Charlotte supposed she should feel some deal of embarrassment acting like a hyper puppy, but her spirits were too high. Besides, Raoul had a little smile stretched across his handsome features- he was pleased. The acquisition of the Opera Populaire was his birthday gift to her. A way to give her back the music of her childhood, perhaps. Never mind that Charlotte had given up the thought of that long ago; the sweet chords of piano, the high notes of a soprano voice, even the soft sounds of lullabies fell silent on deaf ears such as hers. "You'll like the ballet, anyhow." Raoul had told her. And she was looking forward to the ballet, but she loved the freedom from the manor even more. Paris seemed to her a fantastical new world full of previously forbidden delights and the opera house was a good a destination as any.

She managed to fully tear her gaze from the window, twisting in her seat to look at her brother. They had been traveling for many hours but he did not seem bored or tired. A book rested open on his knee, and one hand lazily turned the pages as they rode. Charlotte, too, was a voracious reader but her own novel had been tossed aside the minute they entered the city proper. Why read about Paris when she could see it with her own eyes? She waved to get Raoul's attention again and quickly signed, 'how long until we arrive?'

Raoul quirked another smile. 'Soon. Are you hungry? We can stop for dinner.'

"Yes!" Charlotte blurted out. Raoul might not be bothered by the journey but she was absolutely famished. They'd had breakfast at the manor, but that was hours ago and Charlotte had been so nervous that she had barely eaten a thing anyways. There was a basket full of fruits on the seat beside her brother, but they went sour with the heat. Raoul carefully folded his book, set it on top of the basket, and tapped on the wall behind him causing the carriage to shudder to a halt.

'There is a nice cafe only a few minutes walk from here. I'll tell the valet.' He gestured. Charlotte waved him on and he hopped out, exchanged a few words with the coachman, then came back to help her down. Charlotte's boots hit the cobblestone and she inhaled the muggy afternoon air, thinking it far sweeter than what they had been shut up with in the carriage. The streets were full of bustling shoppers, merchants, and beggar children reaching for the hems of ladies satin skirts. It should have been an assault on her senses, having grown up in the quiet country, but without sound the scene did not bother her much. It did smell different though, so many new scents mixing together that she could barely distinguish them. The acrid smoke from a gentleman's pipe, fresh bread from the next door bakery, and there, just the tiniest whiff of peachy perfume. A new sensation for sure, but not unwelcome.

Raoul led her away from the main street and further into the maze, strutting straight-backed and proud as if he owned the very ground he walked upon. Or, if not owned, at least was completely familiar with. Wherever Raoul was taking her, he had been there many times before. The street sloped upwards and the pair stopped at a small hovel, tucked in between two taller shops. The walls were painted a peeling white, flowers sat bunched in small window-beds, and an awning protruded from the roof, providing ample shade.

'This is the Boulevard Montmartre.' Raoul told her, 'It's but a ten minute ride from the opera house.' The cafe he chose was packed with people. It was clearly very popular despite its appearance. Charlotte managed to claim an empty table while her brother went up to the counter and ordered them some pastries and coffee. To her relief, no one seemed to notice her, or think her out of place. At home, everyone knew her. Here, no one did. Charlotte was dressed slightly below her position as the late viscount's daughter, but traveling in elaborate dress quickly became uncomfortable so she had opted for a simple blue gown that morning, the color complimenting nicely with her eyes. Raoul too, wore only a casual suit and brown overcoat. He procured the sweets with no problems and pushed his way through the crowd towards her.

"Welcome to Paris, little sister." Raoul grinned, placing a coffee down on the table in front of her. It was warm for the drink, but it was sweet and renewed her waning energy. The croissants, too, were light and airy, stuffed to bursting with chocolate filling. With both hands busy, the meal was shared silently but enjoyably. When she was done, Charlotte resisted the urge to lick the chocolate off her hands; an unladylike behavior, but one she indulged in alone at home.

The trip back to the carriage was short and thankfully downhill this time. The siblings climbed in and the driver took off, making quick work of the last leg of their journey. The opera house soon filled the window, strong stone pillars and perching angels betraying the identity of the alluring building. Charlotte had never seen photographs, but she'd heard Raoul's stories of the place, stories of grandeur and beauty. This place certainly had both. A large sign hung to the left of the doors advertising 'La Carlotta!' the prima donna- a lady trussed up in exotic skirts. This time the valet helped them both to the ground, collected their bags, and ushered them towards the doors. Raoul held his arm out for her and Charlotte grabbed it gratefully. There really were a lot a people.

