A/N: Yikes! It has certainly taken me a while to update. I blame that on my inexcusable laziness. But anyway, thank you so very much for all of your wonderful reviews. It makes me really glad to know that there are people still reading this crazy story of mine. There are only about 3 more chapters left to this crazy story after this one, so thank you for all of your support. :)

Thank you so very much to Erik and singforme for beta-reading and helping me work out the inconsistencies in this chapter.

So, this is the Opera House Henri manages. Or, rather, this is the fifth cellar beneath it. Dare I complain? In some ways, it is an improvement from the attic. True, it is darker – far, far darker, with only the rat-catcher to bring a little light as he passes through the cellars. There are no windows to let in what light may enter -- neither sun nor moon to show the passing of time. Those dratted shades are still there, lurking upon the walls, and though I kick at the corners where they group, I still cannot destroy them.

Yet, in some ways, it is an improvement. Time has no meaning, making the time I remain under the earth more bearable to endure. There is a fantastic lake to observe, lapping upon the shores of the cellars. Though I rarely see Henri, only once in what I assume are a couple of days to bring me food, I see more people wandering about to and fro in the darkness than I ever did in my attic. They are the Opera House staff, such as the stage hands and door-shutters. It is wonderful to see people once again.

In fact, to help pass the time, I have made it a game to see how long I can hide in the shadows, just a shade within the shade, observing them without them noticing my presence. At first, I was loud and clumsy, and when I captured their attention, they would look then turn away, as if embarrassed to see me. After learning my way around however, I no longer am a cause for embarrassment, for they rarely detect I am there.

Perhaps one of the most wonderful things about my new home is that I am free to wander where I wish. Certainly, it is eternally dark, but after all, being immersed in darkness for any length of time results in an adjustment to the dark. Thus; the darkness is hardly a matter of complaint anymore. I am free to explore the cellar as I wish, and have learned to navigate the maze-like cellar without anxiety or stress.

So, really, all in all, the situation is far more advantageous than ever before!

"Now, Charlotte," said Henri when he first delivered me to this cellar after I so rudely intruded upon his privacy and the maid's. "This is to be your new… room. I understand that it is terribly lonely in the attic, and so I thought, 'Well, why not let Charlotte stay at work with me, where I spend all of my long hours?' We'll be in closer contact now, darling, isn't that wonderful?"

"Splendid," I remarked, surveying the darkness abroad.

"But, listen, Charlotte. You are not to leave this cellar at any time, do you understand?" admonished Henri sternly.

Henri listed quite a few reasons why I should remain in the fifth cellar and not go exploring the other four, but I hardly listened, for there was really no reason to leave. I know that to leave this cellar means risking losing this newfound freedom. Returning to the world above means returning to the world of double standards, of rules, of societal demands. Down here, however, I rule myself.

Of course, my new home could hardly be real in its perfection. It was only a little bit later that my home became more real, for there was one major drawback: the song.

That haunting, maddening tune that once in a while drifts its way to my ears, stopping me in my tracks to listen. It is beautiful, in a way, like my Angel of Music's song, but dangerous, too. It is horrible, really, because when I hear it I cannot stop myself from stopping to listen. It is something that I cannot ignore, something that controls me.

Otherwise, this cellar really is a pleasant place to reside in!

I met with the Siren one day.

Yes, that is his name. At least, that is what he calls himself. The Siren. It is a fitting name, considering that it is his melodious, controlling voice that will bring my downfall, that will lure me into oblivion. I already know that.

That day I heard his song once again, as I have since I arrived here. But it did not remain a far-off, distant melody. This time … it was in my ears. In my head. Encircling me, entrapping me! Closer, closer…

There was a movement in the darkness, a shade moving within the shade, that swept by. I needed to move… but...

Such promises made by this song! Comfort, strength, courage…

And suddenly a lasso was around my neck and I was straining to breathe.

For a moment – and with death imminent, time most certainly had meaning then! – I struggled for a breath… a small breath of air… and they came.

"Good day, Madame Poligny," said that voice… the singing voice. I had started at hearing my formal name spoken. Who was this? How did he know my name? The voice chuckled, and said, "It would not bode well for you to struggle so. Every twitch means a little less air."

I held my silence.

"…Yes, I see that you have entered my cellar, Madame," the voice continued. It sounded amused, nonchalant, almost bored, as if strangling a person was a habitual thing. "And normally, I would kill you straightaway. But it seems that it is what your dear husband wishes me to do. It seems that was his sole purpose in locking you down here. Monsieur Poligny should know by now that one does not manipulate the Siren."

