Ok, so, this is a very important chapter, and I need your feedback, people.

Honestly, this is one of the first scenes that came into my head when I first thought of this story and I've been thinking about how to write it ever since.

Seriously, it's a really important scene.

Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera.

It had been a week since the disquieting review, and Christine felt that everyone had finally begun to forget about her role in it. The only thing that most of the readers had remembered from the review was how the Critic had panned the production. Audience members became fewer and fewer as more and more succumbed to the mental suggestion that the Critic had placed as to the quality of the musical itself.

Christine sighed, wishing that the public was not swayed so by a single writer's dislike of opening night. That one single, horrible review had caused an uproar among the cast members of Strawberry Bushels with the managers leading the way in pointing fingers. However, the fury most horrible to behold was Carlotta's. At the daily rehearsals, she could often be seen screaming and swearing at anyone and anyone, with little Eddy Pickering close behind her, assuring the prima donna that she had sung like an angel each and every night of the production.

But nothing and no one was safe from Carlotta's accusations. Yuri had jumped too fast, the lighting was bad, the costume makers had made her a dress that was too tight, and, of course, the never ending…

"Christine sings like someone threw a sheet over her, all muffled and soft."

"Christine's voice was off-key; it threw me off."

"Christine, stop talking so loudly."

"Christine, stop mumbling your lyrics!"

"Christine, if you think you'd sing this better than me, why don't you just sing it for all of us now?" It was when Carlotta asked this rhetorical question that Christine most wished to crawl under the floorboards of the stage. She never had wanted to take Carlotta's place, she thought as her fellow cast members sniggered at Christine's beet red face.

But Meg, dear sweet Meg, had had enough.

"Carlotta, shut up!" The brunette calmly and bluntly yelled over. Christine, Carlotta, the cast, and even the managers stopped what they were doing and stared at Meg with their mouths in a large "O" formation. No one had ever so much as rolled their eyes at Carlotta to her face. And even though Meg had said it in the same manner that she would to a large barking dog, it was the most that anyone had ever openly challenged Carlotta.

All of the male cast members started to think that a cat fight might happen very soon between the loud soprano and the outspoken dancer. Some hopefuls even took out their cell phones to record the moment for posterity. But, sadly, it was not to be.

"Everyone, come, come, stop this. We must get back to rehearsal. Ladies, please contain yourselves." Mr. Reyer, the director, was not one of the males with his cell phone out. And, even more than Carlotta, the Critic's words had hurt him the most. He was determined to perfect the musical to its fullest extent.

At the words of the formidable director, Carlotta turned away from Meg, but not until she shot a glare meant to kill both Meg and Christine.

Meg had bent down to tie her shoelace sometime during the confrontation, so Christine took this as her opportunity to flee the scene without facing her friend or any of the other cast members. She really felt too miserable to talk to anyone. Why was Meg the one to have to stand up for her? Why couldn't Christine face Carlotta on her own? Because, Christine thought, you're too much of a coward. And with that discouraging thought, Christine snuck into the prop room.

She just needed somewhere to collect her thoughts and calm herself. She needed to be away from Carlotta's snide insults and the eyes of all the people that wondered why exactly Christine had found such favor with the Critic. So she went into the prop room, where the costumes and props from all of the previous musicals were kept. She liked this room. It was full of fantastic costumes, whimsical objects, and mysterious masks.

It was in the prop room that Christine was able to believe that maybe she actually deserved the praise that the Critic had given her. After all, hadn't her father always told her that her voice was a gift? And where is he now? He was gone. So maybe her voice was gone too. Maybe, Carlotta was right.

Christine sank to her knees, despite the rough, dirty floor of the prop room, and ran her hands through her blonde hair. She struggled not to let the tears that were threatening to leak out fall down. Against her will, though, a sob broke out. It was then that Christine heard it.

It sounded like a sigh, and yet it didn't. No, sigh was too trite a word to describe the utter sadness and longing that was concentrated in that noise. Christine frantically looked around. It had been silly to come here, when she was supposed to be working on making the play better and showing her cast members that she wasn't a total failure.

Was there someone here?

She shouldn't have come here alone. All of a sudden, the colorful room and its occupants took on a supernatural aspect in the dim lighting. And, as Christine searched for the maker of the sound, she felt chills run down the back of her neck, as if someone was watching her….

Christine turned around.

All that she saw behind her was a pile of masks in the corner, lined up, thrown about, stored in boxes, masks everywhere. But, directly behind her, about 3 feet away, a mask faced her. This was an odd mask, and Christine stared at it in both curiosity and apprehension. Finally, she realized why this mask was so different from those around it: It was entirely black. Where all of the other costume masks had colorful patterns, feathers, and glitter, this mask was utterly and completely plain. Also, it was a full face mask. All around it, there were half masks, masquerade masks, small masks for the eyes, masks meant to show the mouth, but none that were meant to fully cover the face.

Christine morbidly stared at the mask for a moment, staring into the empty eye sockets. The mask had been right behind her. It was just a mask. Masks couldn't make noises, right? Right?

It was then that the light went out in the prop room.

It had been a tenth of a second. Less really. The light bulb flickered right back on, spreading its weak, yellow light once again. But Christine was already running out of the prop room and toward the well-populated stage.

For at that tiny, fleeting instant, she could have sworn that two little lights stared out right back at her through the darkness…almost like….two yellow…eyes.

It had been a trick, she told herself. Just a little mistake that her brain made when the sudden darkness confused it. There couldn't have been…eyes behind that mask….staring right back at her…locking eyes with her.

No, it was nothing, she told herself. But, still, she didn't stop shaking until she found Meg and they were going through the rehearsal again.

But, in the prop room, seconds after Christine left, a similarly shaking, white gloved hand reached out and shut off the lights in the prop room. And in the total darkness of the deserted

room, something sighed.

So, I hope that I did that little chapter justice. Yes, I know, not a whole lot happened, but this is the first actual sighting/meeting. It's important. Now, again, tell me what you think!

Questions? Comments? Concerns?

TwilightSnowStar