Hey everyone!

So as I said in my fanfic Let It Go, here's a new story, an E/M Phanfic, because seriously, there aren't much of those out there actually and that don't mix up with Love Never Dies! It's my second fanfic, I'm so proud of myself… XD So enjoy, and please review… It would really make my day! To show you how it's important to me, I take time to answer every review I get. ;) I'll just remind (or tell you, for those of you who didn't read my Let It Go fanfic) that I'm not English-speaking, but French… So I'm sorry for the few grammar mistakes here and there, but I'm making efforts every day to get better (and I must say that since I started fanfic, my English really improved…)

Silent Angel will be divided in parts. The first part will cover the events before POTO, with at first Mme Giry's POV, then Meg's, when she'll be a little bit older. The second book will be POTO itself, with Meg's point of view, and the third will be after POTO. Just to warn you, the fluff is gonna come in the third. But stay tuned anyway. XD

So enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or situations coming from ALW's Phantom of the Opera, nor Kay's Phantom. Anything coming from Leroux's novel belongs to the public domain.

PART ONE

Toute parée, aux yeux du Ciel qui la contemple,
Elle marche vers Dieu comme une épouse au Temple ;
Son beau front est serein et pur comme un beau lis,
Et d'un voile d'azur il soulève les plis ;
Ses cheveux, partagés comme des gerbes blondes,
Dans les vapeurs de l'air perdent leurs molles ondes,
Comme on voit la comète errante dans les cieux
Fondre au sein de la nuit ses rayons gracieux ;
Une rose aux lueurs de l'aube matinale
N'a pas de son teint frais la rougeur virginale ;
Et la lune, des bois éclairant l'épaisseur,
D'un de ses doux regards n'atteint pas la douceur.
Ses ailes sont d'argent ; sous une pâle robe,
Son pied blanc tour à tour se montre et se dérobe,
Et son sein agité, mais à peine aperçu,
Soulève les contours du céleste tissu.
C'est une femme aussi, c'est une Ange charmante ;
Car ce peuple d'Esprits, cette famille aimante,
Qui, pour nous, près de nous, prie et veille toujours,
Unit sa pure essence en de saintes amours...

Éloa ou la Soeur des Anges, Alfred de Vigny.

Chapter 1

Today was Antoinette Roussel's big day.

She had tried her very best not to cry too much when she had said goodbye to her mother and her little brother Petit-François. But it was hard. After all, Thérèse Roussel had made so many sacrifices so her daughter could continue taking ballet lessons after the death of her husband, since money was running short. Antoinette's ballet mistress had assured Madame Roussel that her daughter absolutely possessed natural talent, and that she could even think of becoming a professional dancer later, in a ballet company or an Opera. And Mme Roussel, seeing how much Antoinette was passionate about dancing and how it would be heartbreaking for her to stop, had accepted to work even harder in order to be able to pay her dance lessons, refusing proudly any offers coming from the ballet mistress to train her for free.

Antoinette, with her early maturity at fifteen years old, was conscious of her mother's sacrifices for her. Like her mother, she was ready to almost kill herself to be the best, in order to please her mother and to make her dream of perhaps becoming a prima ballerina come true. Finally came the day of the auditions, were she had to go to Lyon to perform a choreography in front of a jury, coming straight from the Opera Populaire, in Pairs who were to decide who, among the young ballerinas in Lyon and in the vicinity, would become part of the ballet chorus.

When her ballet mistress had talked to her about this audition, Antoinette, though she was interiorly trembling just at the thought of it, had accepted to take on the quest, determined to be the best of the young girls who would audition for a place among the ballet chorus. She had practiced, even harder than ever. And when the audition came, she felt absolutely no fear: she was ready, and if she was to fail, it wouldn't be her fault. That was it. And, during her performance, everything went to perfection, for what was of her point of view and her ballet mistress'. But the jury's face was absolutely undecipherable.

A week later, the list of the selected girls for a place at the Opera Populaire finally arrived. And Antoinette was more than proud to see that among all the girls in Lyon and in the vicinity, she had the highest mark.

The adieu she gave to her family was rather bitter-sweet: everyone knew Antoinette was going to have a comfortable life, thanks to her talent, and perhaps be famous across Europe if ever she became prima ballerina, but Antoinette, Petit-François and Mme Roussel were conscious that they would probably never see each other again. The mother reminded her daughter to recite every day her Rosary for herself but more especially for her family, and the little brother, a mischievous, funny little elf who never complained about anything nor cried, was sobbing like a Madeleine and was unable to let go of his older sister.

She had rode to Paris on a train, along with the other girls who had been selected with her, and, in a childish way, they had looked at the landscape parading so fast in front of their eyes. It was the first time, anyway, that they were taking the train, this amazing invention who had just been installed throughout France!

And, when Paris' silhouette finally appeared in front of the girls' amazed eyes, Antoinette Roussel, for a moment, believed she had entered the Bible's Promised Land of Canaan.

