A/N: Hello everyone! Welcome to my account!

So this is the very first fanfic I have ever written, so constructive criticism is appreciated, especially since I know I am not the best writer. I just had this idea and I couldn't keep it sitting in my laptop anymore, so I decided to give this a shot. So, here goes nothing! Please rate and review!

Disclaimer: I, sadly, do not own Phantom of the Opera

CHAPTER 1: THE GIRL IN THE ALLEY

A 27-year old Erik Destler sauntered down the streets of Paris, his bag in hand, after a long, frustrating day at the Opera Populair. The famed composer was loved by many, his many operas and other works adored by all. His tall, muscular build was not hard to miss, except in the dark of the night, while shadows covered the city. His glowing green eyes were the color of emeralds, and had a certain glow to them not many others could match. His dark, jet black hair was always slicked back in a mature way. He was an Adonis, a man that many women fantasized over.

While Monsieur Destler roamed the dark streets of Paris, another creature waited in the shadows. 17-year old Christine Daae sat in the alley next to his apartment building, hoping for some form of shelter. She was of average height, about 5'4, with long, chestnut brown curls that reached her waist. Her blue eyes hold many stories, many of which were hidden, down in the deepest depths of her soul. Christine also would have been called beautiful, if not for one minor fact.

The right side of her face was deformed, severely so, as she had been from birth. Though her heart was pure, and her sweet, soprano voice golden, this small fact was her downfall in society, the main and only reason she had been cast out of society. She wore no mask, as she had as a child. Once her parents had died, she had no money to buy a mask fit to her face after she outgrew her old one. So she walked the streets of Paris, alone, taking whatever she could to get by, and avoiding the people who ridiculed her by hiding.

Now Erik had no reason to care for this girl. He had everything he wanted in the world, riches, jewels, adoring fans. After all, he was the manager of the famous Opera Populair, and composer of works such as Don Juan Triumphant. He wanted for nothing. But still, the broken cries of the girl in the alley tore at his heart, and he broke away from his path home to search out the source of the cries.

He turned the corner, only to find a girl, no older than 17, crying in the alley, her knees tucked in to her chest and her face buried in her arms. He could only stand there and watch on, frozen in his place. What could he do? Why should he do anything? He had no reason to care. But still, this was no help to his aching heart that longed to reach out to the poor girl, dressed in rags, crying in the alley. Raising her face to look up to the sky, Erik Destler got a full look at the girls face for the first time. She was deformed. Hideous, a creature of the underworld. His brain told him to walk away, but his heart told him to stay and comfort the poor girl he felt pity for. "Why do you hate me God? What have I done to deserve this?" She cried, still looking to the sky. "I always told myself I wouldn't become a common street whore, the scum of the streets. But he has made me so! Why must you punish me?" She merely whispered, then returned to her former position, burying her face in her arms once more and sobbing. Erik could take the guilt and heartbreak no longer, so taking a deep breath he turned the corner and began to walk towards the suffering girl.

"Girl?" He said to her, his voice coming out more rough than he had intended it. She gasped and looked up at him, fear in her eyes. She began to back away swiftly, the poor girl. He held out his hand as a peace offering, and said in a much more comforting voice "It's alright, I'm not going to hurt you." "W-who are you? What do you want? Please Monsieur, I will give you whatever you want, just please don't hurt me." "I don't want anything from you, do not fret. Why do you cry, child? What has happened to you?" His words seemed to do no good though, as she began to cry harder at this. So instead of talking more, he simply walked over to the frightened, shivering girl and held out his hand. Looking up at him with tears still in her eyes, she gently took his hand and tried to stand, but collapsed as soon as she got to her feet. So instead Monsieur Destler scooped up the girl in his arms, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, crying into his shoulder. With his bag and the girl in his arms, Erik Destler carried on through the night, back to his home.