Chapter 1

Opera

Christine shivered outside of the opera house.

It had been two weeks since her father's death. After his death, she had returned to the meager and shabby living space that had been granted to them by a local old woman, Madame Voltaille. She, the landlady, used to demanded many services for the "privilege" of living in the closet that served as the Daae home: Charles would play her violin concerts that lasted three hours each whenever she requested, Christine would clean her whole house, make her gourmet meals four times a day, bathe her, make any household repairs, walk her twelve cats, and knit the cats and herself matching scarves and accessories.

When she had returned, Madame Voltaille had flown into a fit of rage that she could no longer have her violin concerts, and then demanded Christine learn to play violin or else be kicked out.

Christine felt her choice was a rather obvious one.

She left during the night, bundled in the various woolen scarves, sweaters, and socks that she had been forced to knit over the years. Anything that she could fit into her canvas pack, she brought with her as well as several weeks supply of crackers and cold tea. She also brought her favorite cat, Sir Marque, and left a threatening note declaring that should Madame Voltaille attempt to come after her and reclaim her as a personal servant/cat-sitter, she would set all of the other cats free. And with that final flourish of defiance, she strolled down the road to Paris, a cat in one hand, a pack on her back, and in the other hand, the only fond memory she had left.

Of course she couldn't leave that violin behind.

Every night since her father had died she had taken it out of its case and set the bow gently to the strings, nestling the violin under her chin, sliding the bow gently across, plucking random strings in an attempt to make the violin recall the music her father had once drawn out of it. After less than ten minutes each time she had brought it out, she realized that she would never be able to charm the string instrument the way her father had been able to. Almost every night she gave up, hoping that tomorrow would bring her better luck.

After a little less than two weeks of sleeping underneath trees alongside the road, she spied the most beautiful city in all of Europe. When she first entered, she was astounded by many of the elegant buildings that blocked her view of the horizon. Christine reveled in staying in civilization again. She was travel worn and her dress was mussed; she had collapsed behind the closest house she could find when the tiring effects of her long journey finally took her. When she awoke, Christine realized that theoretically having several weeks of crackers and tea was not the same as really having several weeks of crackers and tea after a long journey and with a hungry cat to feed. Christine had stumbled amongst the poor of the city, going to churches and rich houses alike to beg whatever food she could get. Currently, her biggest prize was a banana.

That was when Christine had finally seen the opera house. It was even more magnificent than the stunning hand drawn pictures that her father had shown her. It was larger, each part she saw more and more intricate than the last. Angels, gargoyles, and religious figures crowded each side of the roof of the beautiful structure, culminating in a massive dome atop the building. It was easy to see how the opulently dressed nobles of Paris fit in perfectly here. The stairs leading to the entrance were filled with chattering people attempting to push their way through the building crowd towards two well dressed men standing behind a barricade at the top of the steps.

Christine shook her head and was called back to her senses. She couldn't continue standing around like this, she needed to make a decision and stick to it.

She slipped closer to the opera house; she realized that these were not people ambling about waiting to get into the opera. It was much too early in the day to be performing one, and they were all clamoring for the input of the two men and screaming questions louder and louder to drown out the others.

Initially frightened of this large crowd, she steeled herself and snatched her cat and violin off the ground where she had left them and marched toward the entrance. Shoving her way through the crowd using the violin case as a weapon, she heard more and more clamor about some mysterious events that had occurred earlier. It appeared that those here were either journalists for newspapers, or those who could not wait for the papers to come out to find about these supposed events that had taken place the previous night.

"It is true the stage hand is dead?" screamed one elderly man. "How can we trust you that it was an accident?" hollered another of the angry crowd. "Whodidthiswhatcanthismeanwhycan'tyoucontrolyourow noperawe'renotsafeanymore", the words mingled in Christine's head as her head began to spin with the rising din of the crowd. She looked up, only to see a somewhat familiar face appear next to the two men.

It was a young, about sixteen years old boy, well dressed and having the haughty air of a rich noble. His face was had a childish sweetness, almost cherubic in nature, but in his light blue eyes there was a hint of mischievousness. He shoved his way between the two men, and raising his hands to the crowd said "My patrons, my Parisians! We have all heard rumors of what has happened here. However, there is a distinct rumor between facts and rumors. There have been rumors that my dear managers, Andre and Firmin, are murderers. Rumors that I am a murderer. Rumors that there was an accident. And most chillingly of all, rumors that the murderer is an elusive ghost that lives within the very walls of this opera house."

He took a breath while his message settled upon the crowd gathered before him. "Yes, a phantom. A man has been found dead. Hanging from the rafters above. A phantom surely lives in this opera house. A phantom, which cannot be caught. A phantom, who by nature, cannot be stopped. The only thing that can be done to stop the rage of this phantom is to follow his every whim for the opera house. While he may be a psychopathic killer, he does know music. The new opera that will be put on at this opera house will have his guidance, and perfection will be achieved. Perhaps some of those who attend this opera will glimpse him watching his opera."

The crowd began to rumble with excitement. They could no longer restrain themselves anymore; they began to clamber over the barricade and advanced towards the two managers and the young nobleman. Christine was swept up with the crowd, and to avoid being trampled pushed herself towards the front of the crowd. She yelled for the managers, demanding they acknowledge her presence.

The tall man on the right, Monsieur Firmin she assumed, turned and saw the young girl yelling their recently learned names. He paused, and turned to grab her elbow. He pulled her next to Andre and the boy, and the crowd abated slightly, curious as to why this girl had been pulled to the front.

