Christine was only 13 when Jane was rescued just outside of the opera house. It was an unusual summer night, dark, roiling clouds blanketed the sky with the threat of rain, but only a strong wind, the north wind, to be exact, blew through the empty streets of Paris. Only a party of three unsavory characters could be spotted, chasing their fare, a young woman in a tattered gown. The wind swept up her desperate cries for help, stealing her voice and the deranged cackling of her perpetrators.

She had managed to outrun them until she reached the alleyway next to the opera house, one that the Phantom used frequently, not that any of the four knew that as they each found themselves trapped in the surprisingly dark alley. What Jane thought was a throughway, was actually a man-made dead end with only a small window to give the illusion of escape. She whipped around to see how close the gang was only to meet one of their fists head on. Her body crumbled to the cold and dirty floor as a foot collided with her unprotected stomach, pain overwhelming her mind and silencing her screams. Something warm trickled down her face, tickling her senses with the foul taste of iron as it slid into her mouth, she was bleeding.

The assault continued for what seemed like forever, punching her ribs, kicking her arms, legs, her head. Everything ached and screamed for relief. She sent her last prayer to god through the haze that she knew to be death, she had never believed in him but now was as good a time as any to ask for salvation.

The worst of it was the curses. The horrible things they called her,

"You crazy cunt!"

"Witch!"

"Why don't you just die!"

"Thought you could just be one of us? No one would accept a crazy bitch like you!"

"Yeah! Learn your place, psycho!"

Jane thought it would never end, the pain and the insults echoed in her mind. Flashes of her life, like they talk about in penny dreadfuls for those close to death, started playing behind her tightly closed eyes. A song, one she heard while selling matches outside a music hall, played dimly as she saw faces of family she never really knew, the scornful looks from strangers on the street, watching her love run away into the arms of another woman. Suddenly, death didn't seem so horrible, as it didn't seem like life was much better. As her body numbed to the pain, countless bruises and broken bones, she dreamed of an angel to fly down and save her. She slipped into unconsciousness under the laughing of the villains.

Meanwhile, the opera ghost, a young man named Erik, was on his way to buy materials under the cover of night when he heard some commotion from one of his more accessible entrances. He looked through a hidden hole only to see 3 dirty men kicking what at first looked like a pile of rags but upon closer inspection, was in fact, a young woman, quietly moaning as he heard a rib crack under the pressure of a quite hard kick. He was about to leave through another door, a it wasn't his business, Erik felt the world was full of hatred and he wanted no part in chivalry only to have them shy away from his face.

However, before he could fully walk away, the insults they had been spitting at the unfortunate woman reach his ears. She was as unwanted as she. Perhaps...

Now was no time for thinking as he had no idea how long they had been beating her and it was only a matter of time before her life left her frail body. He quickly climbed to a vantage point where he could access the roof and would be right on top of them. They would never see it coming.

Jane awoke to the sound of screams, different from the gleeful cries of her attackers that rattled her brain. Squinting up toward the sky, she saw a great being flying down toward her, the angel had finally come for her. With that, she finally gave into her body's exhaustion.

Erik made quick work of the three boys. Even though they were strong enough to break a woman's ribs, they were barely out of puberty, frail little things that gave away quickly under his strong fingers.

Once they were disposed of, Erik turned toward the now unconscious woman. He checked her pulse, weak but steady. Her face was too abused to consider possible identification, much less beauty. Not that anyone could be more beautiful than Christine in Erik's eyes. Or have a more beautiful voice, just perfection incarnate.

He was brought out of thoughts as the woman groaned in his arms. He needed to get her medical treatment right away.

As the woman healed, she informed him of her name, Jane Noir. Her face healed and Erik was slightly disappointed, she was normal, an average Parisian, nothing special or extraordinarily beautiful, but he would find out what made her so condemned by even the lowest tiers of society.

Over the next fews days as he convinced her that he was not an angel and that she was very much alive, he learned that her "insanity" was more of an outspoken attitude and an unusual intelligence for her age, social status and her sex. Normally, women in the gutter know only the basics to survive, procreate, and make a small living out of the combination of the two. She claimed to be able to clean better than most professional maids, having been trained by a royal maid when she was just a small urchin and her skills at minor construction were clearly expressed when he found her in his workroom making adjustments to the swan bed he had been working on for almost 5 years. He was stuck on how to curve the neck just so and add detail to the wings without scratching the wood. Her advise was like a candle in the dark, and he was able to make the adjustments and continue with the next section.

"Where did you come from Mrs. Noir?" He asked her one day over a small dinner she had prepared. He wouldn't admit for years to come, but it was better than anything he had made before.

She looked up from her plate and made eye contact, something he wasn't used to due to his deformity and equally terrifying mask, it didn't seem to bother her though.

"It's Miss Noir, sir. And honestly, I couldn't tell you, my memories begin in the gutter and will most likely end in the gutter." Without another word she continued eating.

The next day, Erik was able to convince Madame Giry to employ her as a cleaning/stage hand girl, an unusual job title in those days. Jane proved herself to be a sturdy, hard worker, and kept most of the men away because of her "insanity" (most of them didn't like being outspoken or outsmarted by a woman). She was able to befriend some of the quieter stagehands, ones with big dreams but quiet minds. However, she always came back to Erik at the end of the day or after a few days during a busy season. Madame Giry gave her a small room connected with the ballerina barracks but Erik had also made a bedroom for her down in his caves. She was able to freely sleep in both of them. The ballerinas did not care for her though, and she much prefered Erik's company to a troupe of simple minded women.

During their years of companionable friendship, Jane never asked about, yet never avoided his mask. She made eye contact but didn't stare and politely turned her back when he came out of his room without it.

One night, though, he fell sick after not eating or sleeping for too many days in a row. Jane knew that Christine Daae, his prodigy, must have thrown a fit or done something to upset him. As she's lived with Erik, she's learned about the one thing she must never question, and that is his loyalty to the swedish orphan. She's seen the girl and heard her and even interacted with her a few times and only seen a shallow girl with starry dreams of a musical angel. The one time she said anything, she quickly learned never to again. Erik didn't speak to her for 3 days, only breaking when she made his favorite meal. They had a clipped and short conversation but it was better than absolute silence. Their friendship regrew over time but Jane never said anything about Christine to Erik again.

This sickness, however, was not the first and it would not be the last. It was extremely bad this time, unlike Jane had seen in his friend. She knew that girl was at fault and a pit of hatred turned her stomach as she watched her friend curl up in misery. Now was not the time for dramatics though, she had to care for him as he first cared for her. She took care of his during his sweats and chills and delusional mumblings. Due to the length of his sickness, his mask had to come off to prevent a rash from forming. At first, he resisted her but she was persistent, gently talking him through what she was going to do, as if to a child.

"Erik, I need to clean your face."

"No! Don't look! M-M...monster!"

"Erik, it will only hurt more. There's no monster."

The fever took over enough that she was able to get the mask off. He waited for her response when she removed it, but instead she gently cleaned his scars of building and sweat, the rag was cool on his knotted skin. Tears crept down his face at the relief and the acceptance and she wiped those away too and cleaned the mask. He eventually relaxed under her care and fell asleep, dreamless and quiet.