"Miss Daaé, we're closing for the night in an hour and I expect you to have paired every single new artifact that has been shipped here with the correct history alongside them too. No mistakes can be made: people will notice them. Then, I really don't care how long it takes, put them in the correct display," the tall man ordered to the petite girl.

The man's name was Giovanni Andre; though he preferred his employees to call him Monsieur Andre as he certainly was not on a first-name-basis around here. He was very dedicated to his job and stressed out about the smallest incidents that could occur, should his employs make one mistake. His job was his life as he had worked at the museum for as long as he could remember, although he only helped out as a child. His father trained him how to run the museum, handing it over to him once he grew very old and sick. He felt that everything had to be perfect at the Parisian Museum of Music; it had to be right for his father, even if it meant overworking employees.

"Y-Yes sir. I'll be very careful with each thing, sir," the girl replied quickly, not even making eye contact with the man, her curly, dark brown hair drifting behind her as she dashed to level one, where orders were signed and stored until they were put on shelves.

The girl, Christine Daaé, on the other hand, was only given her position because of her surname. Any music major knew who her father was: Gustave Daaé, one of the best violinists of all time. Christine though, had almost no knowledge of music and could hardly read sheet music, for she had received multiple violin lessons from her father, but somehow forgot almost everything he taught her. She never thought to question her loss of memories of her family and only blamed them on what she thought to be her poor memory. Though, despite the many memories lost, she still was well aware that music was in her blood and that her parents would've loved for her to commit her life to it, though she was not sure how. She had lost her passion for singing once her father died and knew nothing of any instruments, besides their history and having the ability to identify many from others.

She wanted nothing more than to please her father, whether or not he was physically there in her life. Working at a museum dedicated to music was a start, for she was able to gain basic musical knowledge there, stealing a glance at new exhibits when she had the chance. Music surrounded her all around, for the very city she lived in herself seemed to be dedicated to the arts. It wasn't really but it certainly seemed that way from her perspective, practically being forced to swallow music from the second she was born. She was always surrounded by many talented artists and numerous patrons of the arts ever since she could remember and longed to be as incredible as them one day. If only she could regain her passion for music, maybe one day she could finally make her father proud…

Christine POV:

I sighed, thinking of what my father would be thinking of me now. Would he be proud? I assumed not. I've managed to learn a small amount of information about music due to the brief periods of making sure that everything was aligned correctly, though it's nothing compared to what he had known. Quietly, I whispered, "I'll do something good for you one day, I promise," before heading down the short flight of stairs to the basement.

With another sigh, I glanced at the twelve packages in the corner, attempting to pick up two in one trip. I heaved the heavy boxes up the staircase that seemed infinite at the time and into the elevator, heading to level two to put them down. Once I arrived at the new exhibit's room, I headed back down to take the next two, repeating the routine until all twelve boxes were in the soon-to-be exhibit. Luckily, I knew that I wouldn't, couldn't be forced to set up the entire exhibit, only these twelve displays.

So as to get this done as quickly as possible, I began to slowly pick up the top box in the pile of eight. Though, of course, my slight clumsiness took over, causing me to knock over not only the twelve boxes, but also three pedestals where the most important artifacts would be placed. It all seemed to happen in slow motion: one thing knocking over the other.

I closed my eyes for a moment, praying that there would not be any damage. Though when I opened my eyes again, examining the scene, my eyes widened once I saw that the three pedestals, not yet sealed to the floor, were broken, shards of stone surrounding them.

I already knew what was in store for me when Monsieur Andre showed up, having heard all of the commotion I caused; well, at least I thought I did. I assumed that I would be fired, my reputation ruined, for after all, I not only damaged the pedestals, but could have done the same to some of the artifacts too.

Monsieur Andre dashed in, his face fiery red, though he managed to calm himself down and glared straight at me.

"Why do I even put up with you Daaé?" I shifted uncomfortably on my feet, looking down at the ground.

