A/N: I realized I never put a disclaimer on this. My bad! I, sadly, do not own anything relating to the Phantom of the Opera. All rights belong to the late Gaston Leroux and Sir Andrew Lloyd Weber.

The next day dawned brightly, and the inhabitants of the Populaire stirred as the sun rose. The noises, smell, and hustle of life and work filled the enormous structure as people woke and went about their morning routines. But deep below the opera house, the inhabitants of the caverns refused to stir and face the day, afraid of facing their demons and resuming the argument that had exhausted them last night.

Finally, Christine sighed and rolled away from Erik. 'Lying in bed is not going to solve anything, no matter how much I wish it would.' She thought. Erik continued to lie in bed, much to Christine's amusement. Deciding to have a little fun with her lover to break the tension that currently hung over their home of stone, she filled a small bucket with the freezing water of the lake. Sneaking up to the bed on the silent feet her phantom had taught her to use at a young age, she dumped the cold water over the unmasked face of her love.

He sprang to his feet, cursing the cold. "Do you think this is funny, Mon amour?" he glared dangerously at Christine.

"Why, monsieur le fantome, indeed I do. You are rather impossible to wake in the mornings, you know. The water is the only way I know of to wake you up- and keep you awake." She smiled guilelessly.

Erik stalked away and continued to glare. The Siren rolled her eyes and began to dress. When she emerged from the bedchamber and cleared her throat to gain Erik's attention, his coffee caught in his throat and he chocked for a moment. His eyes darkened, and Christine smirked to see his stance suddenly shift.

'God, now I know why society makes women hide themselves under so many layers. If all women dressed like this, civilization would collapse.' Erik thought. With good reason: Christine was dressed in a pair of tight black breeches, a white laced-up shirt, and a let of black leather boots that clung to her calves and made her stride in that way he found so irresistible. 'She chose her name well.'

As the cavern residents continued their morning routine, up above, the Girys were preparing for their day as well.

"Maman?" Meg asked. "Who was the girl who sang last night? She seemed…familiar, somehow."

Madame Giry froze. "Familiar? What do you mean, Cheri? Familiar how?"

"Like I've met her before. Maman, who is she?" Meg asked again.

Madame sighed. "Cheri, you might want to sit down for this. It's a very long story. You mustn't tell anyone, is that clear?"

Meg nodded and sat on her bed facing her mother.

"The woman in the mask…her name is Christine. I don't know if she's taken her father's last name or not. She's lived here almost her whole life. I doubt she remembers anything else. As far as she's concerned, Erik has always been her guardian."

"Maman, this isn't helping much. Who's Erik? Why do you know all this? How?"

Madame sighed. "You've heard of Gustave Daae, yes? The great Swedish violinist? He performed here a long time ago with the orchestra for about five months. During that time…I fell pregnant." With his child, the silence seemed to say.

Meg cut her off. "Wait, are you telling me that my father was Gustave Daae? Not Claude Giry?"

"No, meg. Your father was Claude Giry. But Christine's father was Gustave Daae. His only child."

"I'm confused. Did you fall pregnant with me?"

"No. With Christine. Gustave and I were lovers, and I loved him with a deep passion. When I told him I was with child, he was thrilled. He begged me to marry him, and rewrote his will. He left everything to Christine, and the money was put into a trust fund under my care until she came of age. He was very sick, you see, and knew that he wouldn't live to see his child. He died just a week before Christine was born. When she was six months old, I met your father. I came to love him, and we married. He knew the truth about Christine, but I didn't tell him about the will, or the fund. You were born a year into our marriage, and when we announced your birth, Gustave's solicitor came to see me. Claude listened in, and found out about everything. He was mad that I didn't tell him everything, but he told me that he would stay with us. He wasn't fond of Christine; never cruel, but it was obvious that he disliked having to raise another man's daughter. He came to accept her, though. But one night, when you were three, and she was five, a fire started in the house. Claude woke me up, grabbed you, and ran outside. I tried to get to Christine, but the flames were too high. When I finally escaped with her, her face was badly burned, and permanently disfigured. To keep her safe from the cruel world, I sent her to live elsewhere, with a man. The only man in the world I trusted to be her guardian." Madame admitted wearily.

Meg blinked, shocked. "But then, why did you never tell me about her?"

