A French playwright is seeking to Opera Populairé hoping they will act out her play. From the darkness the phantom watched this stranger's long-term ambition unfold before his eyes… Recovery is the easy part, taking the first step will be crucial: Written in blood, sealed with a rose.

Reviews are greatly appreciated; flames are accepted.

Disclaimer: I do not own the razzle, dazzle of the Phantom of the Opera. Enjoy the story!

Chapter 3: "Let the show begin…"

"I don't know why you've brought us back here…" Firmin said walking into the dimmed lobby.

" I have someone I want you to meet." Madam Giry said leading them.

"If it's him, I won't have it!" André stopped in mid-step.

"It's not who you think of, monsieur. I assure you."

"The theater is no longer under our control, what do--" Firmin said taking in a huff of air, making him look taller.

"If I remembered correctly, you still have the claim in your possession, sir." Madam Giry turned to look at the two gentlemen. The two managers looked at each other with utter ignorance of not giving in, "Please gentleman. Right this way…" Giry started walking again.

"This is unbelievable, I will not have this!" Firmin mumbled as he walked beside the smaller man. Through all of his rage, and fury, he wonders who wanted to see him. He was no man of great importance. And come on, Gilles André, he's in the junk business!

They stopped at the two large doors, which led to Célestine's temporarily quarter. "She's right in here." The two men moved, "I don't advise you to go in at this moment…"

"And why not?" André flustered, aggravated.

"If I remember correctly, this is still our theater, and we can do anything w--" As he pulled the door opened, it seems like time had frozen in place. André let out of loud gasp. The sight wasn't what they hoped to see in the early morning.

Célestine was perched over the chair trying to reach for her shirt. Her back was exposed to them; she was not wearing her corset or a chemise.

Wide-eyed, scared, Célestine clutched her bare chest, and let out a loud scream.

Firmin pulled the door close with a loud thud. Both of the men were flushed with a great color.

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

Pulling out a handkerchief, André wiped the sweat off his nose, "Who was that woman?"

"That gentlemen, is your spark to a new beginning."

"What?"

"Célestine De Lorme, a playwright--"

"What a playwright wants with us?"

"She has an offer you can't refuse, monsieur "

"What is this rubbi-" The larger manager was stopped by the doors, which flew with great reflex that it collided into the wall, frightening them both.

"I'm so sorry, gentlemen. I didn't know you would be here so early. I would have woken up much earlier! I'm such a lazy person…" Célestine said as she fumble with her wrinkled ascot.

"I think w-we're the ones who owe you an apology, mademoiselle." André blushed again.

Célestine's cheeks also flared with a great color, "N-no problem monsieur … It was my fault entirely. I should have locked the door." She shook her head softly, clearing her throat, "Well shall we?" Céles propped the door opened again, the furniture were arranged in a meeting atmosphere, with the warm feeling of the fire that glowed brightly easing the tense air.

Firmin, and André walked into the room, setting themselves comfortably, side by side, on the couch.

"I'll go get you some coffee." Madam Giry said turning to leave the room.

Erik never considered himself as a heavy sleeper. The muffled scream of Célestine voice had awoken him up from his dreamless slumber. Last night's events still hung heavily in his head. It seems like that woman has some powers over him. She made his knees weak with just one look of her. Erik felt like a little boy who has fallen in love for the first…second time.

He tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes. But it would not disappear. This was the first time in his life he'd felt tired to the point of extreme. Erik slumped down onto the soft pillow again. He hated himself so weak

The dimmed candlelight seems to burn endlessly without him caring, or not; he stared at it, hoping God will play a hand and show him what to do, say, or even act at a time like this. His heart was in pieces. Christine was the glue that could mend his broken heart. Death was the only solution he can think of.

The phantom sat up slowly from his reclined position. He still wonders, why is he still lingering around here? Is he really expecting for Christine to appear out of nowhere, running back to his embrace, crying, and asking for his forgiveness of her being so foolish of picking Raoul?

Self-pity.

Or is it that God is shedding his love and pity on Erik and have thrown Célestine De Lorme, a country writer to the steps of the opera house for him—to him.

But no high-class lady like her wants to fall in love with a myth. Then again, she might be different. She might like strange new things—wait, what? Erik had almost slapped himself across the head to bring himself out of his fantasies.

Nearly half pass nine, and not a peep from anyone. Maybe it was a sign of another perfect day…

"What?"

"A score, don't you have one?"

