As the overture for the opera began, Lucy was excused from the performance that night to help Colette get better, who was lying on her bed in her room with a cold compress over her eyes. Lucy was sitting in a chair by the vanity, reading one of Colette's many books that she brought with her, wondering as her eyes skimmed across the pages when Colette was going to wake up. However, Colette wasn't really asleep. Her eyes were closed beneath the compress, but she was lying still and wide awake, listening to the music as it filled the quiet halls of the theatre. She slowly sat up, removing the compress and slowly opening her eyes, turning her head and seeing Lucy.

"Hello, Lucy," she said softly, rubbing her eyes. Lucy looked up from the book, smiling sweetly and closing it, setting it on the vanity.

"Hello, Colette. How do you feel?"

"I'm feeling much better, thank you. Why aren't you onstage with everyone else?"

"The managers asked me to look after you until you woke up. They still want you to come to the gala though, if you're well enough."

"I am well enough, I hope," she said, swinging her legs around and setting her feet gently on the floor. Her feet were bare and she was in her corset and slip. Lucy must have undressed her when she actually was asleep.

"I heard you fell from the catwalk this afternoon," Lucy said as she went to Colette's closet to pick out a dress for her to wear to the gala.

"Weren't you around at all," Colette asked her as she rose from her bed, walked across the room and sat at her vanity and began to brush out her long blond hair, watching her as she rummaged through the array of dresses.

"The dancers were being fitted for costumes at the time, but when we heard you scream, we ran to see what was going on, but there was a lot of talk of the Phantom saving your life."

She froze, dropping her brush and it clattered to the floor. The Phantom of the Opera had saved her life? She began to blush a deep shade of red, mainly out of embarrassment and yet, a wild desire began to burn inside of her. She picked up her brush and began brushing her hair again. "Yes, it wasn't very pleasant. The fall, I mean."

"I should say not. May I ask…what happened," she fished timidly as she found a dress that she really liked.

Colette watched her as she heard the timidity in Lucy's voice as she asked her what happened. It was as if she was afraid of the answer. She turned her body to look at the dresses that Lucy had picked out, since she was holding them up. In her left hand, she held a navy blue long sleeved gown, lined with a light blue trim of lace on the skirt and the skirt split into a sort of triangle shape, revealing a different shade of blue; a bit lighter than the navy, but it was still a bit dark. She smiled softly at the dress. It used to be her mother's, and therefore, it was a bit more conservative. However, in her right hand, Lucy held a gown made of red silk and sleeves were made to go around the tops of her arms, which left her shoulders, neck and arms bare. The hem of the skirt was maroon lace and the corseted back accented her curves more when tied just right. It was perfect for the gala. She pointed to the red dress and Lucy laid it gently onto her bed, and then asked, "Well?"

It was at that point that Colette had forgotten to respond to Lucy's question. She cleared her throat as Lucy came over to take over for her hair, and slowly began the story.

"I was walking around the theatre, familiarizing myself with it so I wouldn't get lost. I made my way to the stage and to get a better view of what the stage hands were doing, I went up the stairs and walked across the catwalk. I don't know why I chose to walk across the catwalk because I'm a little afraid of heights, but I guess I did just so I could get a better view. I saw that the stage hands were raising the canvas that I had finished last night and it was crooked. I gave them some advice on how to fix it without ruining the canvas and the man who was chasing after you was standing on the other side. He shook the ropes and I fell. I guess I fainted while I was mid fall because when I came to, Andre and Firmin were standing before me and I was resting against the wall."

Lucy listened intently as she fixed Colette's hair, putting it in a unique but nice bun, two small braids lacing over it and light soft strands of hair on either side of her face. "I'm sorry that Buquet did that to you."

"Buquet," Colette repeated as she admired Lucy's work on her hair. "Is that his name?"

