A cab pulled up to the back entrance of the Opéra Populaire. Musette got out and walked into the building. It wasn't far to the manager's office. She knocked and heard a voice telling her to come in.

"Bonjour M. Leclerke," Musette said in greeting.

"Mademoiselle Regal, bienvenu à l'Opéra Populaire," he walked around his desk and kissed both her cheeks.

"Merci millefois pour…"

"No, no, no thanks, mademoiselle. Your father does own the place after all, so it's no trouble finding a space for you. There are several rooms you could look at. Where are you staying now, if I can ask?"

"The Hotel France Albion. But I hope I won't be there long."

"No, our workmen work fast. They'll fix up whatever room you pick in just a few days. I'll have my assistant give you a tour of the place."

Musette was then introduced to a young man with dark hair and a Middle Eastern complexion, M. Leclerke's assistant Alexander Diab. He stared at her with an open mouth for a few moments, but he shook it off.

"If you'll just follow me, Miss Regal," he said.

"Please, just call me Musette."

"Alex," he said with a smile and a nod. "Are you ready for a tour of this place? It's a big place," he warned.

"I've been sitting for hours on a train and then in a cab. I think I'm up for a bit of a walk."

"Right then. Prima Donna dressing room this way. It's a good place to start, and our prima donna, Katherina Stella, refuses to use it."

"Why?"

"The Ghost haunts it. He haunts most of the place, and we have a tour to indulge any ghost hunters."

Musette had a bit of a chill, but laughed it off.

From the prima donna suite, a room decked out with rose patterns and expensive fabrics, Alex took her to the stage to look at the house seats from the actors' point of view. They then hopped down from the stage and went out to the lobby. He took her through some of the boxes, and then back to the backstage.

"We can now go to the dormitories, the practice rooms, the costume rooms, the cellars, whatever you want," Alex offered.

"I think first I want to find a room. Definitely not the prima donna suite. The décor alone is just too…"

"Ornate? Gaudy?"

"Pink."

Alex laughed. "You know, I think I have just the room for you. It will need some work for the bathroom, but it just might suit you."

"Lead on," Musette said.

Alex took her up what seemed several flights of stairs. He pointed out the various dormitories and storage rooms as they passed, and then took her down one hall, around a corner, down a few steps to a door tucked away in the odd little hall.

Alex put a hand on the wall to the right. "This is just a small storage room, but it's next to the room, and plumbing should already pass through it, so I think it can easily be turned into a bathroom for you."

"Sure, sounds good."

Then he opened the door and let her walk in first. Musette stopped only a few steps into the room.

It was perfect.

The walls were a warm off-white colour and the floor was a cherry coloured wood. There was a fireplace, a large bed, and what looked like it must be a vanity under a white sheet. To the left of the door were a couple of steps leading up to a raised reading nook with shelves of books, two chairs, a table, and a large cupboard. Everything was covered in dust and white sheets. Finally moving about in the room she noticed doors to the outside from both the far right wall and the nook on the upper left.

"I'll have them clean the chimney so you can have a fire to keep warm. The plumbing comes this far, but not the central heating or electricity. It does still have the gas lamps though, and they can turn on and off just like light bulbs. There's a balcony off there, and then up here," he walked up into the nook, "leads to another bit of balcony, and then around to a door which is the only way to reach one staircase leading to the roof."

"So through my room is the only way to get to the roof?"

"No, just that one particular staircase leading to the roof. There are others… wait, does this mean you want to have this room?"

"Yes, it's… it's perfect. It almost feels like I've come home."

"Must mean it's the one then. I'll have the workmen start today."

It surprisingly only took a week for her new suite to be ready. Even with putting in the bath and sink, filling in the doorway and cutting a new door from her room, cleaning the chimney, dusting everything, setting the furniture to rights, and putting new sheets on the bed, Musette moved into her new place by the next week.

Alex looked behind him for the sixth time to make sure he wasn't being followed. It was bad enough navigating the cellars without worrying about some poor fellow dying just because he was too curious for his own good. As Alex was turning to look back a seventh time he bumped into something. Panicked that he had inadvertently walked into a trap, he turned and was almost relieved to see the dark outfit and white mask that under any other circumstance would cause terror in a worker at the Opéra Populaire.

"Oh, it's just you," Alex said as he held a hand over his racing heart.

