"It's strange to think that it's only been about seven or so years since I first came to L'Opera Popular. Seven years, and I've still only made one friend and quite a few enemies. Of course, you know all about it, I tell you everything. I keep having to add more and more papers into you, and I fear that you might burst with all my constant thoughts and stories.

Well, I suppose one day I'll start a new one. Yet, this one… I still want to fill it up of the things that have been happening… these, odd occurrences that are quite… unexplainable. Such as… the angel…

It still comes to me. Everynight. And though it does seem to believe that Christine is the one talking to it... sometimes… she's fast asleep, and I don't want it to go away. So I speak when Christine can not…but does it know?... I suppose I never will know for sure."

Madame Giry stood at the door, looking in on the young girl who was still up, writing in a small book with only a little candle light. "Dear, it is pass curfew. Blow the candle out, and goodnight." She whispered, yet, still with a tone of authority.

The girl nodded, "Sorry, Madame Giry." She quickly closed her note book, sticking it under her pillow, and then blowing out the candle. She watched as Madame Giry slowly and quietly closed the door, and as she did, she closed her eyes, falling fast asleep.

Early morning arrived, and the sun was just rising over some of the buildings in Paris, creeping through the windows of the Opera House. The ballerinas began to wake, yawning and stretching, rubbing their eyes from their nights slumber. They all looked on in their still sleepy state as one of the girls was just finishing changing.

Most of them rolled their eyes, and some looked at her in disgust, but she usually shrugged it off. She didn't really care what they thought of her, or the way she acted and looked. She actually found it quite entertaining. She loved the attention she received from it, most of all from the ballerinas.

She quickly grabbed her cap, running to the full size mirror in the room, which was in an oval shape, and moved back and forth for different angles. She studied herself for a moment to make sure everything was in order. Her knickerbockers were knew, a gift from John Buquet, and fit perfectly. She were an old cotton shirt and an old pair of riding boots that Madame Giry had given her (Though she didn't really understand how a ballet instructor could afford, or have a need for such boots, she didn't bother to ask either.)

She finally pulled up her long blonde hair, wish had only a slight wave to it, pinning it as tightly as she could against her head, and then taking her cap, stuffing her hair underneath it, and putting the cap on. She took one last glance at herself, and then swiftly turning around, smiling and walking out of the room.

A small girl with dark brown hair played with the ties of her ballet slippers as she saw Helena leave. She jumped off the bed, prancing behind Helena a bit until she stopped at the door and Helena walked out, closing it behind her. She turned, looking at the other ballerinas who were still in the middle of getting ready. "Can I go now?" She asked, with a whine to her voice.

Meg and Christine both looked up to Jammes, shaking their heads. "No, Jammes. We all must leave for the stage together. Mother doesn't want us to run around the Opera House alone." Meg said, in a rather motherly tone.

Christine piped up, and with an arrogance to her voice, "And the last thing we need is to save you from the rats… and even worse… the Opera Ghost."

As she said that, Jammes' eyes widened. She was terrified of the Opera Ghost, yet, at the same time, completely interested. She could recall any story told to her by Joseph Buquet, and had them all memorized. She stood by the door, waiting for the others to finish and listening to their conversations, which consisted of the usual morning talk, Mostly of rehearsals for the day, Carlotta and Piangi, or of the routine. However, today they added something a bit different to the conversation.

Christine sat on one of the beds, lacing her slippers as she spoke with Meg. "I just find her a bit odd. She dresses like a boy for goodness sakes. Lord knows the only reason she still wears a corset is because your mother makes her. And all the men in the stage crew call her Hamlet."

Meg giggled, "Hamlet… that name always makes me laugh. Reminds me of a pig. Why do they call her that anyway?"

Christine shrugged, "Something about her obsession with William Shakespeare. She never really liked Opera you know. She always whines about it to Jammes. She acts like she knows so much about Operas and Plays."

Meg tied her tutu into place, finishing up, "She just likes the attention she gets for saying those things. She knows Jammes will believe everything she says anyway… Jammes will believe anything anyone says." She giggled, glancing to Jammes who was puffing out her cheeks and glaring at Meg.

She stomped her foot in anger, and turned, opening the door. "I don't care if the Opera Ghost does get me. Even if he Punjab's me, it would be better than listening to you two Delilahs say such horrid things!" she stuck out her tongue, feeling quite proud of herself, and walked out, slamming the door as hard as she could.

Christine and Meg stared at the door for a moment, and then bursted out in laughter. "She just called us Delilahs!" Christine tried to catch her breath, leaning onto Meg for support, feeling a bit light headed.

Meg shook her head. "That girl is so much trouble. I can't believe she just said that."

Christine stood up straight, letting out a heavy sigh, "She gets it from Helena… or should say… Hamlet." A gasp came from her mouth, "When she walks near us, we should start oinking like pigs!" She said, bursting out in laughter once again.

Meg bursted out in a fit of giggles, "Oh my goodness, Christine, you're absolutely dreadful."

Christine shook her head, "I was only teasing. I'd never do that… I feel too sorry for her to do it, believe it or not… I'm sure we tease her behind her back enough… that's something else she doesn't want to worry about. Then again, she probably wouldn't care. She's hard-headed, nothing could get through that skull. We could say anything… and she probably wouldn't understand."