Hi, it's me again with another chapter. Thank you for my BETAer who really helped me in the chapter. Again another historical note will be at the end of the chapter and the title is from the movie Madeline Lost in Paris (I used to watch it as a kid). I hope you all enjoy my second chapter for the weekend. :)

White and gray were the first colors she saw when she awoke. Her head throbbed as she tried to push herself up. Blurry memories swept through her mind as she tried to remember the events from earlier. Closing her eyes, she remembered a maze of dark corridors with a silent man leading her through them.

There was a room like a dormitory and a woman who gave me cloths. She blinked and pushed herself up onto her elbows, ignoring the pain in her head. For a moment, she looked down at the foot of the bed and saw an unadorned gown of dark blue. Unconsciously, she began to run her hands up and down her arms, but paused at the unfamiliar fabric beneath her fingers. She glanced down and saw the simple white cotton nightgown she now wore. Once more, panic rose inside her as she pushed herself up and looked around the deserted chamber. Four rows of empty beds filled a white and gray room. The beds were neatly made with the dull colors covering the thin mattresses in each row. No pictures or any other ornamentation hung on the plain walls. Only a few fragments of sunlight shone from the high olive windows above the dirty, dusty floor.

Despite the pain in her head, she began to climb out of the bed. Yet, the world now swirled around her and she sat back down, pressing her hand to her forehead. Everything was so confusing as she tried to shake away the strange feeling. Once more, she tried to concentrate on the events of last night, but it was all a blur in her mind. Where was she? Her hand brushed against the ring on her left hand.

Closing her eyes, she whispered, "Raoul."

She spun around at the sound of a door opening, but paused as a young woman entered. The woman looked to be only a few years older than her dressed in a simple uniform of gray and white. She smiled at seeing Christine and walked over to her. "Oh Bonjour, Mademoiselle. I'm glad to see you are awake."

Christine stared at her. "Bonjour, um…where is-?"

"Everyone else, they are just finishing breakfast and then will go into the day room for their activities. Now get changed and come along." The woman walked over and began to help her change. "Oh and I'm Halette."

Christine nodded as she slipped her arms into the long sleeves. "I'm Christine and where am I?"

Halette nodded as she fastened the back of the gown. Taking a step back away, she pulled her blonde hair up into a loose bun. "Did you sleep well?"

"Not really, Madame," Christine admitted.

Halette shook her head. "Oh no, it is Miss Halette."

Christine nodded as she placed a hand against her pounding forehead. Warily, she tried to follow the other woman for some answers. She staggered and gripped the bedpost for support. Halette came to her side and slid her arm around her shoulders.

"Oh now let me help," Halette said calmly.

Christine shook her head. "I'll be all right, but where am I?"

"You're in a very good place where you can get the help you need," Halette said.

Christine pulled away from her as flashes of memory came flooding back to her; the man asking her peculiar questions, a maze of black tunnels, and the woman holding the lantern. She tried to remember the older woman's words, but everything was still a blur. Taking a shaky breath, she asked, "May I see my fiancé?"

"And who is your fiancé?" Halette asked as though speaking to a child.

"The Vicomte de'Changy," Christine said.

Halette blinked and nodded. "Ah yes, we heard his fiancée was staying here."

"Yes, now may I see him?" Christine asked, trying to control her frustration.

Halette shook her head and walked toward the door. "All your questions will be answered by Madame Richards. Now come along."

"Wait…" Christine's voice trailed off as the woman began to walk further away.

Quickly, she ran after Halette following her through several corridors.

Hushed conversations were held behind closed doors while other hallways were completely silent. Streaks of sunlight flittered through the high windows with specks of dust glistening on the brick walls and floor. Footsteps echoed through the corridors as a few people in uniforms passed, but Halette paid them no attention. Christine kept close to her guide as she observed the other people in uniforms. Their faces were empty of emotion and they looked straight ahead as they walked past her, without a greeting or even acknowledgement of her presence.

What is this….

A shrill, fragile scream broke her thoughts as she scanned the deserted corridor. She looked at her guide, but Halette only sighed in irritation. Christine opened her mouth, but a set of footsteps cut her off as another woman rounded the corner in a hurry. She wore the same uniform, but her hair was unkempt as though she had just awoken. She bobbed her head to Halette as she passed.

"Bonjour, Miss. I'm sorry about her, I shall see to it," the younger girl said.

Halette nodded. "Oui, merci, we do not need that poor dear to hurt herself again."

The girl bobbed her head and scurried off down the hallway, slipping into one of the rooms, once more without any greeting to Christine.

