Victoria was walking down the marble staircase when she felt a hand on her arm; she turned to see Monsieur Andre.

"Ah, Lady De Chagny…you aren't leaving, are you? You must come celebrate with us!" he said happily.

She smiled.

"Thank you monsieur, but…" He cut her off by whisking her away to the backstage area where everyone was cheering and celebrating the success of the Gala.

"Nonsense…just one glass of champagne!" he insisted.

She smiled again.

"All right, thank you." Andre led her down the crowded corridors to where Monsieur Firmin was waiting with two filled champagne flutes. She accepted the glass, but didn't take a sip. She noticed her brother in the crowd and saw her chance to escape.

She handed the glass back to Andre, saying, "Thank you, but I see my brother and must go to him. If you'll excuse me…" She curtsied and hurried off.

Victoria caught up with her brother, taking his elbow.

"Raoul! You left me to those money vultures!" she hissed at him while gesturing toward Andre and Firmin.

He laughed at her obvious irritation.

"Forgive me, Victoria…I never dreamed they would catch you so quickly."

She glared at him, then softened her expression.

"I'm returning home now…give Christine my best!"

He nodded.

"I shall. Goodnight." He gave a quick kiss to her forehead. She smiled at him and turned to walk away.

In her haste to leave the Opera house quickly without Andre or Firmin noticing she was gone, she followed unfamiliar, unlighted corridors, not knowing where they led, and soon found herself hopelessly lost.

"Damn," she muttered under her breath. She heard a deep chuckle resonate from the shadows.

"How very unladylike, Lady De Chagny. Surely the Comte didn't teach you such profanity," the voice of silk reprimanded softly.

She scowled.

"How ungentlemanly of you to hide in the shadows and not show yourself to a lady," she hissed in return.

"Touché, Mademoiselle, but as I am not a gentleman, the rules of your society do not apply to me."

She crossed her arms, a small frown forming on her beautiful lips.

"Well, pretend for a moment that you are, and please tell me how to find one's way out of this maze of corridors!" There was a silence, during which she began to fear the ghost had left her there alone. She stamped her foot irritably. "Who are you?" she asked the emptiness.

"I am called the Phantom of the Opera," the voice whispered into her ear, sending a chill down her spine.

"There are no such things as ghosts," she stated, with more confidence than she felt.

"Ah…but can you be sure?" he challenged.

She opened her mouth, but couldn't find an adequate response, so she closed her mouth and looked around, hoping to get a glimpse of her mysterious protector and antagonist.

"I assume that since you followed me here, you must have wanted something." Once again she heard nothing. Then she suddenly felt his warm, hard body press against her back and his arm stole intimately around her waist. She tried to stifle a small gasp of alarm.

"I wanted to see if you had received my gift," he whispered. His warm breath danced on her ear and neck, sending a chill down her spine. She raised the red rose slightly.

"Excellent…until the next time, Victoria," the voice breathed into her ear. Never before had her name sounded so beautiful!

She spun on her heel and felt a shiver of fear. There was nothing and no one behind her. Victoria took several deep breaths and was waiting for her racing pulse to slow when she heard the unmistakable sounds of celebration coming from the hallway in front of her.

"Thank you," she said softly to thin air, as she walked towards the merriment and out of the Opera.

The next morning, she was awakened by her housekeeper, Judith.

"Begging your pardon, Mademoiselle. The Vicomte is here, and he's in an odd sorts right now…" she ended uncertainly. Victoria sat up in bed and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, watching the older woman's kind face for a moment.

"Very well Judith, make some tea and tell the Vicomte I will be down in a few minutes."

The elderly housekeeper hurried out of the room. Victoria pulled on a day dress of a pale green and braided her hair before she went downstairs to the drawing room to see what the fuss was about. She entered to see Raoul pacing irritably.

She entered.

"Raoul…what in the world has you so worked up?" He glanced up and scowled before ripping a letter from his pocket and thrusting it at her. She took it, giving her brother an odd look as she opened the letter and scanned it.