"Yes. Joseph Buquet. He's been here longer than any of the other stage hands, but he's the most crude of them all. He harasses the dancers and he's a Peeping Tom. I guess he only harassed you because you're new and you're getting paid more than he is."

Colette shrugged, and then asked, "Who said the Phantom had saved my life?"

"It was one of the stage hands who worked on the canvas. After everything had settled down and everyone was back to work, he told me that as they ran over to catch you, the Phantom swung from a rope and caught you and he landed on the other side with you in his arms."

"But why would he save me?"

"Maybe he likes you. What do I know? Maybe he'll appear to you like he did to Christine."

"Christine has seen him? He's a real person?"

"She says that he is, but no one else knows. Most of us see his shadow or hear his cape swooshing about."

Colette shrugged again, getting up from her vanity and walking over to her bed, pulling on the dress with Lucy's help. She held onto the bed post as Lucy tied the back. "Will I see you at the gala later," she asked as she gave a hard tug and Colette let out a loud gasp, holding her stomach.

"Yes, I hope so, if Andre and Firmin let me escape from their grips for a while," she replied with a chuckle and Lucy chuckled also, tying the back of Colette's gown. Colette straightened up, going to look in the mirror, turning around in a circle.

"You look beautiful," Lucy beamed, heading towards the door. "I'm going to go watch the rest of the opera. Want to join me?"

"I'll be there in a few minutes," she replied, admiring how the gown looked on her as she turned around in a circle again. Lucy quietly shut the door behind her as she left and Colette went to her vanity, getting her make up out. She wanted to put on some final touches so she looked absolutely perfect, though she already looked beautiful. As she raised her brush to her face after running it lightly over a light pink for her eyes, her candles went out. She sat in the darkness; the only light in her room was the moonlight shining in her window. She stood up, going over to relight the candles.

"Don't relight them," a voice said in the darkness. Colette froze completely in place in front of her mirror, dropping her matches on the floor. The voice was dark, hard, and yet, it was also gentle and soft.

"Who's there," she asked in a quiet voice, her hands trembling as she looked around the room. The room was empty. So where was the voice coming from?

"I am he," the voice replied.

"He? The one who saved my life this afternoon?"

"And the one who has been writing to you for these past few months."

Her heart leapt as she took in his words, pulling her chair from her vanity and sitting beside her mirror. It seemed like that was where the voice was coming from. It was loudest by the mirror than it was by her door. "Why can't I see you?"

"I am of flesh and blood and I will appear to you fully in time."

"So you are real?"

"Every inch."

She let out a breath of air, feeling slightly overwhelmed and yet, she was happy. She had never felt like this before. Her heart was racing a mile a minute. She had been waiting for this day for such a long time. The only thing she wished was different was that she wished that she could see him fully. Suddenly, she had realized that she had forgotten to speak. "I…I've kept every letter you've written."

"I know. I saw them while you were unpacking."

She blinked as the feelings of happiness slipping away and being replaced with a slight feeling of invasion and excitement. Excitement ran through her veins because he had been watching her and a strange tingle went down her spine to her thighs. "You watched me unpack? Have you watched me undress as well?"

"Never," he said, the tone of his voice filled with a slight annoyance with a mixture of disgust. "I am a gentleman, not a pig like Buquet."

"Thank you. I would feel violated if had watched me dress. My apologies if I annoyed you in any way."

"Would you feel violated if I asked you a question?"

"It depends on what that question is."

The Opera Ghost ignored this comment from her. "We don't have much time. It's almost intermission and the managers will be looking for you. I was just wondering…where did you learn to paint?"

She blinked at the question, rubbing the back of her neck softly as she prepared to answer him. All she could really do is smile as she thought about it. The memories of her and her father painting together on the shores of the English Channel danced through her mind as she folded her hands in her lap. "My father taught me. He was an amazing painter and my mother was a writer. A great writer of poetry and prose." She stopped, thinking about her parents. It had only been a few months since her parents passing and it was something that she wasn't ready to talk about yet.