As soon as the girls got off the train, their new ballet mistress, Mme Saint-Périer, accompanied by other girls coming from every corner imaginable in France, received them and immediately leaded them towards the Opera Populaire, since the last group to have arrived was Antoinette's. Very quickly, the girls had started to chatter, not at all intimidated, and somehow aware that they would probably pass the next ten or fifteen years together, in the same dormitory, to share (almost) every element of their daily lives.

When they finally arrived in front of the Opera Populaire, the girls, observed by the benevolent and amused eye of Mme Saint-Périer, all stopped in front of the imposing baroque-style façade, dominated by the Greek god Apollo, holding his lyre, surrounded by the nine Muses, protectors of the art in all its forms.

"Look!" said the first girl to have got out of her ecstasy. She had pointed towards a group of gipsy caravans, placed not too far from the Opera Populaire, to show that slowly, they were preparing many attractions for the onlookers. Immediately, the girls' curiosity attracted them towards the mysteries behind the tents which were getting ready.

"Not now, girls!" said Mme Saint-Périer, interrupting them in their soon-to-come momentum towards the gipsy camp. "You will have to get installed first. But don't worry," she added with a smile, seeing the disappointed look of many girls. "As soon as you will be installed, I'll let you free time on an evening to go and see everything."

Immediately, the ballet mistress headed towards the entrance of the Opera house, followed by the girls. There was only Antoinette Roussel who, for a moment, stayed a little bit behind, mysteriously attracted by the gipsy camp, like if something was calling her there. Shrugging at this superstitious impression, Antoinette, without further ado, followed the others into the Opera Populaire, entering for good in her new life.

Three days later, the girls' trunks were all unpacked and they were all well settled in the ballet chorus' dormitory. While most of them had decided to socialize and to get to know each other better, Antoinette had preferred to explore the Opera Populaire. It wasn't because she was rather unsociable, but she though he was stubborn and had a strong character, she was introvert and reserved. And anyway, exploring the corridors of the Opera, with its baroque architecture which was even sometimes gloomy and mysterious, was much more interesting. And, with her natural excellent sense of orientation, she knew, at the end of those three days, almost every corner of the Opera Populaire. Yes, indeed, almost every corner.

Her favorite place was the chapel. With its darkness and its thick stone wall, people would say it was rather gloomy. But Antoinette, on the contrary, found it somehow reassuring. It reminded her of the chapel where she, her mother and Petit-François used to go on Sundays. It was a very old place, built, following the tradition, during the reign of Clovis himself. And the ancient appearance of the Opera Populaire chapel could only remind her of home, and in such a pleasant way.

That evening, six girls, including Antoinette, received permission from Mme Saint-Périer to go and see the gypsies' attractions, but not to come back too late, since they were officially starting to "work" tomorrow. As they got closer to the caravans, Antoinette suddenly regretted to have decided to go there, since everything seemed filthy, now that they were getting closer. But the strange pull she had felt when she had first seen the gipsy camp had just continued to torment her while she was unpacking and exploring the Opera house. She just had to go. She just had to.

The first tent they entered was a fortune teller. Patiently, Antoinette waited for her turn, accepting to be the last one. Meanwhile, while a witch-like old woman with only two teeth left was telling to each girl their future, the young ballerina couldn't help noticing how ridiculous those forecasts were. It seemed like the fortune teller was making money just by telling the girls what they wanted to know: a handsome and rich husband, a beautiful house, lots of lovely dresses and jewelry… It was ridiculous. For a moment, Antoinette thought of simply saying she was not interested, but, when her turn came, and that she was going to refuse, using the excuse that she was just "accompanying", the fortune teller had immediately stopped her:

"Won't you come, mademoiselle? I'm ready to make a free predicament for you. I can sense that you possess an old soul like there are so few of them."

Intrigued, though she was wondering if it wasn't some trap to get a little more money, Antoinette sat down, and observed the old woman placing her hand on her crystal ball. Suddenly, the fortune teller's eyes seemed to have become ten times bigger, and for a moment, Antoinette was wondering if she had some sort of apoplexy attack or if she had become totally insane. But no need of running away came to her. Some sort of morbid fascination was holding her there.

Finally, the fortune teller muttered these words, which would stay engraved in Antoinette's memory forever, and which she would understand the significance only many, many years later.

"I see fire, and in the fire, I see an Emperor with his Empress!"

As soon as she had pronounced those fatal words, the fortune teller's head crashed on her little table, and moved no more. For a moment, the girls started to panic, thinking that the old woman was dead, and one of them even started a hysteria crisis. But soon, as they saw that the fortune teller was still breathing, her back lifting up regularly, they decided it was better to just get out of the tent.

But the fortune teller's words, like the oracle of Delphos, were haunting Antoinette's mind. Fire. An Emperor with his Empress. These words, for now, meant nothing to her.

Quickly, the girls headed towards a shack, which contained a freak-show. Quickly, the girls squeezed together, terrified of the monsters which were surrounding them in their cages: a bearded woman, a man with one eye in the middle of the forehead… Only Antoinette seemed not to be too impressed (though interiorly, it was quite the contrary), and soon, the girls stayed close to her.

