Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera, just so you know, because of course you thought I did.

This is my first PhanFic, please R&R. it will probably come out EC, but I am not sure yet.

Chapter 1

The funeral was quiet and tears rolled down my face as I saw her coffin being lowered further and further into the cold ground. But once the shovels began to bury her I began to think of other things and the dead became the dead in my heart. Goodbye Mother, I thought and threw the carnation I had been holding in my hand unto the grave. Slowly turning, I began to walk down the neat rows between the white headstones, kicking the ground slightly with my boots. My mother was all I had left in the world, and now I was alone. I glanced admiringly at the graves of those lucky enough to be wealthy enviously. Busts of deceased aristocracy stared at me with their white eyes, and the extensive poetic carvings on the gravestone made me feel uncomfortable with my simple, "My Heart Is With You," on mother's head stone. The stone mason charged by the letter, and I had spent what was supposed to be next months and the months after that's rent. The gate to the cemetery was ajar but locked, and I pushed myself through. My dress tore slightly and I was approached by a carriage. I waved away the man's offers to drive me home, as I didn't have any money to eat, let alone pay for a cab.

The walk home was not long, but it was not pleasant either. Feeling self-conscious about my dress, I tried to hide the tear making me look as if my hand was stuck to my stomach. My corset bit into me and I longed to take it off the moment I got home, which would be in about forty minutes. I shouldn't call it home anymore, I reminded myself, and Alexis had said I get evicted in 7 days, seven days ago. Damn! It wasn't a large apartment but it was convenient, and right across the Opera Populaire where mother worked. I never quite understood if she was actually on the payroll or whether her job was that of a professional pickpocket. In any case, she brought home enough money to keep us alive and with a roof over our heads. She taught me how to read at night lighting a log, since candles where too expensive and sticks burnt to quickly. As a young woman, she had once been "on terms" with a local librarian, then a young nervous man who was prematurely bonding. Although he had gotten married and had a lovely family, he occasionally lent mother books, so that I could enjoy the classics. Then mother got sick, there was nobody to work, I had no skills, used to just sitting at home and reading, so money ran short. All the savings went to the local quack for medicine and soon we were down to two months rent worth of money. Then she died, funeral expenses ran high and I couldn't pay the rent. Alexis came to me with a notice and handing it told me to 'get the hell out of the house.' He never liked me, probably because he, like many thought, that I was somewhat "odd" for the polite term. I would sit at home, when I wasn't reading the library books with a newspaper and study the classifieds trying to figure out the cost of various jobs and whether France was going into an inflation, recession, or whether the economy was on track.

From a young age, mother had always thought me weak slightly in the mind. She loved me nonetheless for that, but sheltered me and protected me until I became totally helpless and spoiled (if a beggar can be spoiled). But once she died, my life changed. I never used to clean the house, and the dust ran up. Laundry, which my mother had always washed with her knobbly fingers, remained lying in piles, until I, running out of things to wear finally brought myself to wash it. In general I was a mess.

On her deathbed, mother had told me, "Go to the Opera, you can make your fortune there." Then she glanced at the only picture of my father we had, and closed her eyes forever.

As I reached my modest house, I noticed my already packed suitcase standing outside, with a smirking Alexis hovering over it. "Goodbye, dear," He said sarcastically, "You don't live here anymore."

I did not expect him to throw me out so quickly and I did not know where to go! I recalled my mother's words and decided that it was a good a place to start as any.

The large clock tower chimed three and lifting my light suitcase I headed toward the opera building. It had once been said that a ghost lived under the opera, a ghost from the middle ages and he kept all of the crusader treasures somewhere in the basement of the opera. This interested me and I, having decided from a young age that all legends are based on fact, decided to try to find this basement, and though it would be empty of any living soul, I thought it was possible that I might find at least a place to stay. Mother had told me of a passage from the rue scribe that led to the opera, saying that occasionally she saw horses from the show pass through.

In my bag there was my one treasure. It was worth close to one hundred francs, but I vowed I would never sell it. The treasure, which I speak of, was a beautiful officer's revolver that my father used. In it were 5 golden souvenir bullets, and one lead bullet, "for emergencies". As I approached walked on the rue scribe, I saw it fork with one path sloping downward and the other remaining straight. I followed the descending one, and after about twenty minutes walk I was underground. I withdrew the gun. Although I was not beautiful, or even pretty for that matter, I was young and afraid of dark places where men could attack me and nobody would know. Although I could not shoot for the life of me, I held the gun at the level of my eye where at least it looked as if I was about to shoot. As I walked, looking through the gun, it came as a shock to me that I had hit water. I lowered my arm to my side and my eyes looked down. I had reached a dark lake. My suitcase, which had grown heavier all this time, felt like a weight in my hand. The clothes I had in there were dirty, and I had my corset on me. There was nothing of true value in the trunk so I made a hasty rash decision.