"You have a great talent for painting. Your canvases are beautiful."

She blushed, touching her cheek as if he had brushed his fingers against her soft skin. Then, she heard heavy footfalls of people coming down the hall and the voices of the managers and dancers mixed in. "They're coming," she said, standing up from her chair and setting it back beside her vanity. "When will I see you again?"

There was no reply. Instead, the candles relit themselves and the room was well lit once again. "O.G.," she whispered, wondering where he had gone. Instead of a reply from that sweet, calm and gentle voice, there was a knock on the door.

"Mademoiselle Harker? Are you almost ready?"

The kind voice behind the door belonged to Monsieur Firmin. She would recognize that voice anyway. She smiled and finished tying the front of her luscious gown and she opened her door smiling at the managers. "I just finished, Monsieur Firmin. How do I look? I don't look too eager, do I?"

The managers both shook their heads at a rapid pace. Both of them, though they didn't have daughters of their own, thought that Colette looked exquisitely beautiful for the young age of seventeen. They looked at each other, both of them grinning from ear to ear. They would introduce her to the Count and they would watch her like a hawk with him until the Count made his decision about her. Colette stepped out of her room and shut her door, walking between the managers as they led her back to the balcony they were sitting in. As they walked, the corridors were crowded with so many people that were stretching their legs so the managers and Colette had to push their way through the crowd. They finally arrived at balcony and Andre opened the door for her and she stepped inside. As she took her seat, the man behind her tapped her on the shoulder and smiled. He was dressed nicely and had his blond hair tied back in a ribbon, the suit black and the shirt was collared.

"You must be the Artiste I have heard so much about," he said and offered his hand to her, which she took in a slow and nervous manner.

"Ah, I see you've already met," Firmin said, taking his seat again. "Colette, I would like to introduce you to Vicomte Raoul de Chagny, Christine Daae's fiancée. Raoul, this is Colette Harker, the Artiste we have hired for this season."

Raoul smiled and Colette smiled back as he placed a gentle kiss on the back of her hand, and then released it from his soft hold. "We were wondering what was keeping you."

"Forgive me for being tardy. I had a bit of a brush of death earlier today and I wanted to rest up to make sure that I was well enough to come tonight."

"Yes, Giles and Richard were just telling me that before they went to fetch you. I'm sorry that happened to you. The stage hands are so rough with the new young ladies here."

"Well, the others have been very kind to me. It was just that one. He was chasing Lucy, one of the dancers, today and she hid in my room. He came to my door and asked for her, but I told him that there was no one in the room other than myself. I think that's why he chose to corner me."

"Well, don't worry, Colette," Firmin whispered as the orchestra began to play for the second act of the opera. "We'll deal with him accordingly."

She nodded with a soft smile and turned her attention to the stage. The music swelled and the dancers took the stage, dancing in a beautiful style. Soon they parted and a canvas was lowered. Not just any canvas, however. It was her night sky. She looked down at the patrons and they all gasped and smiles appeared on their faces and whispers about its beauty. Behind the dancers appeared the lead soprano, dressed in an amazing white gown with her hair pulled back with jeweled flowers. Immediately, Colette knew that it was Christine Daae. She watched and she felt so overwhelmed with the feeling of all of the patrons talking in whispers about her canvas that it brought tears to her eyes. She felt something being put in her hand and she looked down, seeing a handkerchief. She looked over and Firmin smiled, patting her hand.

"I know that they're tears of joy," he whispered with a kind smile. "You should be proud. Tonight, the stars aren't shining for Mademoiselle Daae; they're shining for you."