Written in bold script on the parchment were the words, 'Do not fear for Miss Daae. The Angel of Music has her under his wing. Make no attempt to see her again.'

She examined the paper front and back, frowning.

"There is no signature," she pointed out.

"I know! It must be those managers!" he said angrily.

"You don't know that Raoul. Try to keep an even head about this," she pleaded.

"Don't tell me what to do!" he said shortly.

She drew herself up angrily.

"Look, Raoul, you came to me. Don't get testy, I haven't done anything here," she hissed.

His features softened as he approached her.

"I'm sorry Victoria. I didn't mean to take this out on you." She relaxed slightly and placed a hand on his arm.

"I understand. Go see the managers. I'm sure there is a reasonable explanation for all this."

He nodded.

"You're right. Thank you. I'll see you later?" She smiled as he kissed her cheek.

"You're welcome," she said softly to his retreating form.

She heard the front door open and close again, she sighed as she sank onto the sofa. Henri, the butler, came in with a tea tray, looking around for Raoul.

"He's already left, Henri. Thank you, though."

He bowed before leaving the room. She poured herself some tea, and sipped it for a few minutes before returning to her room to wash and dress for the day. She was dressing when there was a knock at the door.

"Enter!" she called out.

Judith came in.

"A letter for you, Mademoiselle." She smiled at her mistress as she handed over the message, giving a small curtsey before retreating.

"Thank you, Judith," she murmured as Judith left the room.

She opened the envelope and read over the missive. It was from Christine.

'Victoria, please meet me in my dressing room at two o'clock. It is very important that I speak to you. Tell no one of this note!'

'Christine'

Victoria glanced over at the clock on her mantle; it was shortly after eleven. She decided she had enough time to take care of some business in town before meeting Christine, but was preoccupied all morning about the hastily scrawled note she had received from Christine Her concern for her childhood friend grew by the moment.

Arriving at the Opera House at exactly two o'clock, Victoria found Christine's dressing room and knocked on the door. It was opened just a crack, and she found herself looking into one chocolate brown eye.

Christine sighed in relief when she saw who it was and cast a look around the empty corridor behind Victoria before she opened her door all the way, allowing Victoria to enter.

As she stepped in the small dressing room, Victoria raised an eyebrow at the fearful look in her friend's eyes. Christine gestured to the small divan. Victoria sat down and looked expectantly at the young singer. Christine began to pace back and forth, throwing wary glances at the mirror.

Victoria broke the uncomfortable silence.

"Christine, what is it? What has you so worked up?" When there was no answer from the young singer, Victoria rose and took her by the shoulders.

"Christine! What's wrong?" She felt the younger woman's shoulders begin to shake. She pulled her into a comforting embrace, letting her cry on her shoulder.

"It was all a lie! All of it…" Christine sobbed.

"What was a lie? I don't understand," Victoria asked, frowning, as she tried to make any sense of her friend's rambling.

"The stories my father told me about the Angel of Music. There is no angel! And he…I…there…" She began sobbing harder.

Victoria led her to the divan.

"Christine, you must calm yourself. I can't help you if I don't know what the matter is," she said lightly.

Christine threw a terrified glance at the mirror before jumping up and pulling on her cloak with shaking fingers.

"I know this is terribly rude of me, but may we speak of this at your home? I…promise I will explain. But not here."

Victoria nodded.

"Of course. Come." She took Christine's arm and led her out of the opera house to her waiting carriage.

Once they had arrived at Victoria's home and were tucked away into the drawing room with cups of tea, out spilled Christine's tale of her journey to the bowels of the opera house; of her tutor, who was in fact the Phantom of the Opera. Victoria remained silent, letting the young girl relieve her burden.

Christine looked at Victoria with wide eyes.

"Please, don't tell Raoul. I promised to not tell a soul, but…" she trailed off, tears forming in her eyes once more.

Victoria rose and moved to sit next to her on the sofa.

"Christine, I won't tell anyone. We used to keep each other's secrets all the time when we were younger. I understand, you've been through a terrible ordeal, and you needed to talk to someone."

