A/N: About four months ago, I fell in love with the Phantom of the Opera. His story was so beautiful to me, his story of love and loss, of pain and heartbreak. The Phantom reminded me of Rumple in a way… so naturally I had to write a fanfiction crossing the stories over.

This is a retelling of Rumbelle's story, Phantom of the Opera style! This fanfic is a gift to my lovely followers on Tumblr. I hope you all enjoy this as much as I enjoy writing it.

A few more housekeeping things before we begin!

PLEASE my friends, review this chapter so I know your thoughts. Also feel free to follow me on Tumblr (username: Rumbellelives)

Disclaimer: I don't own Rumbelle, OUAT, or Phantom of the Opera. I only borrow them so I can create beautiful stories and cry while eating chocolate.

Chapter 1: He's Here!

"Sold."

The single word echoes around the high ceilings of the theater. Darkness bleeds from every corner of the large room, engulfing a little group of people, who all stand gathered around an assortment of objects.

There are all sorts of items all scattered about. A rocking chair rests on its side, one of the wooden legs snapped off. A small gold picture frame leans against a wall in the corner. A porcelain figure of a white horse stands on two legs, tossing its head into the sky.

Something looms in front of the pile of things, covered by a threadbare, tan sheet. It's the biggest object in the room, but it is covered. That still doesn't keep everyone from knowing exactly what this object is. A chandelier, once the prized and esteemed decoration of the opera house, now laying on the floor.

"Your number sir?" the man standing at the front of the crowd says. He pushes up a pair of spectacles on his nose and blinks a few times. "Thank you, good sir."

The auctioneer continues to sell off a few things, small trinkets and items that had been gathering dust. A little jeweled neckless passes to a woman standing in the back. Blood red rubies glint in the faint light.

"Lot 665 then," the auctioneer calls. He holds up a little porcelain cup, something small and delicate. The handle is painted gold. Little streaks of blue are visible on the curved side of the cup, flowing together like water in a stream. The rim is blemished, a little chip missing from the top.

A chipped cup. Not normally valuable. An object that wouldn't even get a second glance normally.

"I'll start at 10 francs," the auctioneer states.

Someone in the back, a man with light brown hair, raises his hand almost immediately. He stares at the teacup, eyes never moving from it.

"Fifteen, then? Do we have fifteen?" The auctioneer seems slightly surprised, but he wont complain. This is business after all. He just doesn't quite understand why someone would want an object so… worthless.

Someone else raises their hand, a woman with red curly hair and a pinched face. A green hat perches on top of her head like a bird about to take flight. The man who first raised his hand for the teacup flinches, his hands shaking just a little.

"Do you really need it, William?" the man's friend asks. "It's not valuable in…"

"It's valuable to me," William snaps, raising his hand again when the auctioneer calls out for 20 francs.

"Will, you're going to spend all of your money," the man whispers. "Please think rationally about this…"

"It's Belle's cup… It's…" his voice cracks. No one has challenged him for the cup again. He gets it for 20 francs.

The cup gets passed back to him, and he clutches it to his chest. "It's just as she described it," Will mutters to himself, running his finger down the cold porcelain, tracing the little blue pattern on the side. The chip is sharp and cuts his finger. A crimson drop of blood drips down the side, coming to rest at the bottom of the cup.

Will stares at it, feeling no pain.

"Belle…" He whispers her name into the darkness.

XXX

Light yellow sunlight spills into the streets, pooling in the dirt like liquid gold. The sky is tinged pink, softly blending into the pale blue like watercolors in a painting.

The streets are empty early in the morning. No one has gotten up for work yet, the day still new. No one, that is, except for a young woman. She is running, still trying to pull her coat over her shoulders. She trips over her skirts, stumbling and nearly falling.

"Come on," she mutters to herself. "You got this, Belle…"

She is late to work, late to the first rehearsal that they are going to have over the new opera. Madame Mills was going to kill her. She was almost never late, but that didn't seem to matter to the old grouchy woman, whom only seemed to pick the faults out in other people (even in her own goddaughter).

Belle has never understood why the opera house living quarters were so far away form the actual opera house. It hasn't really been a problem for her until now… or… maybe it had. She can't remember the last day she was this late.

Belle starts running again, her hand flying to her hair. The brown curls are falling out of their carefully constructed bun, bouncing into her eyes. She spits one out of her mouth.

One more street and she will make it.

Boongggg!