"This is an opera house; singing, dancing, prancing around the stage. An opera needs a score."

"But my play is not meant to be an opera."

"Then we cannot act it out."

"Why? It's a play, and this is a theater."

"And I wonder why they've named it Opera Populairé…" Firmin said sarcastically.

"It's an opera theater, darlin'--"

"But a theater nonetheless!" the writer was a needlepoint away from loosing her sanity.

"An opera theater, woman!" Firmin has finally lost his patience with the girl.

"We can turn it into an opera…" André said, trying to not crush the dreams of the young playwright, and her first big break.

"But, composing a score and twisting the words into lyrics can take weeks, let alone months!"

"Monsieur Reyer is quite talented."

"But sir, composing an unnecessary part is time consuming. We have to fix the theater, which my family will provide all the money needed, rehearsals, and composing… It's too long. For me at least."

"Patience!" Firmin burst again.

"Why not try something new, it's quite close to the turn of the century…"

Firmin stood up, "Now listen to me little lady, if you wish to have this production be shown to the public. You shall do things our way. Listen to our advice! The longer you talk about all of this boredom, it's keeping me from my morning croquet match!"

Célestine looked at him with the utmost disgust, "Sir, I do not mean to keep you away from your already busy schedule. If you would agree to some of the things…"

"Listen to me again!" Firmin pushed her back down onto the chair; "You can not seduce me into any agreement with your beautiful brown hair, and sophisticated style and manner. You're very beautiful, I doubt not. But, we shall do things our way! Reyer is composing, and directing this play with you helping. Final! Fin! The End!" Firmin placed his hat on his head, and stepped out of the room. Leaving a fear stricken girl planted in her seat.

"You have to forgive him. He's a bit jumpy about coming back to the theater," André stood up also. "I guess it settles it then, Mademoiselle De Lorme. Hope to see this one to its successful end." Célestine looked up weakly, giving his hand a gentle shake.

"T-thank you, sir." Was all she can utter.

A quarter till three, and the Girys were nowhere in sight. Célestine sat in the middle of the stage overlooking the whole theater. The tattered curtains lay helplessly on the ground. Even though this place is on the verge of collapsing, it still holds a majestic aurora. It'd give the young writer a feeling of content to be in a place as mysterious as this.

Erik rummaged through a cabinet, hoping Giry had left something for him. Nothing. There was an old box of crackers. But fearing for his health, Erik closed the door with a thud. He cursed sharply as he heard his stomach growled, begging for food.

"—But she has a beauty that no one can replicate," the voice changed to a lower tone, as if a man was talking. "She is a maid! She has no status in this world of ours!" Erik listened to the voice again. The pitch heightens, "Papa, papa, I do not mind. Truly, I want to work for Monsieur Charpentier!" The tone of the voice lowered again, "But Aimee, I can not allow--" The voice cut itself off, replacing it with an imitation of another character. "Hand her over now!" The phantom moved through the labyrinth of the theater cautiously heading towards the stage. He pushed the dust-covered curtain away reveling the source of the voice.

Célestine was acting out her own play for an invisible crowd of people. He crossed his arms comfortably waiting her to finish. His eyes watched her walking back and forth portraying numerous of characters that Erik can't tell if it was either a man or a woman. But no matter, this play of hers sounds better on stage than on paper.

To the watching phantom's surprise, Célestine plopped backwards onto the stage still speaking the lines from her play. Erik had to fight back the urge to run out and catch her. Her shrilling hysterical laugh snapped himself out of his shock. This woman is crazy! He watched her roll around the stage, catching dust to her dress.

The sound of clapping stopped her from her madness and made Céles look towards the dark figure.

Stupid Erik! Why did you clap for her? Erik fought his conscious from walking out into the light reveling him self and hopefully scaring the woman back into her madness from seeing a ghost.

"Madame Giry? Meg?" the woman stood up slowly scanning her eyes between the folds of the curtains. The dark figure did not move.

Once again, this stranger pushed the phantom into an uncomfortable corner that Erik had to dig himself out of, "who's there?" Célestine pressed on.

Battling her fear that was stirring in the pit of her stomach, she moved towards the retreating figure. "Please, wait up!" Not letting the person to run from her reach, Célestine pursued after Erik.

The phantom knew that she was right behind him. He made a quick turn hoping he can loose her.

Right after him, she followed his steps. Without seeing a free lying hook, her dress caught on it. Preventing her to pursue him any further. Céles cursed loudly as she tried to wrangle the folds of her dress from the hook. "Come back!" She screamed again.

