Disclaimer: I tip my hat the those authors I've told -- you before that I simply do not own. But if once again, You need reminding my friend -- it is thus the Phantom I must disown. (don't worry .. I'll try not to cry.. )

A/N: Yes, it HAS been a while.. but stay patient.. I do have a BUNCH of schoolwork, senior projects, and college to worry about on top of having a life. So give me some encouraging feedback if you'd like more updates. Those always inspire me!!

Also I am still squealing in excitement that I am going to see the original Lon Chaney 1925 film of Phantom of the Opera. It's taking place in our locally famous theatre that in my book is as richly decorated as the Garnier (or Populaire, how ever you want to look at it). This is because it was built in the 1920's. Anyways there is going to be a live organist and everything and on Halloween night too!! I am just too excited. So obviously you can expect some sparks of inspiration to come from there. Anyways this is part one of this chapter and the next part should be coming soon. You've got to hold me to that though. :) On a different note fanfiction . net still hasn't fixed the problem of breaks in text caused by pressing the "enter" key. I'm geting really tired of placing a - in here all the time.. oh well...

Also, a HUGE merci beaucoup to my two reviewers for the 5th and 6th chapters Amita and Guardian of Elements !!

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Chapter 7

Déjà Vous - Part I

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It seemed that not a moment since my weary eyes found rest, the cool air awoke me once again. My eyes wandered around every corner of what most would call a dingy compartment, especially in comparison to what I was used to. Still, in a strange sort of way it was quite charming. Yes, despite the rude clanging of who knows what in the night and the stench of aged wool, it was quite charming indeed. A few candles around me were lit already and a few shadows were swiftly, but quietly, moving about. The resistant portion of my brain screamed to recover myself with the woolen sheets and allow myself rest until morning, but that was several hours away. The girls had already filed out after nearly three hours after curfew, Meg being one of them.

My head spinned when it was raised, but as the buzzing calmed, I remembered "the circus."

Back at the château I had head such stories that revolved around a large tent and other such delights, so naturally I was quite anxious. I carefully lifted myself up and paused almost at instinct before my head encountered the top bunk. I had, after all, not done so many times in the last few hours. Giving a heavy sigh I grasped the edge of the bed as a lifeline and lifted myself to stand. The candles allowed me to spot corners slightly, but it was a real task attempting to walk without the aid of a crutch to fall back on.

Variably, I took one step, and then another. It both excited and terrified me to the core, this lawlessness I was committing. Though I doubted prison would be the punishment for it, the reprimanding from Mme. Giry would be enough. Shuffling on I whispered lightly to myself, "Ce ne qui tue pas rend plus fort." I shook my head; whether it was true or not I knew pain would ensue if I were to be caught, never mind the others.

The night before Mme. Giry had dropped by the room we slept in. I came aware that this was a regular occurrence by the way she calmly strolled in without a sound; 'such the ballerina,' I thought. Her eyes seemed to glow in the darkness as she moved over each girl's bed before stopping over Meg's. With the others, even in sleep, the watch was fastidious as she straightened covers and pulled stray legs as well as arms back into beds with the shake of her head. Yet, while she loomed over Meg her finger did not itch to their scolding manner as they had done that morning in practice; they were soothing as they stroked her cheek.

Her manner remained that was when she finally came to me, and with a pinch of her finger dimmed my candle.

Just like that night, my clothes for the next morning had already been set out. To one side lay my practicing uniform, the other a light blouse with growing frays and worn cotton skirt. Grabbing the two quickly I bypassed the doorway and forced myself to the wall right outside. I had made it passed the first barrier. As quietly as possible I took off my nightgown, carefully checking that no peeking stagehands were lurking about. When my skirt was about midway to my knees I heard a shuffle behind me. Embarrassingly, my hands grabbed up the underside of the skirt as my head slowly its way to face a small gray mouse. Thankfully it seemed I had not made much noise and shooing the little beast away I finished dressing and reached the stairwell.

There, I saw Meg pattering frantically about the foyer. When our eyes beheld each other, I immediately saw her mother in her. She crossed her arms and shook her hear before she, in a half whisper, half hiss, called out to me. "What took you so long Christine? They about left us, you know. Come on!"

Hurryingly we ran out and met up with the others. Once my face glistened with the moonlight my mouth agape. I had lived among the French countryside all my life, and never had I seen such beauty in what Paris at night showed me. Sure, there were fewer stars to be seen, but each side street with its lamps yet to be put out created a whole new beauty to it. The older girls saw my wonder and scoffed at it. I figured that after a while beauty only becomes a recognizable sensation, something normal. I vowed right then to never grow tired of beauty and to never judge it.