The Siren. I thought it to be a curious name. Fitting.

"No, Madame, I will not stand to be ordered around. And besides, a promise is a promise, and I did promise not to kill. Another murder would draw too much attention. Bad business for me and for your fool of a husband and his partner. What am I saying, you have no idea what I speak of. That is all right. There is only one thing that I wish for you to know."

I had gagged as the rope around my neck drew tighter.

"This is my domain, Madame Poligny, and mine alone. You still live because I have had the good grace to let you. You see? I need only to draw this lasso tighter –" here he demonstrated by pulling the rope around my neck tighter yet – "and you would be dead. But the Siren is merciful," and here the Siren snickered, "and, what's more, the Siren feels – what is it? – pity for you! Yes, Madame Poligny, poor mad creature as yourself, you cannot help that you do not understand…

"I will help you here, but you must help me first. Do you understand?"

The rope had lifted itself off my neck, and I collapsed to the ground, and simply breathed, relishing the air around me.

"Do you understand?"

The voice was sharper now, and had lost its friendly, conversational tone.

"…Yes…"

"I knew you would," said the Siren, returning to his amused tone. "Now, then, tonight is a gala night for the Opera House. Do you know what a gala night is? Good; you are not as stupid as your husband always claims. Tonight, there will be patrons and visitors crawling all over the Opera House. They will be curious and bold tonight, and they will dare to venture down into the cellars. That is unacceptable. I cannot always be there to stop them. I have work to do, you know.

"So, Madame Poligny, it shall be your duty tonight to stop them. I don't care how you do it. Kill them, knock them unconscious, or simply politely lead them back to the theater… it is up to you. Look here, I'll even let you keep the rope to arrest them with."

I felt a rush of air and then a quiet pressure upon my arm as a rope fell upon me.

"I would advise you to keep your identity secret – you wouldn't want the state to realize what you are doing down here and then to ship you to a hospital, right? Believe me, Madame, even with the advances in medicine, one rarely returns from a hospital. Alive, that is."

I simply remained on the floor, gasping precious air.

"In fact, you may even pretend you are doing a service for the state! What say that, Madame? The Commune left terrible secrets behind in these dungeons… secrets the state does not want the public to know. And you would be doing a service to France by helping them keep it secret!

"So, if, tonight, you accomplish your job well, I shall let you share this cellar. But if you do not, Madame… you may find yourself with a noose around your neck. You see? It is a good deal for all of us. I bid you a good evening, Madame."

Then the Siren was gone.

Thereafter, I have closely guarded the entrances to the cellars each night there is a celebration. That is quite frequent, and this new job keeps me quite busy, busy enough that I do not always have time to pursue the shadows upon the walls.

It is almost fulfilling, this work. Instead of hanging around my room all day or caring for Adele – who, I regret to admit, is becoming a swiftly fading memory – my work has a direct impact on the Opera House and the Siren.

I have not seen the Siren since. I still hear his music – it is almost impossible not to – and I hate it.

Yes, I hate the Siren. I thought I had found freedom in this darkness. I had had free reign of the cellar, going as I pleased, singing to myself, with no one to disturb me. But now! He named himself well, for when that voice sings or speaks, I listen. I cannot do otherwise. I do his work for him. I am still under the command of someone else. And even when he is not there, I am under his control. My life now revolves around doing his work, so that he may grant me life.

I despise it.

To make my life easier I have asked Henri to tell the Opera House guests not to enter the basements.

"I wish to be alone down here, Henri," I told him pointedly one evening he came to visit. "Your visitors annoy me... And if they are not careful, the shades will overtake them," I added, indicating the shadows in the corner.

Henri, however, saw only the shadows that his lantern cast on the wall. "Of course, my dear. I promise I will."

We know, however, that Henri cannot keep his promises. The visitors continue coming during the gala nights. And not just during gala nights, although why anyone should want to venture down here during work hours is beyond me. Actually, there is only one visitor – a Persian – who comes during the day.

He was there, prowling about the third cellar. He was clearly not a worker, or I would have recognized him. He was dressed rather nicely, as most frequenters of the opera are. However, he did have one unique characteristic: the astrakhan hat he wore.