"You needed to see me?" The voice was cold and always carried a sardonic edge.

"Yeah, I needed to warn you that the owner's daughter is now living in the Populaire."

"Why would I care about Mlle. Regal?"

"Because she's staying in the room belonging to your prima donna."

"If Madame Stella doesn't want it, why should I…"

"No, not that one. The other one… um… the one that never really was prima donna." Alex brought up a hand to fiddle with his collar, fully prepared to raise it an inch or two more in self-defence.

Instead of striking with the lasso, the Phantom's next words were deadly calm. "Who put her there?"

"Um, I did," Alex practically squeaked. But he regained his voice to continue. "Just look at her and you'll see why."

"That room belongs to no woman but my—"

"Her name is Musette," Alex interrupted. "Her name is Musette Regal. And I really think you need to just see her for yourself."

Late that night the Phantom snuck through the secret passage into the room of Musette Regal. He saw the girl sleeping fitfully. She looked cold as she tossed and turned on the bed. But there was no mistaking that beautiful face and the dark hair. He stared at her for a moment, not quite believing what he saw. The Phantom left the room, but he returned shortly and placed a thick blanket over the girl. As he did he noticed an unattractively modern engagement ring on her left hand. He brushed a gloved hand over a curl on her face. She stilled with his touch but slept on. He would keep an eye on this girl.

Before he left, he placed a single white rose with a black ribbon on the bedside table. There was a picture of her with a young man. With any luck, he'd be out of the frame soon… and Erik would be in full focus.

Musette slept late that morning. Since coming to Paris she hadn't been sleeping well. She kept having disturbing dreams that made her toss around in her sleep and wake up every hour or so. The same happened last night; not only the dreams plagued her, but she was cold and didn't have anymore blankets.

But sometime in the night she had fallen properly asleep. She was glad for that and wasn't going to question it until she noticed a thick blanket covering her and the bed. It was a beautiful green with gold vines embroidered over it. It definitely wasn't there when she had gone to bed.

Unsettled she turned to get out of bed. There on the table was a white rose tied with a black ribbon.

Wanting to take a break from acting and singing, Musette decided to put her art degree to use and took her camera around the city to find inspiration. Paris was the ideal city for artists after all.

She tried to tell herself that spending the day away from the opera house had nothing to do with the rose and blanket that had been mysteriously left in her room in the middle of the night. She also tried to ignore the fact that the door to her room had been locked. It was easier to deal with that way.

High on her list of places to visit was the great cathedral Notre Dame de Paris. While walking towards it and looking at the bell towers, ideas swirled through her head for a set of paintings based on Victor Hugo's story. A deformed man with an exotic woman set against a Gothic building was the epitome of the Romantic style. There was something appealing about it especially to Musette. It was mostly the love so passionate and consuming that Quasimodo gave up his own life to be with Esmeralda in death. She wished she could know that kind of a love. Sure it more than bordered on the obsessive, but she really didn't have a problem with that. It was captivating.

A different feeling came over her when she went inside. Instead of walking along the aisle with the tourists, she sat down towards the back and looked up at the tiers of Gothic arches and the lines of chandeliers along the nave. It was dark without much light from the windows and only the fake candles of the chandeliers. But the dark was magnificent; the place was so big from floor to ceiling.

She couldn't describe how she felt. She tried to think about Esmeralda singing her Ave Maria Païen from the musical version, but instead she felt like there should be something else. There should be an opera aria or a powerful requiem with music that swept the listener away. It should start with an organ, then the soprano would come in, and then they would be joined by a choir. It would build so that the cathedral vibrated with the music of the ringing of the stones.

She was getting poetical to the point of being ridiculous.

Musette left the building and found a place outside to sit and sketch some ideas for the Victor Hugo series she had considered earlier. While she was sketching, a small group of English students passed her. One of them asked if any in the group knew if Notre Dame was haunted. Musette didn't hear the answer.

People and their fascination with ghosts, Musette thought. She didn't want to believe in them, and the idea of them frightened her a little.

After finishing her sketches and grabbing some lunch, Musette spent the rest of the afternoon at the Musée Rodin. After going through the building and looking at the sculptures she admired, she took her camera around the rose gardens outside. She focused on the beautiful pinks, yellows, oranges, and reds. She couldn't bring herself to take any pictures of the white roses she passed.

