Disclaimer: I don't want to write this disclaimer for every chapter, so from henceforth, let it be know that Little Lotte and all subsequent Phantom of the Opera characters and objects do not belong to me!

A/N: To put this story in context, we may have been fooled by the pretty little fairy tale about Little Lotte, but to me it's simply a story of a woman's madness. And a madwoman in the 19th century did not garner sympathy from society. Just as it's not easy to understand the minds of the insane, I don't intend for it to be easy to understand what goes on through Lotte's mind. Her narration will be disjointed and convoluted, reflecting on how confused she herself is. Thus, this is not going to be an easy, straightforward, or literal read.

Part 1: Little Lotte

Upsala, Sweden, 1869

Though it had been less than a week since he last appeared in my dreams, I missed him, and when he came to me that night, once again, I was overjoyed. He came as he always does, a vague shadow, an indistinct shape. Nonetheless, I could never forget him. I always knew when he would come: a haunting tune would herald his presence, a sweet song of such beauty that it drove me mad, that even as I woke I remembered.

"Have you been practicing, child?" he said kindly to me.

I trembled, fearful of his reaction. "No, I have not…"

"Come along then, and listen…"

And then he sang! Such powerful, emotional music! I felt myself lose any traces of skepticism and doubt, and was swept away by the melody. In my dream, I wept at the sheer beauty of the tune.

"Did you enjoy that?" he said later. I nodded, speechless. "So long as you are willing to follow me, and me alone, you shall always hear me. Remember my music, Little Lotte!" said my Angel of Music as I woke up…

For a minute I laid in my bed, eyes squeezed shut. I could hear the storm, which had darkened the sky for a week now, rage violently on outside. Though I wanted nothing more than to return to sleep and see my Angel again, a small voice in my head told me I had things to do…

Slowly, I climbed out of the covers and opened my eyes. Darkness. No, not the deep gloom of midnight. The sky outside my window was navy. Dawn would approach soon.

Ever since I was a child, I had had these dreams of what I soon termed, "the Angel of Music." He would come to me in my dreams, and would sing to me wonderful, beautiful songs. And often before he left, he would tell me, "Little Lotte, be a good girl in the daylight! Hang up your frock, put away your shoes and violin, and take care of your doll!"

Upon waking I would usually sing, so consumed was I by the haunting melodies that remained in my head. I would pick up my violin and play the music I had heard, astonishing myself with the clarity and perfection I emitted.

And as I played and sang, I could not stop thinking. Thousands of questions and curiosities and wonders coursed through my mind.

Thoughts of evil: what made something evil? Was evil to me evil to you?

And sin: what was sin? Doing something wrong? Knowing you were doing something wrong?

Questions of morality: Who decided what was right and what was wrong? God? What about people who do not know God, yet still maintain systems of morality? Who is right? Is anyone "right"?

Even as a small child, I thought about such things. If it could be thought of, I thought of it. I thought of everything…

I took my Angel seriously when he instructed me to take care of my belongings. I would obsessively hang my frock onto its hanger, arrange and rearrange my shoes, place and replace my violin in its case. Seven times I did each of these things; I was so worried that my Angel should find my items disarrayed! Then afterwards I would take my doll down from its shelf. I would comb her hair, and straighten her clothes, and shortly afterwards, in the shadows of the early morning, I would hear her speak to me.

That was how my parents often found me: sorting through my belongings, or talking to my doll, or singing, or playing, or thinking. My parents, far from being pleased with these developing oddities, took me promptly to see a doctor. Yet in the daylight, in the brilliant beams of the morning and afternoon, I found my mind wandering till I thought of nothing! I became the carefree, thoughtless child everyone is at that age!

"Charlotte, where do you get such ideas from?" the doctor had asked me kindly. I remember he was fairly young, with a mustache, slick, combed-back hair, and a clean, neat suit.

"Ideas? What ideas?" I repeated, puzzled.

"Ideas of sin… of evil… Who is telling you these things?"

"I don't understand! What are you talking about? Please, sir, can't I go now? I want to play in the sun!"

In the end, the doctor informed my parents that it seemed that in the daylight, my demons disappeared, and he advised them to let me spend as much time outside in the sun as possible.

I remember, that though I loved most going to sleep at night to be with my Angel of Music again, it was the trees, the grass, the meadows, the ponds, the sun, the sky – nature that I loved as well! I loved the summer, and I loved climbing trees. Upon reaching the top, I would imagine I was a bird, soaring through the sun's rays and the sky, free from the confinement of this world. It was up in the trees, so close to the sun that I felt my soul was clear, that I could be free.

