Okay, so this is my first Phantom fic, but I'm pretty familiar with the world of the Phantom, so I think I've got this down. Constructive criticism would be great, as well as reviews that tell me you want me to continue (always nice to have some motivation). If anyone would like to Beta for me, I would appreciate it.

This story is kind of a mix of the Leroux version, the ALW stage version, and the Max Schell version. Oh, but if you liked this story and decided 'I'm going to watch the Max Schell version so I understand it', I wouldn't. It has a lot of spoilers. Enjoy!

The Opera Palace was always rather strange. It had been on the top of a hill never cast with light and surrounded by a foreboding, wrought-iron gate for nearly three hundred years. It was easy to get lost there. There were so many twisting hallways and creaking staircases it was almost impossible to keep track of where you were. Unless, of course, you were a part of the staff.

The staff was particularly odd. Something about their line of work changed them forever. Most were wide-eyed and expressionless. Very few could keep up a pleasant conversation with a diner. Many quit, terrified. And no one who worked there could explain all the out-of-the-ordinary things that went on. No one had a reasonable explanation for all the extraordinary occurrences that happened there.

Except, perhaps, the ghost.

/

"And so I was walking down the street and she came up to me and she was like 'Are you Jaffrey?' and I said 'Yes, I'm Jaffrey". And she was like 'Are you the Jaffrey that works at the shoe store?' and I said 'No, I'm Jaffrey from The Jaffrey School of Dance'."

The group of girls laughed. "I can't believe she thought you worked at the shoe store," piped the small, blonde one in a phony accent. A few others seated at the table began to giggle.

"Yes, only peasants work at the shoe store," agreed the original speaker.

"Right… it's not like I work at the shoe store," joked another with a nervous laugh following her statement. The whole table could no longer control their laughter.

A wide-eyed waitress approached them and dropped seven pamphlets on the table. She then proceeded to walk back to where she came from. The girls stared as she left. There was a long silence before one spoke. "Woah, hey, you have no explanation or anything? You're just going to leave us wondering what these are for?" She brandished the pamphlets, looking back to where the waitress had disappeared. "Are these some sort of decorative napkin?" she asked, studying them.

"They're ghost stories, Sherlock," explained another, snatching them out of her hand. She handed one out to each girl at the table, who all quickly began reading. "I feel like a card dealer," she stated before starting in on hers. Many of them snickered.

"I can't believe this blurry white flash counts as a picture of the ghost," said the girl next to her.

"I love how in this particular story they italicized both witnessed. As if that's going to make us believe anymore," she replied.

"Oh no! The ghost is possessing me!" cried a girl from across the table. She picked up a butter knife and slowly brought it towards the girl next to her. "Oh no, oh no, oh no!" The table burst into laughter as she set the knife back on her plate.

"Can anyone see the 'tortured face' in this photo?" The girls leaned over towards the middle where their friend was holding up her pamphlet and studied the picture of what was supposed to be a tortured face.

"Nope. It looks like a big blob to me," said one, but another studied it closer.

"I think this is the eye," she said, pointing to a dark spot. "And here's another, and the rest is the head, but I can't seem to find the nose."

The rest squinted their eyes to make out the same thing. One cocked her head slightly to the side. "That's one deformed face," she pointed out. The others nodded, agreeing. "Like a death's head…"

/

"Don't worry, my dear, you'll be fabulous," they said as they pushed her on stage. The two men returned to their seats, as they watched the young girl's knees knock under her satin evening gown.

"Gentlemen, I'm so glad you could make it," said a familiar voice behind. The two jumped and turned in their seats to see a younger man smiling broadly who was seated just behind them. They relaxed at the sight of him.

"Ah, Mr. Serio," said one. "David, it's nice to see you again."

"Mr. Raide," David acknowledged him. "And how are you, Mr. Deagia?" he asked, turning to the other.

"Quite w-well," stuttered the naturally nervous man.

"I see you've hired a new singer," David pointed out the girl on stage as the introduction to the sing began to play. The two nodded.

"Yes," said Raide. "Well, poor Katherine said she would never sing in the country again after what happened."

The girl on stage began to stumble over the notes, clearly anxious that something would happen. She shook her head and was close to walking off the stage, but Raide, Deagia, and David waved her back up. She continued to sing, gaining a bit of confidence as nothing was going wrong, and she soon let an angelic voice soar through the room.

"So is this who you've replaced her with?" asked David, still listening to the song intently.

"Y-yes," confirmed Deagia.

"This is Marionette Azayl, Mr. Serio," Raide elaborated. "We're rather lucky to have gotten her here. The girl has more anxieties than Mr. Deagia here." He chuckled.

The singer hit the highest note in her song as the accompaniment ended and the curtain fell over the stage, concealing the young girl. "Ah, nothing bad happened!" cried Deagia, encouraged by his luck and jumping up. "We must go congratulate Miss Azayl!" He ran off towards backstage.

Raide and David followed, but after a few steps Raide turned and signaled for David to stay. "We should like to speak with Miss Azayl alone, if you don't mind." This caused David to raise his eyebrow.

"Are you saying I can't meet her? She has lovely voice, Mr. Raide, and I am your patron," he argued.

Raide nodded almost nervously but stood his ground. "Yes, you may meet her later, perhaps once she is in her dressing room, but she is very shy, you see. After a performance she'll be wanting to talk to people she's familiar with. Don't worry, though. We won't keep her long." And with that he rushed backstage.

Review, please!