Distracted as he looked back at the struggling playwright, Erik tripped over a fallen candleholder and once again, banged his head against the floorboards.

Two times in one life, he thought painfully to himself.

Somehow Célestine managed to catch up to the run away phantom, turned him over and straddled him. Her lush green eyes looked at him curiously.

"Why did you run away?"

Unable to answer her, he shrugged his shoulders.

"That's not an answer!" She snapped.

"I'd left something on the stove…" Erik said slowly, mentally hitting himself for making up such a stupid answer.

"You're lying!" Célestine yelled again. This woman was not as innocent as she seems to be. In fact, she was down right scary. "Who are you?"

"An old patron of this theater." The playwright narrowed her eyes at him.

"What's with the mask? Expecting a masquerade?" She pushed on, not trusting him.

"Yes I am." Erik was getting irritated and the weight of her body grew even more with every passing moment. "Mademoiselle, as you can see, your legs are still between my torso and I'm in quite an uncomfortable position." The phantom snarled at her. She won't budge.

"What an old patron doing here? Don't you know the theater is close?"

"I should be asking you the same question." He expressed coldly.

"I'd asked you first, smart aleck!" Célestine tighten her thighs against the side of his legs, preventing him to run away… again. As Erik struggled to storm up an answer, the woman took the time to memorize the stranger's handsome features.

His gray-blue eyes stared at her with the utmost disgust, while his noble brows pressed together giving her an angry look. Since half of his face was covered with the ridiculous white mask, she could not see his whole face. But nonetheless, the left side of his face was as mesmerizing as it could be.

Before he got the chance to answer, Madame Giry's voice could be heard faintly from the other side of the theater. Meg's soft laughter followed her mother's sentences.

Taking his chance, Erik pushed himself off the floor; scaring Célestine sending her flying towards the floor, butt first, a few inches away from their original position. The phantom made a run for it before the Girys could catch him with the playwright.

"Ah, Mademoiselle De Lorme, your carriage--"

Madame Giry's sentence was cut short by the rapid pointing gestures of the woman. "Please tell me you saw him!"

"Saw who madam?" Meg said stepping to stand beside her mother. There was only one him she could think of.

"The gentlemen! He was wearing a white mask as if he was going to a masquerade ball!"

"What did he do to you?" Madame Giry mumbled roughly, kneeling down next to Célestine. Examining her petticoat making sure there was no trespassing hand that had snaked up her thigh. "Did he touch you?"

"Well…" Célestine took a moment to organize her thoughts. "I straddle him."

"What!"

"No, no, not like that. Heavens no! Sexual intentions outside of a marriage bed are prohibit! You should know that… Well, anyways, he'd appeared out of nowhere, when I turn to look at him, he ran away. I was curious, so I chased after him. I'd straddled and negotiated the stranger. Then, you came back and he took off again!" The woman paused for a moment. Meg and her mother exchanged glances. "He was quite a fine gentlemen…" Céles said semi-consciously in a dreamy tone.

Meg let out a soft giggle.

It was a week from the humiliating incident. Both of the two encounters could not forget what had happened. But Célestine was able to drop the thought faster than Erik since she has numerous of things she had to pay attention to.

One, after countless of begs and promises, Célestine was able to persuade her father to pitch in some money to help repair the Opera Populairé.

Second, Célestine had to think off a way to get the Theater Company and audiences to come back to the theater.

Third, She had to find out who that lovely gentlemen she had encounter last week was.

Fourth, find a construction team.

Fifth, go to the bathroom.

Célestine took residence in the main dressing room enabling her to have access to the whole theater with Madame Giry by her side. Mousier Reyer, who had refused to come back to the theater at first, turned out to be a genius after all. The young playwright had only encounter him once, but they were able to get a ton of things done.

Knowing Célestine, who has no musical or artistic abilities what so ever, was not much of a big help to Reyer. She sounds like a dying chicken if she tries to sing. She was bound to launch the bow if she tries to play any string instrument. And don't even bring up the piano. But with Reyer's help, she was able to hum out the melody of the songs enabling her to twist her script into lyrics for the song.

Célestine lay down on the floor; her long legs were resting comfortably in between mounds and mounds of paper. Mousier Reyer had just left, another successful session. But they were nowhere near the finish line. She was clueless about music, let alone, composing it. She let out an exhausted sigh. Meg was sent to fetch some supplies for their dinner tonight and Madame Giry was in her quarters, cleaning, reading, or whatever she does in her free time. Perhaps, practicing ballet.