I took out all my clothes and dumped them on the beach, then sealing the suitcase again I tossed it on the water. If I was correct, the basement with the rumored treasures lay just on the other side of the lake. I would be directly under the opera house. I saw the suitcase was still floating, while I was having my ruminations. I hoped and prayed my plan would work, then throwing all else to the winds I jumped stomach to the ground on my suitcase so that my torso was on the trunk while the rest of my body was sprawled out unnaturally above the water.

The suitcase floated, and I with it.

I began to paddle forward, my gun stuck uncomfortably between my teeth. The water was icy and slimy. I steeled myself and reminded myself what goodies hopefully lay away of me. If nothing else, at least I would find a place to sleep. The metal of the gun felt awful on my teeth, and I would have given almost anything to drop it into the water, but I wouldn't.

I saw land ahead after about half an hour. In the distance a dark shore loomed and I paddled with all my might making an enormous ruckus. As I touched the mud and disembarked from my suitcase, I thought I heard a rustle. Although I thought it in my imagination I still raised my gun and poised it to fire. I crawled along the floor with one hand, the other holding the weapon. When I was about ten feet on the shore, I stood up, and at exactly that moment I heard something whiz.

A rope was around my neck.

Firing blindly into darkness I heard a voice say from a distance, "Oh Monsieur, you have very bad aim." The rope tightened, but I luckily threw it off easily since one hand was in front of my face. I could hear the rope being raveled in, I was prepared this time. I put both my hands on my face so that no matter how tight the rope was I could still speak. I could plead with this mysterious man to let me go. As I had expected the rope land again on my shoulders, before it could be tightened, I called out, "SIR, please do not hurt me. I am too young, and I did not come here to bother you. I swear sir, I will leave, only let me go!!!"

The rope tightened slightly and I tried to throw it off. Although it was not tight around my neck, my hands were stuck under it. A man with a light candle approached me. "What have we here?" He said smirking. At least I thought he was smirking. Half his face was, but the other half was strangely covered in a white, seemingly porcelain, mask.

"Ah, a lady." I was terrified; he seemed not to feel any pity. He had not yet noticed the gun for some odd reason, but I did not feel the need to remind him.

"Sir! Please!"

He made his half smirk again, saying, "You interrupted my work, broke into my house, and littered into the lake. No I do not think I will let you go!" The rope tightened harshly, and in desperation I fired one of the golden bullets from the revolver at him. I don't know if it hit, but the rope loosened. I did not need anything more! Throwing it off easily I began to run. The man was standing still and I guessed that maybe I had wounded him. He did not follow me. My eyes had adjusted to the dark and I saw a slim hallway leading away. I ran to it.

I heard him start to move, but slowly and I quickened my pace. The stitches in my side were awful but I kept running. I could not here him following me, so I slowed down slightly. As I ran up a curving staircase, I reached a dead end. I felt around hoping for a doorknob, there was none. In frustration I kicked what I thought was the wall but what seemed to be more of a weight, there was a flash of light and suddenly I was in a well lighted dressing room.

There was a small scream of surprise and I turned to see a beautiful girl, about my age looking at me. She had beautiful dark hair and eyes. She looked at me as if she had seen a ghost, and I was not surprised. I was covered in mud, had a torn dress on, held a gun in my hand and had appeared from nowhere.

She spoke first, " I am Christine," she said simply.

What energy I had left I decided to waste on politeness. "Nice to make your acquaintance, Christine, I am Elizabeth!"

Utterly and totally drained I fainted. Before I lost all consciousness, however, I had one thought:

I will find that man, and I will destroy him

Then I fell into blackness!

Well what do you think? Please Review! My very very very very first fan fiction. This will not be a romance between Elizabeth and Erik, trust me, but there will be a romance. If I have not made it clear yet, Elizabeth is not a Mary Sue. This story will basically be about the women in POTO (Christine, Meg, M. Giry, and my creation Elizabeth.). Please tell me what you think!