The screaming soon faded as she stared at the closed door. Glancing over at Halette, she asked, "Who was that?"

"Oh, that was little Abella one of our helpers here," Halette said, turned and continued to walk down the corridor.

Christine followed. "No, I meant who was that person screaming. She sounded in such pain."

Halette did not look at her. "…That….was Laralaine, a poor woman who has her own demons to fight, always mumbling some type of nonsense. Now come along Mademoiselle Daae."

Christine blinked at the lack of concern or any compassion in Halette explanation of the distraught woman in the room. Christine wanted to question further, not even understanding why she had been brought here, but the older woman paid no attention to her as they continued walking.

At the end of the passageway, Halette turned and pushed open a door. "Here we are, Mademoiselle, this is the day room for the women who stay here. You will also engage in some actives with them. "

Christine sighed. "Miss, may I please see my fiancé now?"

"That is not my place to say." She paused and ushered Christine inside. "Now in you go."

Sunlight streamed in through large, high windows of the day room, similar to the ones in the dormitory and other smaller windows which looked outside. A few women sat near the fire while others sat alone sewing or putting pens to paper. Young and old women filled the room, some only children. Yet, all of them wore similar dresses of the same dull blue, lumping the group of woman into a single unit with no sign of separate personalities. None of them talked to each other; each lost in their own thoughts. Some of them mumbled to themselves. Despite the number of people, Christine felt a sense of loneliness at the lack of conversation. She glanced behind her, but Halette had moved over to the group of women near the fire. Looking around the room again, she noticed three other women in uniforms stationed around the chamber, barely paying attention to any of the other women.

Christine shook her head and walked over to the trio. "Excuse me, but can one of you tell me when I may see my fiancé, the Vicomte de'Changy ?"

The three women looked at each other and back at her. The eldest one examined Christine with cold blue eyes as though looking for something.

After a moment, she shrugged and said, "Who are you?"

Christine blinked, confused. "My name is Christine Daae and may I-"

"Ah, the new girl," the woman said, clapping her hands together. "I'm Miss Joella. Why don't you come over here and get started on some sewing." She spoke as though addressing a child and pointed to a spot in the far left corner of the room.

Christine shook her head. "Thank you, but no I-"

"Or perhaps some drawing?" the second woman offered.

"No, thank you. I only wish to see my fiancé-"

"I'm afraid that is impossible, though I'm surprised to have another one of nobility here," the third one said quietly.

"What do you mean?" All these quick comments seemed to worsen her head ache. Pressing her hand to her forehead, she sighed in frustration.

"Oh we had-"

"It is nothing to concern yourself with," Joella said. "Are you all right?"

Once more Christine shook her head and began to speak, but a fourth voice broke her off. She looked over at the door and saw Madame Richards standing on the threshold, staring at her. For a moment, Christine felt herself shrink as though she were a small child as the older woman entered the room.

"What is going on here?" Madame Richards said, looking from the three staff members to Christine.

Christine gulped, but tried to sound confidant. "I want to see my fiancé now, please."

Madame Richards looked at her. "That is impossible, Mademoiselle."

"But-"

"Now my dear please don't get upset. Why don't you go and draw with the other women?" Madame Richards said, speaking slowly.

Christine sighed in frustration. Why were none of them listening to her? All of them dismissed her requests to see Raoul and all without answering any of her other questions. Shaking her head, she scanned the room again. Two women were looking at the small confrontation, but the others kept to their tasks as though in a trance. Christine shivered at the strange atmosphere as she stared at the other women. She glanced back over at Madame Richards, wincing under her cold gaze and began to feel like a child again. Yet, the memories of last night were still to hazy to form any questions except her demand to see Raoul or to know why she was here; both questions were denied.

Why won't they let me see him? Yet, under the cool gaze of Madame Richards, Christine gathered that persistence would make matters worse. For now, she would play along. Taking a deep breath, she said, "Um…can I draw?"

Madame Richards nodded. "Yes, you can take a seat near the window."

Christine nodded and walked away from the staff members. A small table was set up near the window, separated from the others. Carefully, she sat down and picked up a discarded piece of parchment. Dipping the quill into the ink pot, she paused and glanced out of the window; the courtyard was lined with fresh green leaves, proving shade on the path in the July sun. A couple of women walked around, all dressed in the same gowns she wore. Would they also let her outside for fresh air? Maybe at the same time she could look for Raoul. She thought about asking, but seeing the severe expression of the staff members, as they appeared to watch and discuss her she changed her mind, already knowing what their answer would be.

