A few people have responded to the prologue, so I decided to put up chapter 1, to try and keep readers and to show that this really is a Phantom story. Because I am still in the process of writing, I don't know how often I will post chapters, just because I don't want to run out of things to post if I get another bad bout of writers block. I blame the fact that I wasn't at school, and getting artsy ideas popping into my head in the middle of class. Anyway, here is chapter one. Please tell me what you think.

One more point. The length of the chapters will change. It all depends on what is happening, and where I feel a good place to break is. There are a few long ones coming up, so if you like the long chapters...you will be happy and smile-y!

I don't own PotO, or the title of the story.

Act 1, Scene 1

The Dance of Life

Paris, France, 1881

"Don't leave me Christine!" The hushed voice behind her called out. "My dress is caught!"

Christine Daae turned around on the narrow, winding staircase to see her best friend, Meg Giry, tugging at her costume. The thin, delicate material was caught on the rough metal, and looked like it would tear in an instant.

"Be careful! You have to tug gently, or the material will rip. If you tear it, your mother will have a fit." Christine hurried back to friend, and a minute later they continued on their way. They ran down the stairs, from the fourth floor, to the second floor, through the costume room, past the wig makers and seamstresses, to the stairs that would take them directly to the first floor backstage, where the rest of their corps was warming up under the carefully meticulous eye of Meg's mother, Madame Madeleine Giry. They quickly stepped in the box of resin near the barre, and joined their class. Pliés, Tendus, Dégagés, Rond de james, Port de bras, Frappés, all rhythmically working their muscles, all familiar friends who made up the basic components of their dances. Christine felt her muscles begin to warm and become more flexible as she moved through the simple movements that were so important to art. Flexing and stretching, reaching and straining, arms, legs, every muscle working to its full potential to the tapping of Madame Giry's cane and the simple piano music played by a member of the orchestra.

"Finish up at the barre ladies, then get into your positions for your entrances in act one. We are having a complete run through, so pay close attention to your cues."

All the girls nodded, and murmured "Yes, Madame", and ran to their places. Christine stepped into the resin once more, to make sure she would not slip on the heavily waxed stage, and proceeded to take her place with Meg; stage right, center wing. As the overture to Carmen began, she adjusted her Spanish-cut dress, making sure that the shoulder straps would not move. The cream colored, Spanish cut blouse tucked into a spicy green knee length skirt, a dark floral shawl tied around her hips, and black velvet corset completed the costume. Her hair was half pulled back away from her face with a red rose on a black Spanish hair comb. The overture ended, and the girl who played Micaela came onstage. Christine closed her eyes, and let the music carry her to far off Seville. She started to faintly sing the lyrics; she knew them all, everyone did, after having rehearsals for months, but she felt she knew them even better than everyone else. She would go to the chapel sometimes, and try to practice her singing. She was happy in the ballet corps, but she dreamed of one day being the Prima Donna, performing in a grand theatre in front of adoring audiences. Just as her mind was getting completely caught up in the words, Carlotta, the Prima Donna who played Carmen, came onstage for her first song. The second she hit the first few notes, Christine's fantasies came crashing back to reality. Carlotta's voice was so incredibility…harsh. It hurt to listen to her butcher the beautifully sensual words that were Carmen.

"Oh well" she thought, and prepared herself for the ballets' first dance.

He sat far above the stage, up where the chandelier met the ceiling, but it was the perfect place to sit and not be seen. He carried a piece of parchment, a quill, an ink well, sealing wax, and a candle. He was prepared to write a response to the final dress rehearsal, and immediately give it to Madame Giry to read to the managers. They finally heeded his words for the production, and just as he knew, his ideas made the show even better that it could have been. There's the ballet, he thought, as he watched the talented young girls rush onstage for their first dance. Madame Giry was so proud of her dancers, and she had right to be. She pushed them very hard, but not hard enough to hurt them, enough to make them realize how difficult it was to dance, and to be proud of themselves when they went above their expectations of themselves. One girl caught his eye, a girl whose hair ran down her back in a riot of chocolate brown curls. She was quite good, being able to mix the physical movements of the dance with the sensual power of the music and the story.

The ballet ended, and with one final flourish, she was gone, off to change her costume for the second act. Alright, back to business, he thought, preparing himself for the second act. Hopefully Carlotta would not destroy the music with her singing, but to his dismay, she did. She always did, no matter what he said or did to change her singing or position as the Prima Donna.

He adjusted the white mask that covered the right half of his face, making sure it was securely in place just in the off chance that a stage hand saw him. The music and the story began to take hold of him, and his thoughts drifted away, away from the Opera House, away from his life, to far off Seville and story that took place there.