A/N: First of all, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE AWESOME REVIEWS! YOU GUYS KEEP ME GOING! Okay, now on with the story. Enjoy!

I lie there on the couch and try my best not to smirk. Never, ever had I played being passed out/dead and had it work so well! I can barely keep that grin off my face. I honestly feel like bursting into dance.

"I wonder where she came from!" a girly voice says in awe. "Does anyone know her?"another feminine voice asks."No, nobody recognizes her."I groan in order to get their attention."Look, she's waking up!Come on, let's get Madame Giry, Collette."Their footsteps quickly retreat, and I open my eyes to slits. Yep, I'm in Madame Giry's office all right. I close my eyes and think hard.

Madame Giry may know about me (except my little TARDIS incident), but nobody else does, so I guess I need some stories about my background. The name's Anya Oyen, American actress, came to visit Paris, fell down a hole near the Populaire, woke up here. I put my hand in my pockets and feel around. The pistol and iPhone are still in the right pocket, the mascara and lipstick are still in the left. If I get found out about the gun, running away to the Rouge it is. I take my hands out just as I hear the door open, someone come in, and close.

Rap-one-rap-two-rap-three. I open my eyes and sit up. Holy crap, it's Madame Giry, holding the note that Erik had gotten to her. Any doubts I had about this being real are diminished. It's Madame freaking Giry, damn it. She smiles at me halfway as I stand at attention. "Mademoiselle Oyen, correct?" I grin and nod. "Yes, that's me." "Well, first of all, I would like to say that you are a very convincing actress." "Oh-thank you!" I say sweetly. She walks around me for a couple moments, and then she stops. "The Opera Ghost said you wish to be in the chorus. Can you sing or dance?" I nod. "I've been dancing since I was...6. I've also done a lot of plays and musicals in America." "Musicals?" "It's a type of American theater that combines songs, acting, and dance. I know it sounds like opera, but in musicals EVERYONE sings-dancers included. It's like every type of theater combined, so to speak." (Yes, the first musical was The Black Crook, first performed in 1886 on Broadway.)

Madame Giry's eyes burn into me like a hawk's. I stand my ground. I know what she's up to-trying to intimidate me. I stare right back at her. I will not bow, I will not break. I will shut the world away. I will not fall, I will not fade. I will take your breath away. Something in my eyes says that, and she retreats, a new look of surprise and respect in her eyes. I don't think a lot of people stand up to her.

Suddenly, a knock on the door interrupts our staring contest. "Come in," Madame Giry says. In comes the manager, Lefevere. I lose the hard glare in my eyes and stand at attention, like a soldier. He turns to me. "Mademoiselle, are you all right?" I nod and smile. "I'm fine, monsieur." "What is your name?" "Anya Oyen. It's a pleasure to meet you," I say politely. He turns to Madame Giry. "Madame Giry, Belle is sick and cannot sing for Hannibal. Are there any of the ballet girls who could take her role?" Madame Giry turns to me with a smile. "Well, Anya Oyen, I do believe you came at just the right time..." My eyes widen. Where do I sign?

30 MINUTES LATER...

"Everyone, this is Anya Oyen. She will be taking Belle's place for Hannibal." Belle, whoever the hell she is, is super lucky. This costume is weird. It consists of a white shirt, white skirt, little red frilly overskirt, cream corset (I'm used to corsets due to Moulin Rouge and some other plays, but it's still annoying), and blue eyeshadow stretching from my eyes to my hairline. Even my hair is put up formally. Thankfully, they let me keep my brown boots. I guess Steve Madden doesn't really stand out. Thanks, Steve!

The members of the chorus come up to me (not the ballet girls, they're just arriving up now). They too are wearing the costumes from the movie. A young woman with brown hair, about a year older than me, in the same costume as I, sticks out her hand. "I'm Amelie." The others introduce themselves also, and soon we're all chatting like old friends. "So you'll be doubling as a dancer and singer?" Dione asks. I nod. One of the men-Pierre-groans. "Witch alert." I follow his gaze. "Is that La Carlotta?" "You know her?" "Not personally-but I've heard her sing and-" I shudder for emphasis and they all nod.

Carlotta is being followed by her servants, one of them holding her little white poodle. "I'm-a here!" I groan and whimper as Amelie and Pierre pat my shoulder comfortingly. "You'll get used to it." "That doesn't make it any better," Dione yells/whispers. Carlotta catches sight of us and starts stomping in our direction. Something about her makes something snap inside me. I will not bow. Anya Oyen does not bow down to anyone. I put on a Bond look-half poker face, half smirk-as she reaches us.