A cage, at the end of the shack, caught their attention, especially with the enormous sign which was above it, with the inscription "The Devil's Child". As the girls got closer, they could see, in a corner of the cage, all curled up, a child, so thin he was almost skeleton-like, wearing a little potato sack on his head, with only two holes in it in order for him to see something, playing with a grubby little toy monkey in a somehow absent-minded way, and, for time to time looking quickly around him, like a deer knowing a hunter is after him. And Antoinette, who was paying close attention to him, almost hypnotized by his sight, could see terror in his eyes shadowed by the little potato sack, but also, some sort of strangely sinister maturity she was horrified to see in a child who seemed so young.

For a moment, the child's eyes came across hers, and stayed fixed. And even Antoinette couldn't gaze away.

Soon, the girls weren't the only ones around the so-called "Devil's Child" cage. Other people had started gathering around it, and soon, there was maybe fifteen persons around. Finally, a man, with dark skin, black hair, a long beard and rat-like eyes came out. And as he started talking, Antoinette frowned of disgust. His voice was somehow high-pitched and nasal, and immediately, she associated it with how she used to imagine the devil's voice to be.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" he started, doing great gestures with his hand. "Stranger than you ever dreamt it, will you even dare to look at… the Devil's Child!"

With a very quick gesture, the gipsy ripped off the sack from the child's face, revealing a little boy, trying desperately to hide his face from the people, but, as his master pulled his hair, the so-called Devil's Child gasped and let his hands fall, revealing a severe disfigurement.

The top of his head, on the left side, was almost bald, and, again on the left side of his face, on his forehead, his cheek and his upper lip, his skin seemed to crackle, showing something that reminded of a brain which had been torn to pieces.

Immediately, the girls turned away in disgust, to go somewhere else, as the boy's master was starting to whip him. But Antoinette couldn't turn away. She felt that if she did, she was signing the boy's death act. She felt tears dripping on her cheeks, as she watched people starting to throw garbage on the child. How could they be so cruel? This couldn't be the world Antoinette Roussel had always known… Did she, accidently, fell into Hell? Was this some bad dream?

She pinched herself until she felt tears in her eyes. No. This was the real world.

When finally, the master retired, the boy immediately seized his potato sack and covered his head with it, taking a piece of rope to play with it and retiring to a dark corner of his cage. But just before, his sight, once again, met Antoinette's, who was now the only one staying in front of his prison. The young ballerina had trouble to say how he felt when he was looking at her… But she could see a strange twinkle in his eyes, a twinkle she couldn't describe.

It was when the boy had retired completely into darkness, not to be seen anymore, that Antoinette finally decided to go away, though for a moment, she wished she could get the cage's key to help him escape… She just couldn't leave him there.

It was only when she heard a door squeaking that she turned back. The master was back, bringing what seemed to be a pitcher certainly filled with water.

Meanwhile, the boy was just behind him. For a quick instant, Antoinette, who had hidden behind crates, saw him looking quickly at his piece of rope, than in the shack, which had been seemingly deserted, than at his master. And, quicker than she would have ever imagined him to be, the boy rushed towards the gipsy and, in a swift move, put the rope around his neck, crossed it right behind him, and pulled.

The master, taken by surprise, coughed violently, and tried to reach towards his neck to free himself from the rope which was strangling him, but the effort was too much for him. Soon, in front of Antoinette's horrified eyes, he collapsed on the ground, seemingly dead.

She saw the boy hastily searching something in his dead master's pockets, and finally, a key came out. The key of his cage. He immediately inserted it, and opened the door. Antoinette, hardly knowing the reason why she was doing this, rushed to him and took him gently by the hand, ignoring his reaction.

"Come quick! I'll hide you!"

Antoinette spotted a door on the side of the shack, and ran towards it. It opened on the left wing of the Opera Populaire. Without any idea of where they were going to hide, Antoinette simply rushed in the alley, the boy still following her, swept along by her hand's firm clutch, almost docile. And thank God he did, for the two heard, very soon, cries coming from the shack. Probably the master's dead body had been found. Antoinette knew that she had absolutely no time to lose.

They were now at the back of the Opera Populaire building. But they would probably be found very soon, and since Antoinette, indirectly, had been the boy's accomplice, she would probably be arrested with him. And she didn't want that to happen. She looked around her, worried, when she saw, on the bottom of the wall just in front of her, a stained-glass window, opened.

The chapel's window was just in front of them.

Immediately, Antoinette knew how to save the boy from his miserable life. No one, besides her, ever came to the chapel, and there were so many corners in there to hide if it ever happened. For now, it would be the perfect hiding place for her little friend.

"Quick!" whispered Antoinette. "Jump in there, and if someone comes in, hide in a corner. There are plenty of those."

Without further ado, and without a look, the boy opened the window and jumped into the chapel. Antoinette approached, and saw his silhouette getting up from his fall. She sighed. He was safe, now.

"Don't worry," whispered Antoinette, just before running towards an entrance to go back to the dormitory, like if nothing had happened. "I'll come back tonight."

How was it? Don't forget to let a review, it will encourage me to continue! ;)