Little less than an hour's walk and the glum, exhausted faces of the ballet brightened and some even clamored hurriedly down the cobblestone, forgetting their vow of silence. I closed my eyes once more picturing the circus as I had always dreamed it would be, but when I opened my eyes to find the dreary sight before my legs wobbled to a halt. There was no laughter about this place to me. A certain wind blew past me at that moment and like a silent scream finally being heard my eyes narrowed immediately and my fists clenched. For what ever reason I did not like this place and my situation one bit.

There were only gypsies here.

"Let's go back Meg. I—I'm not really up this after all. Perhaps I—"

"Perhaps you—are just a whining baby. Now c'mon, suck it up! How many times have you ever been to a fair before? I've been in this 'little' town my whole life, and I've never been. I've heard it's really un bon temps! Pleeease Christine... don't hold out on me now!"

After moments of starring aimlessly at the woven fibers of my shoes and contemplating the meaning of life, Meg's curious gaze brought me out of my stupor.

"Alright… I'll go." To myself I whispered, "I won't like it though."

It all felt worth the sickness in my stomach to see my newfound friend grin. She grabbed her hand in mine and dragged me along. The others had long gone behind a large decaying tent that made me divert my eyes and for some reason grab my chest in pain.

Meg glanced over at me curiously.

Waving my hand as if to pass off the need for any concern, I pushed the quaking feeling in my chest down and took her hand. Together we started walking and even my anticipation grew as we neared the slight echo of music. The coolness of the ground began to warm as we closed in on the heart of the gypsy fair. Then—just as we reached the pinnacle, the vibrant music stopped and the blazing fire lowered its light.

Man and woman and child who had been dancing around a huge fire, tambourine in hand, had filed out. All around, the clamor of voices signaled to everyone the main show was about to begin. Softly, a gristly old man began playing what looked like a small wooden flute with only two open airways. The sound was nothing less than eerie. Then a rhythmic drumming sounded, pacing the elaborate dancers as they slid once more into view. The clanging of bells was gone from their attire and the moved silently. Even Meg's eye was caught by such strange beauty and allure to their dance. It was rhythmic, smooth and alive, but saddened and stiff. One by one the dancers with their faces downcast performed what many would call magic as before our eyes different men and women appeared right among the crowd and walked forward to continue the dance. From across my view of the flame a large man, lean and towering what seemed four feet above the highest among the crowd appeared. From another portion of the crowd came the tiniest woman I believe I had ever seen. More and more appeared and I suspected there was one representative for each of the tents and shows among the fair. Still, one tent had been left unaccounted for

Scoffing at the show, and yet inwardly amused, I began to walk away from the spectacle when my path was stopped again, like with Raoul, only that time the haunting tune of a lone whistle did not draw my eyes upward instead of stubbornness. The instant we locked eyes I let loose a gasp as many others did, only I had done such for a different reason. Across what I could tell from the fire's glow an onyx mask covered his whole face, but all I could see were his golden eyes. They were fiery, and yet not with passion but a cold strength that hitched the breath within me. Claps from the dancers began as the dance came forth with life again. I was hardly aware that the boy before me was moving, even as he presented me with a rose and walked past me without a second look. He stood next to the fire and through the slow, enthralling movements, it seemed that he was the now the wielder of the music. I did not see what happened after that moment with the rose. I was still stiff and gripping the rose even after the music slowed. I Only become aware of what had happened when the strange added dancers went back among the places in the crowd, the boy with the mask, being the last. Standing just inches before my face in the last split moments he lunged forward and all I knew after that was a strange wetness on my lips and a warmth to my face I had never felt before. I couldnot say I disliked it, but nor could I say I enjoyed it. The event shocked me, but the warmth from my face would not die down. I did not know whom lay behind the mask, nor did he know the girl behind the sheepish expression, but he had kissed me. I knew better than to delve into the matter of 'the kiss,' after all—they were only gypsies weren't they? The pounding in my ears spoke otherwise.

The bonfire blazed normally again once more and footsteps of lanterns guided pathways back to the main roads. Meg found me again and we left together along with the many other ballet girls who had found their way out. All that remained on the site were a few glistening stars that only caused the girls around me to chatter more. I even once thought I saw the illuminated shadow of a certain Persian man watching our every move, but when I turned there was nothing. There was only the wisp of the opening flap to "Le Cirque de Horreur," and I turned my head quickly from that sight, not wishing to think of what lay within it. Instead I focused in on the wetness that still fell on my lips.

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Ce ne qui tue pas rend plus fort ... What does not kill you, makes you stronger

un bon temps ... a good time