Disclaimer: Don't own any of the original characters, Andrew Lloyd Webber, Joel Schumacher, and Gaston Leroux. I do however own Ella and a few other characters I throw in for flavor.

Summary: What if Christine were not alone when her father died? What if she had a sister, one who could not believe in childhood fairy stories or believe in the goodness and power of love? One who knew the Phantom and knew how dangerous he was to her sister.

Rating: PG-13

Author's Note: Well, since the DVD came out I finally decided to write that fic that's been haunting my mind since I saw the movie the first time. To any of those who are reading my other fics, I am working on Love's Foolish Light, so don't worry! The Point however…well I don't know, seems my muse hates me for doing that right now. Whatever….enjoy the fic and please review.

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Paris 1917

I promised I would not write this…Not the truth of it anyway. The promise was made to myself only, so in breaking it I will only be betraying myself, which I can do. I have been hurt and betrayed by so many, those who I love the most, that it is no great consequence now.

Christine is dead…I thought perhaps writing it would help me cope with it more…Writing has always done that for me, since father's death, maybe even before that. Christine had the opera and music, then her Angel. I had my broken smile and matching heart—

No! I will not write of that now. It is no consequence. I have forgiven…forgiven all, all but myself. He does not understand why I must write the truth, he sees that it only makes my grief greater and makes me wild with writing. He has forgotten, after all these years, that grief and sadness and silence were my dearest companions. I can only be the old Ella…the old new, happy Ella once I have written this completely.

You may have heard this tale before, many times, in many ways. You may hate me for writing this, but I swear it is the truth. The truth as I have known it. You may recall all those characters you have come to love so dearly…and may end up hating them for how they are painted. You may come to loves those you had once loved to loathe. I apologize now, for any pain that I bring to any. But I must write this.

You may think that I hate Christine Daae when you begin this, many already do. But how can I say…how can I show that she was once the only one who heard me in my darkness and solitude. That it was because of her naiveté and selfishness that led me to my heart's desire.

You see, Christine Daae was my sister. The oldest, by but 20 months. The favorite and golden one. The one with the voice of an angel and the soul of one too.

And I…the tolerated one. No gift for music or song. The child in the shadows.

Forgive me father…Christine…Raoul...Erik…and whoever else reads this sad story of the trials of the Daae sisters.

Sincerely,

Estella Daae

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Paris 1870

Ella Daae quickly made her way through the streets of Paris, head down, satchel hugged close to her body. Madame Cabot had offered to send for the carriage as always, and Ella had refused as always.

"It is but a short distance to the Opera house, Madame." When in truth it was over five blocks to the Opera Populaire. Ella did not mind the walk. No one bothered her; perhaps some were even frightened of her. Ella was quite tall for a girl of her age, even more than her older sister Christine, who was in the Opera's ballet. Ella stood a good 5 ft 7 and a half at least. Her legs were long and slender, as where her arms. Ella thought her arms looked freakish, too long, too bony. She always wore long sleeves or a cloak to cover them. Madame Giry said she would have been a perfect ballerina.

"Oh yes! The tall ogre would hava been great!" La Carlotta would scoff when she heard Madame Giry showing attention to Ella. "If not for the fact she hasa no musical obility!"

La Carlotta could not stand the site of Ella. She did not understand why Ella was aloud to live in the ballet dormitories if she was not a ballerina nor did she work for the Opera at all.

When their father had died, he had arranged for Madame Giry to take Christine to the Opera to live and work in the ballet. But what of little Estella?

"I shall not be parted from her!" Little Christine cried. "Oh papa! I have lost Mama and now am to lose you! Please do not let Ella be taken from me as well!"

Little Ella could hardly work in the ballet. She was clumsy and too tall, even then. True she was beautiful like her sister and their mother before her. She had dark hair and eyes like Christine, but where Christine's hair fell in soft curls, Ella's drooped in straight, thick strands. Where Christine's eyes seemed to always be filled with laughter and hope, Ella's were still and serious, sad for a child of her age. Ella could sing, but not well enough even for the chorus. And her shyness…it bordered on defiance. Whenever a knock came at the door she would run up to the attic and hide. Monsieur Daae had planned to have his younger daughter sent to an orphanage in Ireland, where she would be taught and looked after and perhaps someday become a governess.

But Little Lotte had screamed and wailed. They must not be parted! So an arrangement was made. Ella would come to stay in the dormitories with Christine. Madame Giry took soul responsibility of the child, like a second daughter, just like the other Daae was. She even found her the job reading to the partially blind, gentle Madame Pauline Cabot four days a week.