"I didn't want to burden you, Cheri. And I didn't want you to get jealous. "

"So, my half sister Christine…is she the Siren, maman? And this Erik you mentioned, where does he come in?"

"Yes, Christine is the Siren. Erik is the Phantom. I gave Christine up to his guardianship when she was burned. He raised her, and apparently taught her all he knew. He's also given her some rather unladylike habits. Teaching her to fight, and climb, and letting her run around in boots and breeches?" Madame muttered.

"Wait, so can I run around in pants like she does, maman?" the younger Giry questioned innocently.

Madame shot a disapproving glare at Meg. "Absolutely not, child! Just because Erik lets Christine run about like a heathen and act like a wild thing does not mean that you may act anything less than the lady I raised you to be. Is that clear, Marguerite Elizabeth Giry?"

"yes, maman." Meg giggled, glad to have her normal, strict mother back.

Later that morning, the Vicomte barged into the marbled foyer of the opera house, yelling for the managers. They appeared at the top of the staircase, blinking like a pair of startled owls.

"Yes, Vicomte, what is it?" the shorter-Firman? Lefevre? -asked tentatively.

"I received a pair of rather alarming pair of notes late last night. They were delivered to my door, and the messenger had no idea as to who the sender was." The Vicomte proclaimed.

The managers looked at each other, and then back at their patron. "Well, what did it say?" the taller one-Poligny? -asked.

The Vicomte cleared his throat and read, "the performance last night was a rousing success, messieurs. Our lovely masked Prima Donna enjoyed a much better reaction from the crowd last night than Carlotta ever did. I would suggest replacing Carlotta with her immediately.

PtO"

"Monsieur, you said this was alarming. I, for one, do not see anything wrong with the words of this message." The shorter one-Lefevre, he decided-stated.

"This was just the first one, monsieur. The second one is far worse." He assured. He reached into his pocket and produced an envelope with a seal identical to the letter they'd received yesterday. "It reads, messieurs, as follows: Monsieur le Vicomte, you are not wanted at our theatre. Continue to be patron if you must, but stay away. You know nothing of the arts or music; the opera is for true connoisseurs only. We remain, monsieur, your obedient servants,

PtO, StO"

The managers stared at him, stunned. Finally, Poligny broke the silence.

"Well, monsieur, as unsettling as these notes are, we cannot actually do anything unless we have proof that one of them did something illegal." He stated apologetically.

"I am aware of that, Monsieur Poligny. But just yesterday, a tapestry fell on La Carlotta, and when I approached the girl who sang last night, someone-or something-punched me in the jaw and knocked me out. I found a threatening note when I woke up, similar to the one I just read to you. Messieurs, please, for the safety of everyone in this opera house, we must do something!" the Vicomte pleaded.

"Very well, monsieur le Vicomte. We will call in the gendarmes. But they cannot interfere with rehearsals. Th-" Andre was cut off by the abrupt entrance of Carlotta, Piangi, and their entourage.

"What is the meaning of this?" Carlotta shrieked, holding aloft a copy of the news. "You spineless prawns cannot replace me with this little upstart who won't even show her face in public. Does anyone even know her name?" she yelled, glaring at the shocked men. Behind her, Piangi simply stood and glowered as his mistress screamed her displeasure. "Well? Answer me! Who is she?"

"She is the Siren, signora. One of the ghosts who haunt this theatre. Surely you've heard of them?" Madame Giry asked quietly, making her presence known.

"Oh, yes, the ghosts. And, pray tell, Madame, just how do you know about these so-called ghosts?" Carlotta sneered. "You are always the one who receives the notes, always the one who is warning us all not to displease them, and yet when asked about these phantasms, you clam up, and warn us all that 'prudent silence is wise.' Why? What are you hiding, Madame?" Carlotta spat.

Madame sighed. "Signora, I know nothing more than anyone else. I warn you all against angering them because I've seen what they're capable of. Except for possibly Messieur Reyer, I have been here the longest, and I've seen their past accidents. I have no connection to them; I have no idea why they choose me to handle their notes. As to why I don't talk about them, Signora, the reason is simple: I detest idle gossip. If you wish to hear stories about the ghosts, talk to Joseph Buquet; he would be more than willing to for another person to shove his stories on." Madame Giry said disdainfully.

"This is unimportant. Signora-" Firman started.