The first bell marking the sixth hour. She had mere seconds to get to work or she is late. She cuts through a back alley, around the corner and straight up to the door of the opera house right when the sixth bell tolls.

She opens the door slowly, praying that Madame Mills hadn't spotted her missing yet.

"Belle."

Damn.

The woman stands up on the stage, her arms folded over her chest. Her black hair is tied back from her piercing eyes, a tight, immaculate bun on the top of her head.

"Sorry, Madame Mills," she says, gasping out the words. "I… It…"

"Don't make excuses, girl," Madame Mills snaps. Her hand is clenched at her side and her nostrils flare. She looks like a bull about to charge. "Just go get in your uniform and fix that god awful bun. You're wasting all of our time."

Belle can feel tears prickling at the back or her eyes, but she takes a breath.

You will not cry.

It is something that she tells herself all the time, ever since her father died. Every time she felt the burning in her eyes, the pounding in her skull she bites the inside of her cheek and repeats the words over and over like a mantra.

You will not cry.

You will not cry.

It might not be healthy, but it works.

She goes back to the dancers dressing room, grabbing her uniform off the rack, letting the smooth fabric run over her fingers. It's red, green and gold, the skirt made out of strands of ribbon. She slips it on, pulling the tights up her legs. It clings to her skin and she twirls once, letting the skirt unfurl.

She looks at the corset. Time to try this… she thinks to herself. How hard could it be, putting a corset on by herself?

It turns out, very hard.

She can't see the crisscrossing strings in the back, can't figure out quite how to lace it up.

"Belle?"

She jumps in fright. But it is only Ruby, her best friend here at the opera house.

"Can I have some help?" Belle asks and Ruby smiles, stepping over to her. Her fingers dance across the corsets back, weaving the ribbon in and out of the little holes, lacing it up.

Everything about Ruby is graceful. From the way she walks into the room with her toes pointed to the way she writes, her hand flowing across the page, dotting her i's and crossing her t's as if she has been writing cursive her whole life. She's the most beautiful girl and best dancer that Belle has ever met.

"Is Madame Mills really upset with me?" Belle asks.

"She'll get over it." Ruby finishes tightening the corset, stepping back and smiling at her friend. "There. You're beautiful."

"Thank you, Ruby," Belle says with a smile, walking to the door.

"You're forgetting something," Ruby says.

Belle stands for almost a full minute before realizing she hadn't fixed her hair.

"Oh," Belle mumbles, pulling a pin out of her hair. "Thanks, Ruby."

The girl wordlessly helps her do her bun again. Belle smiles.

What would she ever do without Ruby?

XXX

"About time you showed up," Madame Mills snaps to them when they step out of the dressing room.

"Sorry, Regina," Ruby says. "Her hair… took a little longer than we expected it to."

"It's Madame Mills, Ruby. Just because you're my goddaughter doesn't mean you get any special privileges. Now get back in the formation."

Belle stands in her spot in the back, holding her arms over her head in a graceful curve. She begins going through the motions of the dance, pointing her toes and arching her back along with the other girls around her.

She bites the side of her cheek. Her mind begins wandering, thinking about the book that she was reading before rehearsal. It had been about a king falling in love with a beggar. She smiles when she remembers the story.

This isn't the life that Belle wanted. Dancing… dancing had never been her passion, her dream. It had been her father's. But she had to earn money somehow, and this was the only thing she truly knew how to do.

"Belle, what in god's name are you doing? You look like an elephant! Please for the love of everything holy, point your toes!"

Well… almost knew how to do.

She grimaced and pointed her toes even more, hoping that the day would be over soon.

XXX

"That's enough for the day girls," Madame Mills calls to them. "We will start on more of the opener tomorrow. Don't be late."

Regina Mills looked directly at Belle when she said this.

Belle can feel the blood rushing to her cheeks. She looks down at her shoes, trying not to focus on the chatter of the other girls.

"Sorry."

Belle turns to see Ruby, who is picking the pins out of her hair. Her long, dark brown locks fall over her back. She gives Belle a crooked smile. "She had no right to treat you that way."

"I mean… she did have the right," Belle says. "I was late."

"No she really didn't," Ruby says. She looks at her friend straight in the eyes. "Now stop moping around. Let's do something fun before tonight."

"Tonight?" Belle asks. "What's happening tonight?"

"Oh… that's right…." Ruby says. "Before rehearsal, Re…. Madame Mills made an announcement. We all have to be at the first singing rehearsal. Apparently, Zelena is going to sing the opening act for us and we might get some choreography."