"If you-a want to-a know who-a's getting the-a solos, it's-a me!" Mario! I think, trying to keep the Bond look. I see everyone sort of cowering, so I stand up straight and tall and purse my lips. She can't hurt me. It's not like she's able to. Everyone's eyes widen and all are on me. Even Madame Giry, Reyer, and Lefevere look kind of surprised and-relieved? I don't think anyone does this. Even she looks kind of surprised, and then she regains her composure. "What is-a so amusing?" Your face. I shrug and hold out my hands. "What? I wasn't laughing."She gets all up in my face. God, her breath stinks! "Tell me your name." Bond smirk. "Oyen. Anya Oyen." "Well, Anya Oyen, watch your back." "Do I really have anything to worry about?" I say, bored. Her face goes red as her hair, and the stagehands let out low whistles. The ballet girls are giggling, the orchestra is snickering, Madame Giry, Reyer, and Lefevere are smiling and shaking their heads. Even Piangi is trying to shade a grin.

"W-well of course!" she sputters. "Ah..." I breathe out through my mouth and tip my head to roll my eyes. "Knew there wasn't!" At this point, everyone loses it. Even Piangi is cracking up. Only Carlotta's servants try to remain poker-faced, but I see their eyes sparkling. I turn away from the sputtering, pissed-off Carlotta and smirk at my new friends. However, I sense it coming, and in a flash, I catch Carlotta's hand that she intended to slap me with, circling it with my thumb and middle finger.

Everyone goes deadly silent again. Everything slows down. I don't even turn around to look at Carlotta, although I can picture the look on her face. "I. Dare. You. Signora." I say, the words coming out more venomous and icy than I intended them to be, which is even better. I slowly, casually, release her hand with a hard, bored look on my face. I turn and see her glare at me-I guess she's supposed to be threatening me? Or just looking stupid? I kind of can't tell-before she snaps her fingers and stomps off with her servants to her dressing room.

Everyone breaks from their silence with thunderous applause and cheering. Piangi even smiles at me with respect before hurrying after Carlotta. I think I'll like it here. Christine and Meg look especially happy. I nod in their direction, smirk, and bow. Lefevere is looking at me with a proud look in his eye as he walks over to me. "You, Mademoiselle Oyen, have made my day." I smile. "Thank you, Monsieur. It is my honor." As I look up, I see Erik clapping in the rafters. And somehow,
that means more to me than the others' applause.

AT BEDTIME...

"What is it like in America?" Jean and Collette ask me at the same time. Jean and Collette, apparently, are the two girls that say "They must be rich," during the introduction of Firmin and Andre and the ones who are all dressed up during the 'Magical Lasso Scene'. "Are the men handsome?" I laugh and smooth out the nightgown Meg Giry gave me-white with a black ribbon around the waist with elbow-length sleeves. "Well, it depends on your opinion of guys. We've got 'em from all over-China, Japan, South America, Persia-anywhere there are guys, we've got at least one in New York City." "Have you always lived in America?" Christine asks. "No." "Well then, where have you lived?" I smile and cross my legs. I feel like one of those wise old storytellers you see in the beginning of a movie.

"Let's see. Where to begin? I was born and raised in one of the most beautiful places on Earth-Pondicherry, India." (Anyone who guesses where I got that line from gets Erik points!) "India!" All the girls exclaim. I laugh. "Yes. My mother is Indian, my father is Russian. That's why I really don't look all that Indian." "What was it like?" a girl with long, straight brown hair asks. I doubt most of these girls have been outside of France, let alone Europe. I close my eyes and picture Pondicherry as it was before I left. "It was beautiful. They have the most beautiful, white beaches you'll ever see. And I mean, ever. It's so warm, and it's sunny most of the time. The people are really nice. You feel like everyone's family. But then after I turned 6..." I snap my fingers. "Off to Russia it was. Oh, Russia was nice-freezing cold-but it was beautiful in its own right. It's where I learned ballet. I moved back to Pondicherry 4 years later, and after 2 years of living there, I moved to America. And now I'm here." "Sing us an American song!" a blonde girl who looks no older than 16 asks of me. I pause. Oh, what the hell. I stand up and move my arm slowly over my audience. "The French...are glad to die...for love. They delight...inviting...duels...But I prefer, a man who lives...and gives expen-sive...jewels!"

I hop off my bed and start dancing as the girls crack up and clap me on. "A kiss on the hand, may be, quite continental, but DIAMONDS ARE A GIRL'S BEST FRIEND! A kiss would be grand, but it won't PAY THE RENTAL on your humble flat-or help you feed your pussycat!" I do a break-dancing lock and pop. "Men grow cold as, girls grow old! And we all lose our charms in the end! But square cut-" I make a box with my hands as the girls dance around me "-or pear shaped, these rocks don't lose, their shape! DIAMONDS ARE A GIRL'S BEST FRIEND!" I did a couple of Satine's moves, the girls twirling and jumping and laughing around me. "TIFFANY'S! CARDIER! 'CAUSE WE ARE LIVING IN A MATERIAL WORLD, AND I AM A MATERIAL...GIRL!"

A/N: So, how was that? The next chapter, the real storyline begins. I own nothing-I Will Not Bow belongs to Breaking Benjamin, and Sparkling Diamonds/Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend belong to Moulin Rouge and Marilyn Monroe. Thanks so much for reading, and please review!