Shaking her head, she turned her attention back to the empty piece of parchment. As a chorus girl, she had never had much time to master that particular art skill, though Meg had given her a few lessons and proclaimed she had some natural talent. Instead, Christine had separated her time between rehearsals for the chorus and singing lessons with her angel. A halfhearted smile slid on her face as an image of the time with her angel slipped into her mind. She felt her grip tighten on the quill as she dipped it into the ink pot again and began to draw. The silence of the room seemed to echo around her as the minutes passed. Closing her eyes, she began to hum a small tune of the angel's song he had sung to her during her first visit to his home by the lake. She felt the song pulse through her as she sang quietly to herself.

"Excuse me," Joella said.

Christine paused and looked at the other woman standing near her. "Yes, what is it?"

"We do not permit singing here, Mademoiselle. Not from any of our girls."

Christine stared at her in disbelief. "What do you mean, Miss?"

"We do not wish for people to sing such songs that would distract anyone from getting well."

"I'm afraid I do not understand. Are they ill?"

"My dear, surely you know that" she lowered her voice. "You are in the Bicetre hospital."

Christine stared at her. "I'm not sick, Miss. There must some mistake."

"Most people do not acknowledge they are sick when they must."

"But I'm not-"

Joella gestured to Christine's bandaged wrists. "Look at those and," she pointed to the unfinished picture. "What do you call those if you are not sick?"

Christine paused and looked down at her wrists. Uncomfortably, she ran her right fingers over her left wrist. Biting her lip, she lowered her eyes to the table. "It was an accident."

"Really? And what is this?" Joella asked, picking up the parchment. "Who is this you drew?"

Christine looked up at the parchment. It was an outline of a tall man with dark hair and a few scars covering half of his face playing an old violin. She remembered the tune he had played to comfort her as a child and smiled at the memory.

"Mon ange," she whispered, lost in her thoughts. A hand on her shoulder brought her back to reality as she looked up at the woman.

"Who is this?" Joella asked again.

"He…he was my teacher," Christine said gently. "He was the best…he sang like an angel…." Her voice trailed off uncertainly.

"Oh, dear. Your angel. Why do you say that?"

"My teacher just sang-"

"I know better. He's a monster, a demon!" She snatched the parchment from Christine, but she pulled at it until the piece ripped in half. Quickly, she stuffed the piece into her hand and folded both her hands behind her back. She felt all the eyes of the women on her at the sudden confrontation. Yet, this woman had no right to declare her teacher a monster. So many people judged others too quickly. Christine took a deep breath and looked back at the other woman.

"Give me that paper, Daae," Joella said firmly.

Christine shook her head. She would not give up another thing that reminded her of her Angel of Music. The very thought made her stomach twist as she felt the ripped piece of paper in her hand.

Why are they trying to keep us apart? She paused as she remembered her angel's orders to leave and never return with the mob coming closer and closer to the lair that evening of the first and final performance of Don Jaon Triumphant. Christine took a deep breath and looked at the ground.

"Mademoiselle Daae, please hand over that piece of paper," Joella said, taking a step toward Christine.

"No, please…." Christine took a small step back.

Joella made a small gesture with her finger and two other staff members walked over to Christine. They grabbed her arms and tore the page from her hands and kept her restrained as she tried to take it back. Sudden tears began to roll down her cheeks as she watched the woman hand the piece to Halette.

"Get rid of it," the woman said, ignoring Christine's tears and fighting.

Halette looked down at the page and nodded without a word as she slipped from the room.

Joella turned back to Christine. Her eyes held no warmth, her face set in disapproval. Looking at the other two staff members, she said, "Take Mademoiselle Daae to the tub and then lock her in the dormitory for the remainder of the day. Perhaps she needs one more day to understand the rules."

Christine felt herself tremble as the two staff members half carried her out of the day room. What type of place was this? How could they destroy her art work and ban her singing, considering it dangerous, even evil to her health? Even the high society of Raoul's family and friends allowed people to sing for entertainment. She felt her stomach twist as she was led through the dark maze of corridors again. Where was her Knight in shining armor? Where was her protective angel?

Historical Note. In 19th Century, people like Phillippe Pinel wanted to help the insane people who were in the asylums and began to treat people more humanly (though at times the treatment is questionable). The staff talked to people and the sewing and drawing was more to keep them quiet than real therpy (until later). Also, the wards that vistors were allowed to see were the best ones so many people did not know know what it was really like. Christine is in on eht best wards being Raoul's faincee.

Another note. some of my research came from a book called, Wildthorn by Jane Eagland, which is based (it's fiction) on real accounts of what women when through.

Anyway, please review and let me know what you thought and more coming soon. :)