The opera ended after the fourth act and the patrons erupted in applause for the curtain call. They all gathered backstage to meet the cast and to have champagne and to mingle. Sometimes, if the single gentlemen were lucky, the dancers were willing to lead them to a dark corridor somewhere in the opera house. Raoul had gone off to meet with Christine to take her out to dinner, then to their lovely home. Andre and Firmin, however, had other plans. They took Colette and introduced her to the most powerful people in Paris and they paraded her around like a peacock. Colette was a modest person and she wasn't one to gloat about her work. Not only that, but when it came to meeting people that she would never see again, it made her nervous and she only spoke when she was spoken to, which was soon taken over by Andre and Firmin as the patrons asked questions. It took about an hour, but Colette finally managed to pull herself away from them for a breath of hair, but was soon found by Lucy, who was smiling widely and drunk from champagne.

"Oh, Colette," she said, her words slurred together as she held onto the wall for support. "Your paintings were so beautiful! Everyone loves you!"

"Thank you, Lucy," she replied meekly, then asked in a soft voice, "Are you drunk?"

"Shh," she said, her finger pressed against her lips while she giggled giddily. "I may be, but only a little."

"Lucy, I think you need to go to bed," Colette said, then a stage hand came over, picking Lucy up and carrying her to the dancer's quarters and Lucy waved goodbye, laughing loudly. She shook her head, letting out a soft laugh as she leaned up against the wall, closing her eyes.

"Your friend can't hide her secrets very well," a voice said beside her.

Colette slowly opened her eyes and she straightened up, turning to see who was speaking to her. It was a man, dressed in a black suit and white shirt and bow tie. He was taller than her by at least six inches and he was fit. His long black hair was pulled back with a black ribbon and he was wearing a top hat. Along with the suit, he wore white gloves on his hands and a cape, black with red satin on the inside that just glowed. Her eyes traveled to his face. He was clean-shaven and his eyes were a mixture of brown and a light blue, which she recognized as hazel. They were warm and she felt herself drowning in his stare. He offered her a soft smile and handed her a glass of champagne, which she took without objecting, sipping at it.

"I suppose you're right," she replied in a soft voice, looking up at the kind stranger before sipping at the champagne again.

"What's a beautiful young lady like you doing over here by yourself," he asked, watching her as his eyes raked over her body, his voice laden with a heavy, foreign accent that she didn't recognize.

"Sometimes, a beautiful girl needs to get away from all of the people lavishing her with compliments that she has heard over and over again."

He smiled softly, looking at her. "Well, if you were with me, I would never stop complimenting you," he whispered, his face close to hers. Colette nearly fell into his arms, breathing in his scent. Suddenly, she noticed that he had pulled away, as if he sensed someone coming. Sure enough, Andre and Firmin had arrived beside them, both of them grinning as they saw who Colette was speaking with.

"Ah, I see that you two have already met," Andre said cheerfully, sipping at his own champagne.

"Well, we haven't been formally introduced," the man said as he looked at the managers, and then turned his attention back to Colette.

"Ah, well! Count, this is Colette Harker, the wonderful Artiste that did such a beautiful job on the canvases that you saw this evening. Colette, this is Count Vladimir de Maurier of Transylvania."

Colette's mouth dropped open slightly, completely speechless. Transylvania was a place that she had only read about in her books that she brought with her. She thought that place was completely fictional. She finally found her voice back and she smiled, curtseying politely. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Count de Maurier."

The Count smiled and took her hand, placing a gentle kiss on the back of it, giving her the same warm stare that he had before. His lips were oddly cold, but she thought it was because of the champagne. He didn't drop her hand, but stared into her eyes. "Likewise, Madame Harker."

"Mademoiselle," she corrected him politely, her cheeks turning pink with a soft blush.

"I hope to see you again soon, but sadly, it's time for me to retire to my home. Goodnight, Mademoiselle Harker."

"We'll walk with you," Firmin said as the Count slowly let go of Colette's hand, then walked out with the managers. Colette soon found herself up against the wall again, her heart beating rapidly. She set her champagne glass down and placed her hand over her heart, feeling her heartbeat. It was quiet for a few moments, then Lucy came over, having regained a bit of control since she was dragged away by the stage hand. She had saw the Count was with her and she didn't want to disturb them, but as soon as he was gone, she came over and asked, "Who was that?"