The distressed playwright craned her head backwards to look at the large mirror behind her.

A crack? She thought, rolling over to get a better look. She cocked her eyebrows together, standing up to observe her new find.

"It is a crack…" She whispered as she ran her hand over it. There was enough space for her to slip the tip of her fingers into the opening. To her surprise, the mirror pushed aside like a door. A cool blast of musky air hit her face; the stench was wet and heavily humid. She looked through both sides of the mirror and found out that it was tinted so darkly; she can barely see her hand pressed from the other side. "So if there's a peeping tom… I won't know a thing about it." She whispered slowly to herself.

What's in the heaven's name? Is this how the theater crew get the kick out of their days? Peeping on un-expecting ladies as they dress for their performances? She thought harshly to herself as she walked forward into the dark pathway.

With the darkness cloaking her eyes, she ran right into an arm, holding a candleholder. Célestine let out a small shriek at sight. With "things" blocking her path, she had to crawl beneath them to get to the other side.

The curious girl had more walking to do. The lane was dimly lit with one or two candles. Giving her barely enough light to make it down the shallow steps leading down the path.

Sound of dripping water made her think she had hit the sewage canals. But there was no bitter scent in the air. She looked down at the stagnant water carefully. The green water gave back a wavering reflection of her disgusted expression. Wanting to find out what's at the end of the canal, she jumped into the water. Céles could feel her boots were filling up with water, making it harder for her to move. She groaned in annoyance and had made a difficult decision of abandoning her boots so she can move through the dimmed water easily. The water level immediately went from knee height to mid-thigh almost up to her hips. She continued to slosh through the water.

The beautiful architectural design of this watery labyrinth gave her a wave of amazement. Even underground, the majestic appeal of the opera house continues.

Deep in thought, Célestine lost her footing for a minute and fell into the water. She emerged from under, adding a splash of colorful metaphors while she was at it. Her whole body was drenched with the disgusting water; the blouse stuck onto her skin, her hair fell limply around her face and the makeup ran slightly from the edge of her eyes. Today was not her lucky day. She wiped her eyes with her fisted hands and continued down the watery path, limping as she went.

It has never fail to amaze the curious traveler that creepy alleys and crevasses gave her the most comfortable feeling that she can't even get from her own family. Célestine was known to be a big fan of gothic romance novels and dark poems that would give any regular readers chills for days.

Since young, only her lone father raised her. Mme. De Lorme died of childbirth and she didn't even have the chance to see the wailing infant, begging to be held correctly instead of being held by the feet, dangling upside down like she was a dead chicken. Sir De Lorme had done nothing but fed his child with the best of the best. He had different tutors to teach the young prodigy different subjects. He'd always thought that music was a waste of time, so he did not allow Célestine to be near anything that involves music. Though in secrecy, one of her tutors taught her how to waltz, thinking it would come in handy during one of her father's parties and balls. But she has other things in mind; the young girl took a large interest in composing stories and poems and became the playwright she is today. No. The playwright she is going to become.

Célestine looked towards the flickering reflection of a horde full of candleholders. The rocky walls were eroded by the water creating a sort of cave, housing an… organ, was it? Her eyes were playing tricks on her. Reaching underwater into her pocket, she pulled out the monocle and peered through it. It is an organ! Célestine dared to move deeper into the hidden music conservatory. Was this a part of the opera house? Is it a secret dormitory for a singer? No! An artist, there were nothing but drawings tacked up on the frame of broken mirrors surrounding the room. Then he or she must be a musician also. There were music sheets lying lifeless on the floor and a cello perched against a stool that looks as if it was going to fall over at any moment.

There was not a sign of a living person any where in this cavern. Well, a few, a half eaten apple on the table. The wax was still boiling above a torch of light that was heating it and fresh rosin on the strings and bow. Célestine took careful steps as she tried to climb up the rocks to a more steady ground. She had lost her footing once again and fell back into the water. The monocle slipped from her eyes and disappeared into the foggy water.

The loud splash of water made Erik look up from his daydream. It can't be a rat, a rat don't make that kind of sound; it was too loud and heavy as if it was a person. Erik lifted himself out of his thoughts and walked out towards the canal. He, indeed, saw a person. It was a woman, not just any woman, but the demanding and scary playwright from before.