"Don't give me any of that! You cannot appease me so easily! You replace me with the first half-decent singer that comes along as soon as I leave? How dare you! I have been the star here for the past five years! If I am not properly appreciated here, perhaps I should just go back to Italy, where I am appreciated. I have been the one who brought in the crowds all this time! Not her! And not these stupid ghosts!" she screamed.

"And we are forever grateful, signora. No one wants you to leave. The young mademoiselle had a very nice voice, to be sure, but we don't even know her name!" Andre stated cheerfully.

"Besides which, she has not earned the right to be Prima Donna. You are still the star, signora, and will be until you choose to step down and retire. Now, if you would accompany us, you need to be fitted for your costume." Firman said calmly.

Carlotta, Piangi, and their companions walked away with the managers, Carlotta grumbling all the while, leaving Madame Giry alone with the Vicomte. He eyed her suspiciously.

"Madame, I get the feeling that you know rather more than you are letting on. Tell me: what do you hide? And don't lie to me, Madame. I have the power to see you fired-and what then would happen to that lovely daughter of yours, hmm?" The Vicomte asked in honeyed tones.

"Monsieur, please, I told you, I know no more than anyone else. I am simply observant." Madame protested.

The Vicomte descended the stairs slowly, giving Madame Giry the impression of a wild cat stalking its prey. He touched her chin with two fingers and brought her face up to see her eyes.

"Then, Madame, in your opinion, are these…ghosts dangerous?"

"In my opinion, Monsieur le Vicomte, they are not."

"And…in your experience? Are they dangerous?"

"In my experience, monsieur? They…are very different. The Siren does not usually take an active interest in the day-to-day running of the theatre. She is the more benign of the two, but she is still dangerous if provoked, or if someone tries to harm one of the ballet or chorus girls."

"And the other one?"

"The Phantom? He is…unpredictable. He is a genius, monsieur. They both are, but he has a truly violent temper, especially if his orders are disobeyed." Madame Giry told him, her eyes misty and far away.

The Vicomte didn't respond. He simply stared as Madame Giry drifted back to when she was not "Madame", to when she was simply "Antoinette". She snapped out of it suddenly, and nodded at the Vicomte.

"Now, if you will excuse me, I have rehearsals to attend to. Good day, Monsieur le Vicomte."

As she walked away, she felt the ever-present gaze of the Phantom come to rest on her. She ignored it, for now; her girls needed to be tended to more than his temper did. She prayed he would understand.

Later that afternoon, as the Vicomte strolled through the empty corridors, he felt the unnerving sensation of eyes upon him. He turned, and saw no one. No one answered his calls.

"Monsieur?" a small voice hailed him. He turned to see the object of his obsession standing in the nearest doorway.

"Good day, mademoiselle. What can I do for you?" he purred.

Christine beckoned him closer. "I must show you something, monsieur. It's very important." She whispered quickly.

"Oh? I would be very pleased to see anything you wish to show me, my dear lady. Do go ahead." He drawled as he stepped closer.

Christine swallowed hard. "Do not scream, monsieur. I do not wish to attract unwanted attention." She warned.

Slowly, oh-so-very slowly, she reached for her mask and pulled it away.

As the mask came off, the Vicomte's eyes widened. What lay under the mask…was a twisted, red, scarred mess. The left side of her face didn't look like the beatific vision of the right. It resembled nothing more than a wax doll left in the sun. Her cheek looked rough and pitted. Her forehead and nose seemed to have simply…melted. Her cheekbone was visible in some places as well, and the side of her mouth was pulled downward, making her smile lopsided.

The Vicomte backed up a step, took another look, and fled. He didn't see, however, as he ran past the unknown voyeur.

Christine replaced her mask, and turned to go with an unexpectedly heavy heart. She heard light, quick footsteps approach, and then a hand was laid on her shoulder. She turned to fend off the unwanted personage, and came face-to-face with the visage of Meg Giry.

"Pardon me, but would you happen to be Christine?" she asked politely.

"Oui…how do you know my name?" Christine asked in confusion.

"I'm Meg Giry. I think that we need to talk privately for a while…

A/N: Hi! It's me again. I wanted to let all of my readers know that I will probably not have a chance to update again for a while. School is keeping me really busy, and I have very little free time to write, type, and edit. Please leave a review, it really makes my day, and feel free to PM me with any questions you may have. I promise I'll update as soon and as often as I can.