"Ah! This is the very girl we have been looking for. We have much business to discuss about your career, Jacqueline!" Christine was swept into the grand carved wooden doors of the opera house with the three men.

Christine marveled at the beauty of the opera house. There were plush velvety seats covering the whole left side of the room, and there was a grand stage where people bustled about, moving scenery and practicing their singing or dancing or stage movements. Marble pillars lined the walls, stretching all the way to the high and spacious ceiling. Dark curtains draped the walls to absorb sound, and below the curtains Christine saw beautiful paintings and statues. Firmin pulled her again.

Looking in confused shock at her captor, her wonder was evident in her eyes. Monsieur Firmin straightened his tie, and looked to the young man and Monsieur Andre. "Well, Raoul, Firmin, with our little distraction we have managed to escape the clutches of that crowd." Firmin smirked, and grabbed Christine once again and dragged her to a door across the floor. "My dear, I'm afraid we won't need to discuss your 'career' right now. Or ever, for that matter." Christine's eyes widened as she realized that she would be granted not even a chance for a future in the opera house.

Christine ripped her arm from his grasp. With defiance prominent in her eyes, she straightened her shoulders and stared directly into his eyes. "As a matter of fact Monsieur, I have come here seeking my career. You have, unbeknownst to yourself, declared the very matter that I have come here for. I wish to audition for your choir."

Monsieur Andre gave a little snort, before facing Christine with a nasty grin on his face. "Oh… is it the Prima Donna position you are auditioning for?" His smile widened. "I'm afraid, you little street beggar, it is back out to the streets you will go! There is no room in our choir for untalented wretches such as you. Anyways, the choir auditions have already taken place."

Raoul waltzed up behind the two managers, "Perhaps I could find some place she could stay in the Opera house… she seems like she could have some use a few years in the future." His eyes flashed dangerously as he watched Christine.

Christine couldn't believe it. So far she had come, only to be used as some sick joke for the managers. She would show them herself. She sprinted across the room, far from their reaches and began to sing.

"Tsat tun lit and forglit and paratntray…
quilint and vockor lisit…

….spornot mot, ….reset…sit and milk made sovary
silk and sank till savory…

daiska lilla …mot
por into por rese"

Raoul's eyes flickered with recognition at the sound, and his brow creased as he tried to place the sound to some point in his childhood memories. The managers' shock at the purity and clarity of her voice was evident on their faces. However, they soon restored their previous stony looks. They shook their heads, and gestured to the door once again.

Erik paused. He no longer knew why he was within these thin hidden walls, why he was not composing and embracing beautiful music in his home, and the sealed note in his hands addressed to La Carlotta no longer mattered. Everything had fled his mind except for a single sound. He had heard the sweetest voice, and glancing through one of his many peep holes, saw a young girl standing by the patron's chairs singing a Swedish lullaby. Breaking his gaze from the young vagrant, he saw those abominable managers shake their heads and point to the door. Dejected, the girl's shoulders slumped as she began a shuffling walk to the door.

"NO!"

The noise escaped his mouth before he could control himself. He did not know why he had been so unrestrained. He just could not bear for the girl to leave; with such a heavenly voice, even those bumbling oafs should have recognized her potential. He must never lose that voice.

He saw the two managers recover their senses after his outburst from the walls that had echoed all around the walls of the opera house. They sprinted towards the young girl, and she nimbly jumped out of their way, landing poised on her toes, to jump and twist again to avoid them. He saw a familiar black clothed figure emerge from the shadows across the other side of the floor.

"Enough!" declared the voice of Madame Giry. "I will take her. Your choir may be full, but yet another of my dancers has been revealed to be pregnant." It almost appeared that she threw an angry glare at Raoul. "I am in need of a new dancer, and her natural elegance, which was quite visible in her nimble escape of your pathetic attempts to escort her out, is precisely what I need." She grabbed Christine by the sleeve of her dress and dragged her off to the back of the stage.

Erik breathed a sigh of relief. The voice was still here.

Christine followed blindly the woman who pulled her every which way, underneath falling scenery, through crowded corridors of singers, and through racks of ostentatiously beaded and brightly colored dresses, finally reaching a door that was abruptly opened as they approached. A young girl who looked about the same age as her with blond curly hair and perfect porcelain features looked in surprise at Christine as she was dragged through the door into a room furnished with mahogany furniture and a plush blue bed.

"Who…?" questioned the petite girl.

"She is our new roommate… temporarily. She will join the dancers with you starting tomorrow. Her name is…." Madame Giry looked at Christine with an expectant pause. Christine stuttered and found her voice "Oh… Christine. Christine Daae". Madame Giry shook her head in approval and declared "I am Madame Giry, head of the ballet here at the Paris Opera house. And this is my ten year old daughter, Meg. I'm sure you two will become best of friends."

She moved away with a sweep of her cloak and set about preparing a space for Christine. Christine glanced at Meg, and they both giggled together. Meg took Christine's hand and pulled her out the door again.

Christine sighed in relief. She was in the opera house at last, and dancer was a good enough position for her.

A/N Obviously I don't own any POTO characters; those are all property of ALW, Kay, and Leroux.

This is only my first fanfiction story, and I'm not entirely sure what I should change.

Please review! I would really appreciate any help for errors, what the story should focus on, or anything else.

I have no idea what those lyrics mean. I googled Swedish lullabies and that's the first thing that came up.

Also, thank you to PhantomFan01 for reviewing! :)