That was how I lived my life. Even as I grew up, I maintained this lifestyle. I knew that at this age of eighteen, any eccentricities I might display, no matter how reasonable they might seem to me, would not go tolerated by the rest of society. (Just think of how many potential suitors would be frightened away by my fancies!) So I made it a secret. I made sure to sing only when I was certain I was alone, to talk to my doll quietly, to sort through my belongings without drawing attention to myself.

But this morning…

This early morning, my parents were away! Only a few days ago they had gone north for a week for a funeral for a cousin on Papa's side. I did not know this cousin, but Papa knew him, and Mama wanted to accompany Papa for Papa's sake. Papa, however, thought I was too young to remain alone in the house for a week. They fussed and argued, but in the end Papa was simply too grief-stricken to engage in prolonged argument, and Mama won.

Secretly, I was pleased with the outcome. It was absolute freedom for a week, or even longer! Freedom! I did not need to wear my good dresses all the time or fix my hair nicely or any of the other rubbish so many ladies must deal with. I could sing as loud as I wanted, speak freely of anything, and talk to my doll as long as I wished.

So today I sang boldly, thinking about how this world defined madness. I folded my favorite frock, arranged and rearranged my red shoes, and straightened and placed and replaced my violin seven times each. Finally, I took down my beloved doll from her shelf. I straightened her tangled, dirty hair, smoothed the wrinkles and dust out of her faded frock, and sat her down in front of me. Presently, I heard her speak.

"Lotte, why don't you leave me alone? I like my hair and frock messy!"

"You mustn't say that! My Angel of Music would be so angry if I were to neglect you like that!"

"Why do you care what he thinks? If you obey him, you simply reinforce his expectations! Don't you hate putting away your frock, and your shoes, and your violin? It's such a bother to clean up all the time! If you don't want to do something, don't do it! Don't let him whip you in to his slavery! You need a mind of your own!"

I laughed. My little doll, who had no brain, was telling me to use mine!

"You may laugh, Lotte, but I don't have to do all that you do! I am frozen in place here, I cannot walk or run or skip as you do, yet I have more freedom than you will ever have!"

I stared at my doll. She had faded over the years. Her blonde curls were now a pale yellow; her blue eyes were foggy; a large chunk of her nose had chipped away; her lips, previously cherry red, were now a dull pink. Her light skin had turned into the color of parchment, spoiled by the dust, and her brilliant red frock was now a dirty gray, soiled by dirt and bleached by sunlight. Yet her mind – if you call could it that! – was as bright as ever, and still did not fail to trouble me with its cryptic warnings. Many times she had said this to me, and yet I still could not understand her meaning. How could a doll, an inanimate object, be freer than I? It was ludicrous!

Suddenly, I heard a muffled wailing outside. I froze at the sound of it. It was a chilling sound, the sound of a starved, dying being. Who could be outside now in this storm?

Hurriedly, I stood up and set my doll back onto her shelf, and ran out of my room. As I made my way down the hallway, the wailing grew louder. Finally, I approached the parlor, and I could hear the wailing from outside the door.

Did I dare open the door this night? What if… What if it were the Angel of Music? Who said the Angel of Music was not a real creature? Any being that came to me so vividly and so often had to be real! Truly he must be-

And even if it were not an Angel, once I discovered the source of the crying, I should probably be obliged to take it in. Most likely it was a beggar, and once you saw one, it became your duty to help it. What a tiresome duty that would become! It would never leave you, and would always expect food and clothing and shelter from you! And then one day, should you fail to provide for it, it would cry and pout and run out into the storm and become a beggar again, after all of the hard work you had put into it! Beggars were nothing but trouble, a hindrance to society!

But no, they could not help the state of being they found themselves in, could they? They were merely a result of society's ills, of society's mistreatment and mistakes. If society had made ways to help them, had educated them, had supported them, they could have succeeded! I could hardly blame them for their-

Or worse yet, what if it was a… a murderer! A kidnapper! A criminal crying wolf in an attempt to lure poor lambs such as myself out! What would it do upon finding a lone lady in her nightgown? Any number of things! Extortion, rape, murder, kidnap, torture, molestation, pillage, execution-

My mind whirled in the possibilities, of all of the scenarios and situations I might find myself in. The wailing grew louder, and I could not stop myself from thinking! I must decide! I must stop thinking!

No, it would never do to open the door! I was all alone this stormy night! I could not expect Papa to come to my rescue if trouble should ensue! It would be irresponsible of me to let anyone into this house! And besides, Mama and Papa had expressly told me never to let anyone in the house! I should stop thinking and go back to bed!

With every intention to return to bed, I found that my hand had already opened the door to let in the swirling wind and torrents of rain.