Colette couldn't find her words again, her mind on her heart, wondering why she was feeling like this. She straightened up again, turned to Lucy and smiled. "A man who wanted me more than any one else here," she said blissfully and softly, and then started walking to her room. As she walked, she felt as if she was gliding. She thought that maybe it was the alcohol, but that couldn't have been it. No, it was that Count. Somehow, the Count had some kind of hold on her in that few minutes of meeting and talking. She entered her room and shut the door, going to her bed. She looked over as she sat down, finding a single white rose with a white envelope with the red skull seal. O.G. had written to her again. She grabbed the envelope and smiled, opening it and taking the note out, unfolding it and reading it.

"My dearest Colette:

I apologize that our time was cut short this evening. I went to the performance and though I was impressed with how Miss Daae performed, I was even more impressed and entranced by the beauty and exquisiteness of your canvases. As I told you this evening, you have a great talent and though you are modest, you don't let the modesty appear on the canvases and for that, I admire you. I leave with you a single white rose. The white rose represents purity, innocence and secrecy. We will speak again soon. I promise you.

Your faithful servant and friend,

O.G."

She sighed happily and folded the letter, placing it back into the envelope, and blew out the candle. She lay down on the bed; still completely dressed, not having the energy to undress, not even to take off her shoes. She slipped into a heavy sleep, completely worn out from the events of the day.

Behind the mirror, he watched her, smiling some as she watched her chest moved in slow, deep breaths. He slowly slid the mirror open and stepped inside, his cape flowing behind him and his mask reflecting some in the moonlight. Without making a sound, he walked over to her sleeping form slowly, bending down at her feet and slowly untied her shoes. He couldn't stand her being uncomfortable. Once the shoes were loosened, he slowly pulled them off of her feet, setting them on the floor quietly. She let out a soft moan and rolled onto her opposite side, her back towards him. He didn't move at first, afraid that he would wake her, but then reached over and loosened the ties little by little, pulling them loose gradually. She let out a content sigh and he immediately drew his hands back, thinking that he had woken her. She didn't move, but continued to breathe deeply in her sleep. He got up and quietly snuck out of her room, sliding the mirror shut. The followed the corridors to the lake, getting into his boat and paddling quickly to his home. Once he got to the other side, he removed his cloak and hung it up, stretching, then went over to his piano and began composing. He was working on a new piece, a present for Colette. It was a lullaby, something to give her happy dreams.

Meanwhile, a young seamstress had just finished up the last bottle of champagne and was stumbling back to her room. Everyone had either left or gone to bed and the Opera Populaire was embraced in darkness. She stopped at the center of the stage, seeing that someone was following her. She smiled, putting her hands on her hips as he made his way to her, his eyes penetrating her soul. His black cape swooshed about and she saw traces of red satin and she knew who he was immediately.

"Have you been following me this whole time, Count de Maurier," she asked, her words slightly slurred as he took her in his arms, looking down at her.

"Do you blame me, Mary," he whispered, his lips lightly touching her neck and she let out a lustful sigh, her arms wrapping around his neck.

"I knew you wanted me when you saw me," she said with a smirk, pressing her body against his.

"Yes, but I want you in a different way," he said, a low growl laden in his voice as his mouth opened. Mary's breath seemed to leave her body as she felt two sharp points against her skin.

"What --?"

She didn't finish what she was going to ask. The Count had pierced her neck and tilted her head, drinking her blood as he growled softly against her skin. She didn't scream; her eyes were empty and her body became weightless as the Count continued to drink hungrily, laying the body down and licking the wound clean. He pulled back, licking the blood from his lips as he saw that the wound had already began to close and he stared at the lifeless body, a soft expression of fear the last look on her face. He adjusted himself and left the body where it was, leaving the theater, satisfied. Soon, it would be the Artiste's turn.