He had thought that she was a bit rough on the edges that needed to be smooth out. She did not have the pleasant and graceful facial features that Christine has, but it was more determined and mature in her own unique way. Her manners were well etiquette; her accent was heavy and thick as if she was Irish, perhaps Scottish, which blends perfectly with the soft tones of her voice. He watched the woman struggle in the water, angry at her mistake.

"What are you doing here?" He bellowed, realizing that she was in his dreadful delirium.

"Trying to discover what's at the end of the rabbit hole…" He knew that her remark was related to Lewis Carroll's Alice's adventures in wonderland.

Erik watched her try to climb onto the rock that serves as a platform for his belongings. He walked down the rigid steps slowly. As she finally managed to settle herself firmly on her two feet, dripping wet with water.

"That's not an answer…" Repeating the same remark that she'd said to him. The distance between them was unbearable for him. He felt as if he wanted to strip her down and warm her with his own embrace.

Stop it, Erik! His mind yelled at him.

She knew very well that he was mocking her. "Well, it is for me." She paused as she looked at the sketches near her hand. "Is this… where you live?"

"As a matter of fact, yes." The phantom replied coolly.

"It's beautiful." The words seem to flow out of her mouth and slap him full force against his.

He had expected something more along the lines of either: oh my god! You're the phantom! Stay away from me! Or how can you live in such an isolated place like this? Nothing. There was a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she stared at a sketch of something resembling closely to her own face. Erik made a swift move, pulling the sketch from the tack, hiding it behind his back. She ignored his gestures and continued deeper into his home, trespassing his façade. As she passed by him, he grabbed her wrist to restraint her from going any further. But to his surprise, she did not try to pull away from his grip and stopped in front of stool, acting as if he didn't grab it.

How can she be so calm about these things? He asked himself as he observed her.

He wanted to yell at her to leave him. His mouth opened, but his conscious did everything to keep the retched words back. He wanted to hang her for her neck for trespassing. He wanted to kill her slowly and painfully making her feel the same pain that he went through.

One side of him was yelling out, "She's making a mockery of your life! Hang her from fingers until they snap off!" But the other was just glad that there's a female presence, making him comfortable and free of fear.

Her mellow words draw out slowly, "You composed this?" She said picking up the sheet. Crimson petal was the name. She knew it was for her "opera" since the lyrics were closely related to her script. Erik managed a soft yes. "For the opera?" For this question, there was no reply.

She seems like a different person from the one who had straddled him, demanding an answer for his wandering. "Can you play it for me?" She turned slightly to him, hoping for a silent nod. None.

After a moment, he shook his head no.

"Why not?" He didn't reply but let go of her wrist and moved passed her towards his "bedroom".

Célestine watched him retreat into him own sanity. She has a hunch that he was the phantom of the opera. Who else would live down here? She was not much of a religious person even though she has been to many services in the past. So she did not believe in superstitions of ghosts and ghouls like her family does. But for some reason, she was not scared of his presence. Actually, the mask gave him a sex appeal and she thought he was utterly handsome in it.

Setting the music sheet down to its original position, she retreated back to the place where she had started. Erik walked out again when he heard the splash of water.

"You can take a dryer path back to your residence…" His voice was low and melancholy.

"I'll take the same way I came. Knowing me, I would get lost and die down here."

"I'll take you."

"No, no don't bother." She was near the entrance. "I envy your artistic and musical abilities. The picture you brutally pulled from the mirror was beautiful by the way." Erik did not answer her comment, but he could feel a pang of happiness surge through his body. "Thank you." And with that small comment, she disappeared behind the large wall that acts as the support beam for everything in his little world beneath reality.

Third chapter is here! The school is just a hassle and I have no time to think of new ideas. To me, this chapter sounds cheesy. But I'll let you be the judge.

First, I had a difficult time of writing this chapter. I had to keep the words in the time era. (SMART ASS was not one of them, so smart aleck was close enough)

Second, I don't think Erik has a cello. But just for the sake of the story, there's a cello. Cello has a deep, melancholy and very mysterious sound, not to mention sexy.

Third, I had tried to make Erik as cold as he can be. Why wasn't Célestine scared of the phantom? Célestine and Christine have a big age difference, and the maturity level differed greatly. If you'd noticed, people who are not much of a religious person, they don't believe in silly superstitions and can handle more creepy things like ghosts, bad luck, or whatever.

Finally, sorry for the slow update…

Reviews are greatly appreciated.