The Phantom of the Opera stood on the newly rebuilt stage of his opera house. He stared around. Everything was just as it had been before the fire. Except, he was supposed to be dead. When the mob had come to find him, he had snuck out, leaving one of his masks and letting them think he was dead. Now, he was back.
As was Christine. His angel of music was here again. With her new husband, the Vicomte de Changy.
He sighed and glanced absentmindedly into the wings, and caught a strange glimpse of a ragged dress dashing up the stairs to the rafters. Silently he followed the figure up the winding staircase. He stopped in the middle of the rafters when he saw a girl, maybe Christine's age, huddled in the corner, holding a noose. All he could see was a mass of dirty dark auburn hair and a ragged brown dress. She seemed to be lowering the noose around her own neck. He rushed forward, grabbing her stick thin arm. She hissed and struggled against him, but she seemed to have no strength. She reluctantly released her grip from the rope, and he gentley set it aside.
"Now, why would you want to hurt yourself?" he murmured.
The girl gave a dry laugh.
"O-oh Monsieur, if you only k-knew."
She stared coldly at him through her hair, through very pale, almost white-blue eyes. He reached up to push her hair out of her eyes. She made a move to bite his hand. He drew it back quickly.
"What's your name?"
The girl stood tiredly up, her hair still hanging in her face.
"W-why should I t-tell you? I d-don't even k-know you."
He shrugged.
"My name is Erik. Do you work here?"
She shook her head slowly.
"I-I live here. In t-the rafters."
Erik raised one eyebrow.
"Is that so?"
The girl nodded, fiddling with her dingy brown skirt.
"I h-have for the p-past seven years. Y-you…you're the P-phantom, aren't you? T-the one who h-helped Miss D-Daae?"
Erik nodded, trying to hide the fact that Christine's name stung him.
"Yes I am."
"D-do you think you c-could help me?"
Erik smiled slightly.
"Exactly, what do you mean, Mademoiselle?"
"I-I want to be a-a singer," she stuttered nervously.
Erik put a hand on her shoulder.
"Mademoiselle, I cannot help you unless I know your name."
Slowly, he pushed her hair from her eyes. He drew back in shock. The girl cracked a crooked smile.
"M-my name is S-Sophia. Sophia T-Triano."