"I'm so very sorry sir, I promise I'll clean all of this up," I quietly replied, grateful that he did not fire me instantly, I assumed, only because of my father's reputation.

"You better. I expect this room to be spotless and for all of the artifacts set up in their displays along with their descriptions by tomorrow morning. Is that understood, Daaé?"

I nodded, then saw him leave the room before shouting out to me too, "Lock up when you're done!"

I realized how long this would probably take and went to pick up a broom from the corner of the room and began to sweep up the mess. First I cleaned up the pedestals, suddenly realizing that the price of the new ones was going to come out of my paycheck.

It took long enough to clean them up, but knowing that I was wasting all of this time just because of my clumsiness felt rotten. When I finished them up, I began to take out each artifact carefully, well, old instruments used by famous musicians I assumed. Thankfully, nothing was broken and I was back to the original task that I had been handed.

After three painstakingly long hours, I finally finished my job for the day. It was now midnight, and rather than laying comfortably in my bed, I was still at work. Though at least it was all over for now; well, at least I thought.

I began to hum a song that my father had sang to me as a child, forcing me to smile, for it brought so many happy memories to mind. That song escalated from humming to lyrics, though I hadn't paid much attention.

I was exhausted and I still had to lock up the place. What I didn't know was that I would have my first encounter with a man who I would become very familiar with in the future. I picked up the now empty cardboard boxes filled with Styrofoam and tossed them into the dumpster before tossing the crumbled ruins of the pedestals inside too. I had the feeling that I was being watched, but could neither confirm nor deny it; that was, until a heard a voice emerge from what seemed to be the walls of the very room I was in.

"You have a lovely voice, ma'am," came a strange voice from who knew where; there was no way to tell where it was from, it just seemed to come from all around. I hadn't even realized that I had been singing, though I froze when I heard it, unsure of whom it came from. I figured that I was hallucinating, until I heard it speak again.

"I'm not going to hurt you, if you're wondering."

"W-Who are you? Where are you?," I stuttered, glancing around the room, slightly hoping to find a glimpse of the figure, slightly not.

"I would think it best if you did not see my face. But remember, while you're singing, don't hold your stomach in, you won't be able to breathe properly."

So first this man is complimenting my voice, and now giving me a vocal lesson? I was not even planning on using proper singing technique; in fact, I hardly even noticed that I was singing. Though I did slightly wanted to know who his was, now interested in why he did not want me to see his face.

"I can grant you more help, if you wish." I only responded with silence, unsure of what to say. I had no idea what he even looked like or who he was, and now he was asking if I wanted to take singing lessons from him. Why was he even here? So late at night?

"Come to the music store at the end of the street tomorrow at five o'clock in the afternoon; then I will let you see me, Miss Daaé."

'He knows my name...' I wondered how long he had been watching me. And why he was so casual about where I should meet him, but would not allow me to know his identity. Of course I knew which music store he was speaking of; it was the only music store on the street. But why is he so interested in teaching me? I slightly wanted to attend, but slightly feared if a vocal lesson was what he really intended to prepare for me.

"This is not some scheme, you have a beautiful voice and I believe that it is about time that you share it with others."

I then knew that he had to have been watching me for over a day, as this was not the first time I had sang alone while everyone else was gone. I just did not understand why he thought I had potential and why he cared about my voice over other voices which were far better in my opinion.

After losing myself in my thoughts for a moment, I then heard footsteps exit the room and was frozen in fear and shock, quickly locking up before dashing to my car quickly.

So a strange man was watching me, listening to me, and now wanted me to come to his store and give me lessons? It really did not make any sense. Though a part of me longed to go to the lesson, just in curiosity of what he looked like. 'Why couldn't he show me now?' I wondered, but then realized how crazy I sounded.

A strange man who did not want me to see his face complimented my singing, which I'm sure was not even very good, and also wanted to give me lessons. Others would just say that I'm hallucinating. Which I could be right now, for all I know.