Christine gave her a weak smile.

"Thank you, Victoria…I don't know what I would have done without you." She sighed, running a frustrated hand through her curly locks. "I feel wretched! He…my tutor he inspired me to such greatness, I feel as though I am betraying his trust."

She looked down at her hands, which were clenched in her lap.

"But he frightens me so! And his face! It's…hardly human, and yet…" Her eyes took on a faraway look. "And yet, it doesn't change anything." She looked at Victoria, and managed a small smile. "I sound like a raving lunatic, I know!"

"Not at all, you sound like you've been through a rough ordeal. You need to sleep." She affectionately brushed an errant curl away from Christine's face "Come, I'll have my carriage take you home, and I promise, not a word to my brother."

Christine gave Victoria a grateful smile.

"Thank you Victoria, I don't know what I'd have done if you hadn't come."

Victoria stood and hugged her friend.

"Think nothing of it. If you ever need me, you may come here, anytime."

"Thank you."

Victoria walked with her to the front door and instructed her driver to return Christine to the Opera. She walked back into her home and sighed as she sank down onto the sofa. This was turning into quite a mess; she felt it could only end in tragedy and heartbreak.

A few moments later, Henri appeared.

"Excuse me. Mademoiselle. A letter has come for you." She took it and flipped it over, feeling the blood drain from her face when she saw a red wax seal in the form of a skull.

Victoria fumbled to get the envelope open. She took out the black edged parchment and held her breath as she read the short message.

'Be at the Gates at the Rue Scribe in 30 minutes.'

She tucked the letter into her purse, pulled on her cloak and departed. She arrived with a few moments to spare. She felt rather foolish waiting in the shadows by the gate; it wasn't exactly befitting a lady of her status. She was brushing some lint from her glove when strong hands grasped her arms and dragged her back into the shadows.

Her body was slammed into the wall, the breath knocked out of her lungs. She closed her eyes, gasping, as she tried to calm herself. She smelled the intoxicating scents of sandalwood, candle smoke and another spicy scent.

Opening her eyes, she found herself looking into the furious eyes of a tall man wearing a mask.

'The Phantom of the Opera!' she thought to herself.

The golden eyes bored into her very soul; she shuddered and turned her head away. He leaned closer to her, until she felt his warm breath on her bare neck.

"What did she tell you?" he hissed.

She wanted to run, but his hands were on either side of her head, trapping her against the wall. She narrowed her eyes as she glanced up.

"That is none of your concern," she said firmly, sounding much braver than she felt.

He grabbed her arms, pulling her closer to him.

"What did she say?" he growled into her face.

She jerked her arms out of his grasp and tried to push him away.

"Again I say to you, that is none of your concern!" she yelled at him.

As he pulled her by her wrist deeper into the shadows, he roared, "It IS my concern! WHAT DID SHE TELL YOU?"

"I promised her I wouldn't tell a soul!" she shouted back. She realized just how much danger she was in.

She watched him back away, clenching and unclenching his fists while taking deep, shuddering breaths in an obvious attempt to calm himself down. He had not been prepared for her to react as she did, and he was trying mightily not to do her harm. He had wanted to frighten her, not kill her!

She took a breath for courage, and opened her mouth to speak.

"You would do well to try speaking to me civilly instead of threatening me. I might give you more information," she said evenly.

He sent her a murderous glare, which she returned. She was more than surprised when he began to laugh.

"You, Mademoiselle, are no helpless damsel in distress," he said, finally.

She crossed her arms. "What made you think that I was, the mere fact that I'm a woman?" she challenged. He wisely remained silent.

She sighed irritably, wondering how she had been dragged into the middle of this mess.

"Look, Christine was frightened, and needed to talk to someone. I've been her friend since we were little children. I will not betray her or you," she said softly.

He jerked his head up, looking at her in shock.

"I have your word?"

She nodded.

"Of course, but…" She raised her hand in warning. "If ANY harm comes to her, I will go straight to the surete and tell all that I know.'

He whispered, brokenly, "I would never hurt her."