CHAPTER RATING: PG

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Although the character's based on me, I don't have an overbearing father. Winifred's dad is an exaggeration of my friend's parents. Mrs. Bello- and Mr. Bello, although we don't really see much of him in the story- is that friend's parent that everyone should know. She's just kind of cool and understanding and will cover for you when you need it. You're willing to call her "friend" even though, officially, she's just your friend's mom. I've got a couple of "friends" like that.

"What are you doing?" asked Winifred's father as she neared the door to leave.

"Going for my lessons," she replied, "like every day."

"You look nice," her father told her, approaching her threateningly.

Winifred nervously touched one of her blonde locks of hair, which she now regretted curling. "Thank you," she said, avoiding his eyes.

"Too nice to just be going to lessons with Johnathan." He looked down his nose at her accusingly. Would he ever stop watching her?

"I just felt like looking nice today," Winifred lied. "Don't worry, father. Johnathan's a priest, remember?"

Her father looked sternly at her, she knew, for assuming that his thoughts were the worst, however correct those assumptions may have been. "Why do you have a bag?" he asked.

"Um, I thought I would show Madame Bello my new dress- the one grandmother gave me." Winifred was glad she'd thought things over ahead of time.

"Why would Madame Bello want to see your dress?" her father asked suspiciously.

Typical. She sighed, frustrated. "Father, you do not understand women."

At this, he smiled- the closest he ever got to a laugh. "Alright, you may go."

"Goodbye."

When Winifred closed the door behind her, she released the mental breath she'd been holding, and started down the street towards Johnathan's house. She hated lying, and wasn't very talented at it either. But if her father wasn't so restrictive, she wouldn't have to lie. He forced her to lie. There wasn't any way around it. Well, that's what Winifred told herself until she believed it to be true.

When she reached Johnathan's house, Madame Bello helped Winifred get dressed. In the carpet bag that she brought with her was a light blue semiformal dress and some of Winifred's mother's old jewelry.

As Madame Bello placed a silver chain with a tiny, simple cross around Winifred's neck, the older woman asked, "However did you find an instructor that would teach you for no cost?"

"Carlotta told me of some wonderful connections."

"Why all the fuss, though?" Madame Bello asked curiously. "You never worried so much about how you look for Johnathan." She giggled.

"I want to make a good impression, that's all," Winifred replied. "Also, I want him to know that I appreciate his generosity."

Madame Bello sighed. "If your mother was alive, you would never have this much trouble with your father- having to tiptoe around him and such." Then she laughed. "Marie had him wrapped around her little finger. You would have had your singing lessons at the mere mention of the interest."

Winifred looked at her mother's ring on her own hand. "Yes, well, it's all wishful thinking, though, isn't it?"

There was a pause, then Madame Bello said, "Winifred..."

"I'm fine," Winifred reassured her, looking up and smiling. "But I need to be going. Is the carriage ready?"

"Yes. Do you know how long you are going to be? So the driver knows."

"No, but don't worry about it. I have money for a cab to bring me back."

"Are you planning on taking a cab every day?" Madame Bello asked, concerned.

"No, but I'll think of something."

Once Winifred said goodbye to the Bellos, her carriage started off for the old operahouse. It had been a while since Winifred had seen the place, and when the carriage came upon it, she hardly recognized it. It wasn't burned down exactly, but charred and run-down. When she entered themassive building, she saw that the inside was almost completely blackened. Winifred, suddenly regretting having dressed herself in pastels, glanced around to see if the theatre was as deserted as it appeared and then gathered up her skirts so high that her legs were exposed. She then made her way down the isle littered with planks of wood and covered in old ash. Finally to the stage, she stepped lightly backstage and maneuvered her way through the rubble to the doorways on the back wall. When she finally reached what she believed to be Christine's old dressing room, almost no light shown through the holes in the battered wall outside the room. Winifred found a lamp on the vanity and, after several minutes of fumbling around in search for matches, she found some in a drawer of the vanity. Once the room was lit, Winifred gasped. Nothing in this room had been touched by the fire. Everything was intact, as if some heavenly or magical force had protected it. Then Winifred saw the mirror, and her heart jumped. This was it. But when she slid it back, all that lay beyond was a stone hallway. Strange, yes, but not what she was looking for. She followed the hallway to some steps that were lit with a few candles- a very few candles. There were actually enough candles there to light a cathedral, but so few were lit that Winifred could barely see where she was going. She sighed with relief when she reached the bottom safely, but felt her heart drop when her eyes fell upon what seemed to be a narrow lake. Then she saw a boat tied to the stone shore and a pole leaning against the wall. Who puts a lake under a theatre? she thought, annoyed. But, despite the ridiculousness of it all, she climbed into the boat. More stone, more darkness, more candles, only half of which were lit and nearly all melted to stubs, as if someone had stopped caring about them a long time ago. She pushed and pushed on the pole until she thought her arms would give out, then she finally came upon a gate. Before she could stop herself, the boat rammed into the gate and she fell suddenly forward, landing on her knees in the boat. When she got up, the front of her dress was covered in brown mildew. She grunted in frustration.

"Hello?" she called. "Is anyone there?"

No answer.

"Madame Giry sent me," she said.

Nothing.

Winifred sat down in the boat and took a closer look beyond the gate. Past the shore was chaos. Papers, clothing and toppled furniture were everywhere. A few mirrors lined the wall, all of which were smashed.

"Hello?" she called again. She kept having an impulse to call a name, but what name was she to call? Phantom? Yoo hoo, Phantom! She decided to just wait.

And wait.

And wait.

After a long while, it struck Winifred that several hours had probably gone by. She called out one more time and then gave up, picking up the pole and pushing off, discouraged and depressed.

It was dark by the time she returned to Johnathan's house, but her father wouldn't mind because she often would stay a long time after lessons to visit. She quickly changed back into her casual clothes. Madame Bello agreed to have the dress cleaned. Then Winifred went directly home and fell into bed. Sitting for hours on end was an exhausting activity.