Ghosts and white roses. Even away from the opera house they haunted her. Yet to avoid returning to the Populaire even longer, Musette had dinner at a small café and then finally went back. As she passed Alex's small office, the door was open. She paused in the doorway.

"Oh!" he said nervously when he saw her. "You startled me, Musette."

"Sorry," she said.

"Can I help you with anything?"

"No," she said shaking her head, but still she stayed standing there. He waited. "Yes," she said. "I woke up this morning and found a blanket and a rose in my bedroom that weren't there when I went to sleep. The door was locked. I can't explain it, and that scares me."

"Um… sounds like the Phantom," Alex said.

"A ghost that leaves blankets and roses?" She sounded sceptical.

"Yup," Alex said and tried to laugh it off. "The Phantom's known for… um… leaving and receiving things. There's a salary given to him and a box left empty for him. Small amounts of money are then left by him in the box for the box attendant and the cleaning staff, and notes with instructions left in my office. The construction workers who renovated this place say the Phantom even did some of the renovations himself. And if an opera pleases the Phantom, he leaves a rose in his box."

"You're making all that up," Musette said.

"No, and I don't know if I wish I was or not. Um…don't worry about it too much; you'll get used to it. As far as anyone has seen, the Phantom is helpful, friendly, and not anything to fear… as long as we meet his occasional demands." The last part was muttered, but she heard it.

Musette just looked at him like he was crazy. But then she thought about theatre superstitions and the blanket. It did make some sort of sense. And none of it seemed to have any malevolent intent. She said goodnight to Alex and went up to her room. A friendly ghost was explanation enough, but she thought she had best just not think about it anymore for her own piece of mind. If she kept worrying about it she'd drive herself crazy.

Once again Musette was caught in a nightmare while she slept. It was both frustrating and especially frightening because she couldn't make out any of the images clearly. She knew she was in a snow-covered cemetery. Nearby two figures were fighting, probably with swords, while a third figure watched. She had no idea who the people were or what it all meant, but she felt terribly strong emotions: fear, longing, utter anguish, and a guilt tinted with regret.

It was so cold; she shivered uncontrollably. She felt tears coming down her face as one of the fighting figures fell. She wished it would come into focus so she could see who it was, but it became even more blurred.

The dream faded to grey and ended as Musette drifted into a deeper, dreamless sleep.

He couldn't resist seeing her again.

The Phantom knew his gifts had unnerved Musette, but hopefully Alex would explain that she needn't be afraid. Besides, the room was cold and he couldn't just let her shiver like that. He entered her room and noticed that again it was very cold. Though there was the fireplace, the room could use an additional heat source. He would design something for her. He went to the bed and noticed that the blanket he had given her had fallen to the floor beside the bed, so she was once again shivering. She also seemed to be having a nightmare again, and there were tears on her cheeks. He pulled the green blanket over her and gently wiped the tears away. Once again she stilled and did not wake.

He thought it might disturb her further, but he decided to leave her another white rose. He couldn't yet bring himself to face her, but he wanted to let her know he existed and that he was watching over her. Soon Musette would see him, and soon he would have her back with him.

When Alex arrived in his office there was a familiar black-lined note sealed with a red skull. Couldn't the Phantom come up with anything new? Grumbling under his breath about 19th century ghosts, Alex opened and read the note.

It has come to my attention that Mlle. Musette Regal's apartment is too cold at night. I will soon send you the plans for a new heating system that will ensure safe warmth. Do not tell Mlle. Regal of my involvement. In the meantime, see that she has more blankets.

O.G.

Alex wasn't sure how he felt about this, but he knew the history and didn't dare refuse the Phantom. Plus, he had his orders from M. Leclerke. He had hoped that the Phantom would leave her alone; Alex had seen her engagement ring. He had only told the Phantom about her being there because it was better to tell him now than have him find out later… better for Alex, anyway. But at the same time, he knew the history. He could only trust that Musette could handle herself and all that was to come.

In the meantime, he had blankets to get and a lie to tell.

By mid morning Musette left the opera house. Alex had brought her more blankets while she was finishing her breakfast and said that he had contacted someone on how to get safe heating for the room. He seemed uncomfortable about something, but she had begun to notice that he was usually on edge about something. She put it down to the stress of his job.

