A/N: I know, I know, so completely UNORIGINAL, but my last day of class is on Wednesday, so I wanted to tackle a big project. This is going to be based off of Disney's plot, but it will be darker and have several changes made for the sake of staying true to the spirit of Phantom. It's going to be a challenge writing for Erik, with all of his complexities, but I'm looking forward to the task. I hope this is a suitable entry into the "phandom". Just to make this clear: this isn't my first fanfic, just my first Phantom fanfic. Just so you know, introductions in italics are taken from lyrics from the musicals, I own nothing. Which leads me to . . .

DISCLAIMER: I am NOT Andrew Lloyd Webber. I do NOT write sequels with catchy music and amazing performers but disappointing plots, and I do NOT own Phantom of the Opera or any of its characters, nor do I own Beauty and the Beast. With that said, enjoy!

Prologue

Once upon a time, in a city called Paris, France,

A young musician lived in a magnificent opera house.

Although he had everything his heart desired,

The musician was easily angered, selfish, and unkind.

But then, one winter's night,

An old beggar woman came to the Opera House he called his own,

And offered him a single rose in return for shelter from the bitter cold.

Repulsed by her haggard appearance,

The musician sneered at the gift,

And turned the old woman away.

But she warned him not to be deceived by appearances,

For Beauty is found within.

And when he dismissed her again.

The old woman's ugliness melted away

To reveal a beautiful Enchantress.

The musician tried to apologize, but it was too late,

For she had seen that there was no love in his heart or music.

And as punishment,

She transformed him into a deformed monster,

And placed a powerful spell on the Opera House,

And all who lived and worked there.

Ashamed of his monstrous face,

The musician concealed himself inside his castle,

With a magic mirror as his only window to the outside world.

The Rose she had offered,

Was truly an enchanted rose,

Which would bloom for many years.

If he could learn to love another,

And earn her love in return

By the time the last petal fell,

Then the spell would be broken.

If not, he would be doomed to remain deformed

For all time.

As the years passed,

He fell into despair, and lost all hope,

For who could ever learn to love...a monster?

*Paris, France, November, 1881*

"Ah, little Christine Daaé, her head always in the clouds."

"Not in the clouds, monsieur, but in her music!"

Christine strolled down the small cobblestone street, pretending she hadn't heard all of the small comments the people of Paris would make as she made her usual trip through the city, collecting food for her father and herself, and also searching for new librettos to study, new music to attempt to learn.

For Christine, music was life. She loved to sing, and had always longed to be formally taught, but she and her father lived alone and could not afford lessons. Her father attempted to instruct her himself, as he was a violinist, but he was only able to teach her so much. But what she had learned was quite valuable to her.

And that, unfortunately, made her appear rather odd to her neighbors, who, though they appreciated music, thought that she was far too much of a dreamer, with her mind constantly away in some romantic opera or humming to herself as she walked through town.

She much preferred the worlds in the opera librettos and books she would read to the world she lived in. The men and women she knew had no more dreams, they only focused on trivial matters. Her mind drifted far away, as she dreamed of performing to sold-out audiences around the world, but truly all that she wanted was to sing in the place that haunted her dreams and thoughts . . .

She stopped at the old Paris Opera House, now empty and desolated. Christine had heard many different stories to explain its sudden closure many years ago, some said the owner had been killed by someone against music, some said La Carlotta, the former principal soprano there had killed the owner for not giving her a solo, and then ran off, for she had gone missing as well. Christine, on the other hand, had her own idea to why it closed. She believed the owner had lost inspiration, and his love for music.

She looked through a crack in the wood that boarded up the windows, hoping to steal a glance at the place she had forever longed to perform at, even though she had never set foot in it. She peered in, and her eyes met nothing but a very still darkness.

She was in the midst of turning away and returning home to help her father prepare supper, when she heard the faintest sound coming from deep within the grand building. Slowly, she turned back and pressed her ear against the wood, straining to make sense of the noise.

Slowly, as she focused in on the noise, it grew louder and clearer.

It was music.

The melody grew clearer, the notes gaining momentum as the song continued, and Christine closed her eyes, losing herself in the rich harmonies coming from what sounded like an organ. The music . . . it was haunting, and so chillingly beautiful that Christine stood with her ear pressed against the boarded window for many moments, drawing glances from harmless passersby. But she didn't notice, her mind and soul was lost in the dark, tormented melodies drifting from deep within the dark opera house . . .

A/N: I know, I know, short prologue, but the chapters will be longer than this once the actual plot kicks in, I swear. It's just a prologue, after all.

Please review, I'm really trying hard to grasp these characters. And I haven't even tackled the real challenge yet . . .