This is where Ella had been that very afternoon. The afternoon, at least to Ella, that started it all. As she made her way backstage, the cast was finishing a number from that night's production. Madame Giry nodded to Ella and smiled and Christine waved for her sister to come stand by her and Meg Giry. Ella shook her head, holding a finger to her lips; Monsieur Lefevre was making some commotion, asking for silence. Two other gentlemen were with him. Ella thought they looked like old fools, no place in an Opera house. And she was right…they were the new managers.

Oh, will not the Opera Ghost love this, she smiled to herself. And then her breath caught in her throat. "Raoul!" Christine gasped, just as Ella thought the name herself.

The new patron was Vicomte Raoul de Chagney. Ella could barely hear her sister explaining her history of herself and Raoul over the beating of her own heart. "I guess you could say we were childhood sweethearts." Ah, yes. It was always Raoul and little Lotte, with Ellie trailing behind.

"Come on, Christine, the sun will be down completely by the time we reach the cliff!"

"We must wait a bit…Estella cannot manage as quickly nor as gracefully as us."

"Come, come, little Ellie!" The young boy turned and smiled at the gangly girl, as she once again slipped in between the rocks. "Do you wish for me to carry you?" Ella's eyes lit up. He had not even made that offer to Christine first! But it was quickly forgotten.

"Raoul! My scarf! It's blown away," her sister both laughed and shrieked at the same time.

As Raoul passed to exit the Opera, Meg and Christine looked after him with disappointment. "He didn't see you," Meg tried to comfort her friend.

Ella almost burst out laughing at this. Not notice Christine! It must be some strange miracle! For surely she was the only Daae that anyone noticed…ever.

"Vicomte de Chagney, this is my daughter Christine…"

"She is very lovely, Monsieur, is she not Raoul?" Philippe de Chagney smiled.

"Papa, you forgot to introduce Ella!"

He had not really forgotten though, it didn't want to be reminded of her, his youngest child. The one he blamed for taking his sweet wife from him too soon.

"It was not your fault, Estella," Christine told her time and again. "Mama was very weak after my birth." Ella did not care. She knew her father favored Christine and she did not care. She had become accustom to being alone. To always being in the background.

Ella snapped out of her reverie. Carlotta was throwing another tantrum. Something about dancing girls and costumes. The new managers were trying to butter her up by getting her to sing. It worked…Ella moved farther back stage and winced as Carlotta raised her voice.

Somebody, please kill her!

And as if somebody had heard her dark prayer, one of the backdrops fell, crushing the diva under it's weight. "The Phantom!" Meg gasped. Ella's eyes immediately went upward…but she could see nothing. Then Joseph Buquet stepped up and apologized for being absent. Ella turned away from the crude man's voice, and noticed something fluttering to the floor. A letter! She glanced around and quickly snatched it up. The envelope paper was plain enough, but when she turned it over a blood red skull look up at her. Ella's breathe caught again for the second time in less than an hour.

"Mademoiselle…" Ella turned to see Madame Giry standing behind her. "May I have that letter, Ella?" Ella only nodded and handed it to the older woman. Ella only half listened as Madame Giry read the greetings from the Opera Ghost to the new managers.

Since these…happenings had begun three years ago Ella had become fascinated with the idea of the Opera Ghost. She would sit up in the catwalk during the rehearsals whenever she got the chance, hopping to spot him. She never did that way. More often than not she would hurry off the catwalk because Buquet would come and accost her. She could take care of herself well enough, but even being within ten feet of that man made her sick.

But she had seen the ghost…or at least heard who everybody must have thought was the ghost. One night, a little over a year ago, she had left her satchel bag and writing folder on the stage by mistake. It was not until the next night that she realized where she must have left it…the stage. It was almost midnight, but she had already been a whole day with out her papers. What if someone found them? She would never get them back than, and worse yet, someone else might read them.

Ella quickly threw a robe over her nightgown and made her way back to the stage. It was completely dark and silent, but she was not afraid. She loved the darkness, she knew that now. It was the only time she did not have to feel guilty for being alone and for hating others. She saw her satchel and ran to it. The papers were not inside it, but had been resting on top of it, bundled neatly with a small black silk string around it. Suddenly it was not silent. A voice was singing….

No one would listen…No one but her heard as the outcast hears

She followed the voice to the small chapel. The voice came from behind the walls.

Shamed into solitude
Shunned by the multitude
I learned to listen
In my dark, my heart heard music

Ella strained to hear more, but with her clumsiness and there being no light, she knocked into a tall candle bra. The voice stopped. The tears that had formed in Ella's eyes spilled over for the loss of that voice. Please…she wanted to say, Please…keep singing! But he did not.

Ella knew now that that was the ghost. And that was not the only time she had heard they strange and beautiful voice. For it was that same voice that sang and instructed her sister nightly. There was no doubt in Ella's mind. The Phantom of the Opera was Christine Daae's Angel of Music.

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Right…first chapter over…second one on the way soon. Please R/R!