Though she didn't want to admit it, Musette was relieved to have an excuse to stay away from the opera house during the day. She spent the day wandering around Paris just along the Seine. She occasionally saw tourists rushing about from museum to museum. It was such a shame. They missed so much of the beauty and atmosphere of the city. At least she could enjoy it. She enjoyed the walk so much that she just kept going, only stopping for lunch and then dinner. Eventually she was too tired to go on any further and took the Métro back to the Populaire.

That night she dreamt of screams and fire. She awoke coughing and breathing heavily sometime around three in the morning and tried to fall asleep again. She feared that the nightmare about falling would come. That dream terrified her the most and seemed to come every night. Luckily no more nightmares plagued her when she did finally sleep.

The next morning was there was no rose on her bedside table. She should have been relieved, but somehow, as she looked at the two she kept in a vase she was disappointed not have a third. It was just as inexplicable as keeping the roses in a vase rather than throwing them out. She just couldn't do it, despite how it unnerved her.

She couldn't wait for Archie to come. He had been so kind and understanding about her need to go to Paris for a while. He had to settle some things with his father and the family business, and then he would join her in Paris to start planning the wedding. It was nice to take a break and be away from him, but she was sure that the familiarity of his company would help her nervousness to dissipate.

Everything was too overwhelming and she needed to get out and clear her head. She decided to go to the one place she knew she would find peace: Père Lachaise Cemetery.

The cemetery was so large that a person could spend days wandering around it and still not see all of it. Ironically the same was often said of the Louvre Museum, and most tourists preferred to spend their time there. But Musette liked cemeteries. Anyone could admire a painting well-framed on a museum wall, but it took more than that to love a cemetery. One had to see the beauty of death. There was a quiet peace to it, a serenity not found in the even the Mona Lisa's smile. Too many crowded around her for there to be peace, and still she smiled. It took a certain type of soul to look at death and smile. Musette had that soul. She also had a tendency to wax poetical to the point of self-centred nonsense on the subject.

Added to the peace and beauty, Père Lachaise was a city within a city: the city of the dead with streets and houses. Musette liked the irony and the quiet artistry of the house-like tombs, mausoleums, avenues, and statues. Also ironic was the fact that though scared by an unseen ghost in an opera house she fled to a cemetery filled with the dead to feel better. But at the opera house she felt like she was being watched. The cemetery didn't have that feeling.

For the next week Musette only stayed in the Populaire to sleep at night. Even after a heating system so ingenious that she didn't understand it had been put in place, Musette avoided the building and resisted the urge to explore its hidden corridors or watch the rehearsals. During the day she continued re-exploring Paris, always spending time in Père Lachaise.

One of her favourite of the tombs was the hooded figures and owls guarding the Sepulture Racine. She also loved visiting the tomb of Pierre Abélard.

Musette was near Abélard's tomb one day when it started raining. She pulled out her umbrella and decided not to let the rain force her indoors. Like cemeteries, she felt that few stopped to appreciate the beauty of the world covered in grey shadow from the clouds and rain. As she came around the tomb she could have sworn that she saw a woman in a grey cloak and nineteenth century dress some feet away. The woman had Slavic features and moved like a dancer. Just when the two women looked at each other, the woman in the grey cloak vanished. It was almost as if she hadn't been quite solid and just fell away with the rain. Musette walked towards where the woman had stood, but she saw no one anywhere near there. She turned around to leave and passed an old man with an umbrella looking at Abélard's tomb.

"A tragic love story," the Frenchman said.

"Yes," Musette agreed as they both looked at the carvings of Abélard and his wife Héloïse.

"There are many that are even more tragic. Paris is full of their ghosts."

"I suppose that as the city of lovers, it would see its share of the heartbreaks as well."

"C'est ça exactement," he replied. "Paris is just as much the City of the Dead as it is the City of Lights. But why is a pretty young lady here listening to an old man's morbid ramblings in the rain?"

"I like it here, and I like the rain. It's beautiful when it rains, and no one stops to see that."

The old man chuckled. "Learn your ghost stories then, if that is how you enjoy life. Adieu, mademoiselle."

"Au revoir."

Musette did not stay long after that meeting. She decided it was time to stop avoiding things and learn one ghost story at least: the ghost of the Opéra Populaire.

Next... Musette meets the Phantom.