"Why didn't Madame Mills remind us?" Belle asks.

"Probably because she wanted you to miss it so she could have an excuse to hate you again tomorrow," Ruby says laughing.

Belle just stares at her.

"It's a joke," Ruby says. "Damn, Belle, you need to lighten up."

XXX

Belle sits in the back of the opera house, watching the people milling about on the stage. It's not often that she gets to sit in the audience anymore. It's a nice break to be watching instead of dancing or acting up on stage.

She and Ruby had passed the few hours of freedom they had by getting lunch and sitting by the fountain outside, watching the pigeons peck at the breadcrumbs on the sidewalk. All in all, a very dull day. At least spending time with Ruby had made it a little better.

He thoughts are interrupted by a voice.

"Hello, everyone," the redhead onstage calls out to them.

Zelena. Everyone seemed to dote over her, but Belle can't stand the woman. She has only ever had one conversation with the singer, but it consisted of Zelena yelling at Belle about "stealing her spotlight" and needing to "stay on her part of the stage" or something.

Belle wishes she had never met the bitter, headstrong woman.

But Zelena is the "Prima Donna", the main soprano of the opera house. Without her, they would be nothing.

Zelena has begun to sing, her voice ringing through the hall, echoing around the rafters. Belle isn't paying attention to the song, her eyes traveling around the opera house. She spots something odd, and does a double take.

One of the backdrops is crooked.

That's kind of odd, she thinks to herself. And kind of dangerous too… if that were to fall, someone….

As if on cue, the backdrop crashes down.

"He's here!"

"The Phantom of the Opera!"

People are screaming around her. Some fall to the ground in terror. Belle holds her hands over her head, her eyes fixed on the stage, searching.

Someone is laughing. She can hear it, the laughter almost like music.

"Calm. DOWN!" Madame Mills shouts.

Regina Mills may be downright terrifying, but she gets things done. Her voice cuts through the noise like a gunshot and everyone is silent.

Zelena is sitting up, her hand pressed against her head. Belle can just make out red blood trickling through the woman's fingers, running in little streams down her face.

"Everyone needs to leave," Madame Mills says, her voice tight and sharp. No one moves for a moment. "I want everyone out of this opera house except for Zelena and the managers!"

Belle sits in the back corner, watching as people filed out of the building. She doesn't make a move to follow, hiding in the shadows. Ruby, who had been sitting next to her is gone, disappearing in the crowd.

"This is an outrage!" Zelena shouts.

"I know," Madame Mills says, her voice so soft that Belle can hardly hear it. A doctor is now on the stage, looking at Zelena's head, saying something to Regina and then walking away.

"You don't have a concussion," Madame Mills says. "That's good."

"Nothing about this is good," Zelena snaps back. "I'm being hunted down."

"You are not," Madame Mills responds.

"The Phantom of the Opera…"

"Does not exist!" Madame Mills interrupts her. "That was simply an accident. We will not speak of this further.

Belle watches as the people on the stage leave. She thinks about the first time she ever heard about the Phantom.

There had always been something odd about this opera house. Little things happen; things that could only happen if someone was working behind the scenes.

She remembers the first time a backdrop fell off of its ropes, one that had previously been secured by the head of the stage himself. It had continued to happen-props had begun falling over, things randomly catching fire. A trapdoor even opened below one of the singers once, with nothing at the bottom to break his fall. It nearly killed him.

The main stage hand at that time was fired for his incompetence, and after that, seemingly nothing had gone wrong. Not until now, at least.

She remembered the whispers from her dancer friends.

"It's like a ghost…"

"Someone wanted him to get fired…"

"Someone or something…" That had been Ruby's voice.

"Don't be ridiculous." Belle had said to her. "There is no such thing as ghosts, and there isn't anyone haunting the opera house."

Now Belle isn't so sure.

She sits alone in the opera house, watching the empty stage. She imagines for a moment that she is the one singing the main soprano role. She imagines her voice filling this beautiful room, echoing in her own ears. She imagines pouring her heart into a song, letting all those who listen understand her pain.

Nothing is stopping her, she thinks.

She stands and before she can stop herself, takes a few steps towards the stage.

No! This is ridiculous. She can't sing… not as well as an opera singer (and certainly not as beautifully as Zelena).

A musical voice fills the room. "What's stopping you, my child?"