The second they stepped through the entrance two older men appeared. Both gave Raoul a small bow. "Vicomte, welcome." The one with curlier hair greeted. His lips were easy enough to read as long as Charlotte payed attention. "I am Monsieur Gilles Andre, and this is my associate, Monsieur Richard Firmin." Raoul shook both their hands and turned to introduce Charlotte. The men bowed even deeper to her and took turns kissing the back of her hand.

'Lovely to meet you, monsieurs'. She signed. Despite her brother's gentle encouragements, she refused to speak in front of anybody but him, hating the thought of how her voice must sound to others.

Raoul translated and added, "My sister is deaf, but if you speak clearly she can read your lips." Charlotte flushed as she always did when someone discovered her disability, but the new managers were very kind, nodding their understanding. Monsieur Firmin offered her his arm and she took it, leaving Raoul to chat with the more talkative Andre.

They were led again through a hall that opened to a grand stage, populated already by dancers and singers in a state of rehearsal. Charlotte could not hear the music they twirled to, but she could feel the rhythm of the dance thump in her breast. Charlotte had danced when she was young, but had given it up several years ago, around the time of her father's death. She felt a pang of regret as she watched the ballet now. Raoul had been right. They were captivating.

Another man was waiting for the group and once he saw them enter, he called a halt to the rehearsal. He began to speak, but his head was turned at such an angle that Charlotte could not make out what it was he said. She nudged Raoul in the arm and, noticing her predicament, began to sign for her. The man was Monsieur Lefevre, the old owner of the Opera Populaire. He was retiring and handing the title over to Firmin and Andre, with the de Chagny's as their patrons. Raoul was introduced and with a polite nod to the crowd he added, "My sister and I are honored to support all the arts, especially the world-renowned Opera Populaire."

His declaration was met with applause. Charlotte watched as a tall, pale woman in a beautiful golden crown came up to her brother, offering him her hand. Bemused, he leaned to kiss it while Lefevre introduced her as Signora Carlotta Guidicelli, the very same woman advertised on the posters outside the opera. She was the leading soprano. Charlotte felt poorly that she would never hear her sing, but there was no helping it.

There were several more introductions after that, but Charlotte had a difficult time keeping up with the quick pace and she eventually gave up, choosing to look around instead. The interior of the opera was swatched in red; red chairs, red curtains, and red costumes. It had a lush, private feel despite the crowd. It was the type of place that could swallow a thousand people and still be comfortable, the type of place that drew you in further and further. Charlotte loved it at once.

The ballet girls were once again taking up position, showing off for the Populaire's new owners. Raoul finished shaking (and kissing) hands and trotted over to her side. 'Shall I show you our hotel?'

Charlotte nodded, but her gaze remained fixed on the dancers.

'Don't worry, little sister, we will return to have supper with Firmin and Andre.' Raoul laughed. "Now, let's go unpack." They moved to exit the stage when all of a sudden the very ground seemed to shudder. Charlotte whipped her head around to stare at La Carlotta who was now lying on her belly, massive skirts trapped by a fallen set beam. She was thrashing about like a fish out of water, banging her palms on the ground, mouth open in a scream. The directors along with the actors and Raoul all rushed to help her, lifting the beam out of the way carefully.

Lefevre turned his head up and appeared to speak to someone on the rafters but whatever the explanation was for the accident let him even more agitated.

'The stagehand blames it on ghosts.' Raoul signed to her with a little shrug.

'Ghosts?'

'Apparently the Opera House is haunted.' The statement was accompanied by a wink. Raoul raised his hands and wiggled his fingers. "Ooooo."

Charlotte shook her head, a smile blooming on her lips. Ghosts were not real, but the mystery they provided was exciting. A haunted opera house? Raoul's gift was getting better by the minute. He sidled up to her and tugged on her braid. 'Anyways, I do believe that's our cue. Come, let us get out of the way.'

This is my first phanfic, I hope you are enjoying so far!

Disclaimer: I am not deaf so if there are any problems or inaccuracies with the way I write Charlotte please let me know!