As I sat down in my car, I noticed that Raoul had called multiple times. I safely assumed that he wondered why I had missed his first call, which was right when my shift should have ended. Then three other messages were left by him, stating his concern for me and asking if I was alright:

Message 1:

Chris, how was work today? Call me back when you get the chance.

Message 2:

Chris, are you alright? You were supposed to have finished work an hour ago. Please call me back when you get the chance. I've been worried sick!

Message 3:

Christine! Please tell me you're alright. Work should've ended two and a half hours ago! Please call me back!

I smiled and rolled my eyes, knowing how Raoul always panicked the moment I did not respond to his messages or answer his calls.

'I'll call him back when I get home,' I thought, realizing that it would be better if I called him once I was ready for bed and finally felt a little safer, hopefully forgetting about the strange encounter earlier. Knowing Raoul, he was probably pacing around his apartment, panicking just because I hadn't called back yet.

I eventually started the car and drove home quickly, concerned about the people who could be out at this time of the day. That was, well, those people were the cause of my father's death. He had died in a car crash in the middle of the night, due to some terrible drivers who had crashed into him while he was driving home one night, four years ago. I was now twenty-two; he had passed away when I was eighteen. It was terribly tragic, but there was nothing that I could do about it.

After a long period of remembrance of my father, I finally arrived at my apartment building, where I owned a decent-sized apartment on the second floor. Half of the floor belonged to me and the other half was vacant at the moment, for the previous resident had a family member grow very ill and moved out to spend the next year with them. Then on the first floor, there was a couple who lived there, though I still hadn't seen much of them. Also sharing the first floor was an artist who longed to become famous one day. She was very talented and I assumed that one day her work could be found at the Parisian Museum of Music. Those three people were the only ones who lived in the building besides myself. I never thought much of them though as I frequently saw people come and go.

Quickly, I fetched my keys from my purse and locked my car, heading into the building quickly and then to my apartment. After unlocking my door, I quickly shut it behind me, placing my purse down in a hurry, wanting to get ready for bed as soon as possible, but also for the irrational fear that someone was following me; a strange man did just offer me vocal lessons out of nowhere after watching me for who knows how long. I eventually was ready and dressed, though I certainly was not tired yet, despite what time it was. Knowing that he was probably on the verge of calling the police, I dialed Raoul's number and waited for his answer to come. As I expected, it came rather quickly.

"Where have you been Chris? I've been worried sick about you!"

"There was an… incident at work. I had to clean up more than I expected," I decided to not mention the strange voice/man part, for I certainly did not want to seem insane in front of my best friend.

"Oh, I'm sorry Chris. Glad that you are alright though," I smiled, happy to know that he wasn't concerned any longer about me. His stress for me sometimes stressed me out and it was always a relief to see him calmed down once again.

"Well, it's rather late right now, I probably should let you go to sleep," Raoul chuckled, causing me to smile. It seemed impossible for him to not be able to cheer me up.

"And I should let you go to sleep. You didn't have to worry about me, you know that I hate when your concerns for me get in the way of other things for you."

"I know, but when you don't answer any calls, it just seems as if you hate me, which I'm sure you don't," I could tell he was smirking. "Or you're in trouble. I'm sorry about that Chris, it's just a natural thing for me to do."

"No worries Raoul. It was my fault for not calling sooner. And, well, you are right, we should be getting to bed. Otherwise we'll both be exhausted by morning. Good night Raoul," I smiled, although I know he could not see me doing so.

"Good night Chris," he responded back with a yawn at the end before hanging up.

I then realized how exhausted I was too, despite how awake I had felt before. The strange voice that had spoken to me was sounding less and less realistic, though I already knew that I would find myself driving to the music store at four-fifty in the afternoon the next day.

Sorry that this isn't very good, but I'm attempting to write a Modern AU of POTO without completely wrecking it. Still I hope that you will all enjoy this story :) So as to make it better, please review, as I would love to know what you liked and disliked about the chapter, thank you! - Sydney