As he crept along in the darkness, blindly feeling his way by the walls, with his odd little hat bobbing up and down as he passed through, I swiftly took out my rope and arrested him.

"Erik! Release me at once!" the Persian shouted. He did not struggle, which surprised me, for usually my prisoners struggle. Then I have to resort to more defensive measures. One visitor, I recall, came out fairly mangled from his encounter with me. It was truly a sordid and messy ordeal, and I do hope, reader, that if you happen to visit me in the cellars of the Paris Opera House, you will not end up like him!

"Be quiet," I snapped, and began dragging him to the exit of the cellars.

The Persian was silent as he walked along with me. "Who are you?"

"I am a shade," I said rather truthfully. "You have been caught trespassing these cellars – and it's not even during a gala night! I am taking you to the managers' office, and they shall deal with you."

The Persian was silent at this. We made our way to the first floor of the Opera House, and I nearly collapsed from the amount of white light streaming through the windows and reflecting off the floor! Light! It was a beautiful thing, and though I have grown used to the dark, I will never truly enjoy it as I do the light.

I smiled beneath my felt hat. Suddenly, I wanted to run outside, simply leave behind this Opera House and run! But I had a job to do, and I was not one to shirk my duties.

I did not bother knocking on the door when I entered Henri's office. I simply walked in, where Henri and the co-manager, Debienne, were conferring.

"Charlotte!" said Henri, startled. He rose from his chair so quickly his chair fell over. "What are you doing up here? Who is this?"

"This man," I said, "has been walking about the basements. I told you, Henri, I don't want intruders in there! You promised me!"

"Yes, yes, Charlotte, I am sorry," Henri said, looking rather shocked and bewildered all at once. He turned to face the Persian. "You, Monsieur – what were you doing down there? The cellars are off-limits for visitors," he said sternly. "Well?"

The Persian seemed at a loss for words. "I…"

"He's an eccentric fellow who likes looking at the props for the operas!" I shouted suddenly.

"Be silent, woman!" said Debienne sharply. "Learn your place! Where are your manners?"

"Debienne," said Henri distractedly. "It's all right. She's not in her right mind. Come on, Charlotte, return to your room. I shall make certain that this man does not come back."

And with that, Henri escorted me right back to the cellars. "Thank you, Charlotte. You've been a good girl. Now, stay here," he said, gently seating me upon the ground. "And don't come back up, understood?" He then left.

For a few moments, I sat there miserably, not caring whether the rats crawled about me or if my cloak was soaking through from the dank ground. What had I done? I had only meant to help. What reward did I get for arresting these people all the time? Nothing! Only the assurance of my survival!

Well, I wanted something better than that! I could just as easily get up and leave; live in the sunlight. I could even tolerate the wretched standards again, just to live a different life...

Suddenly, I realized I was not alone. There was the music, again, growing closer, and closer…

"Well done, Madame Poligny," said that wretched, hypnotizing voice of the Siren. "I had not thought you would remove that particular idiot. Such an annoying man, that one is. You have my utmost gratitude." The Siren was silent for a time, and even seemed to be musing something over. "It's terribly boring down here, is it not?" said the Siren slowly. "You deserve a reward. Tonight there is an opera. Would you like to see it?"

At first, I did not know how to answer. See the opera? See the opera? That thought had not occurred to me, for I had been so busy…

"Will you be there?" I asked flatly.

"Of course," answered the Siren. "I am everywhere, you know."

"Then I will not go." I did not want to be around the Siren! Every time he was around, he controlled what I did. And even when he was not, I was still under his command! I did not want a master dictating me what to do and what operas to see. I wanted freedom…

"No?" said the Siren sharply. "You will go."

That is how I found myself in Box 5 in the tiers above the theatre, watching an opera. The boxkeeper even brought me a footstool to rest my feet upon.

I suppose the Siren supposed that I was his little lady now, for under that pretense, he brought me a fan and flowers.

I left them behind.

I am no one's Little Lotte.

That eccentric Persian is here again! He thinks that I do not see him, but he is a fool!

For a moment, I simply watch him as he prowls the cellar. He seems to be examining the walls very closely, feeling them with his hands, brushing them with his fingertips. He seems intent on finding something, on understanding something…

I do not understand. What does he want? Does he wish to look at the scenery? He is on the wrong cellar, if that is his cause.

"Get out!" I shriek suddenly, arresting him once again with my rope.

This time, the Persian struggles madly to free himself, and I nearly have trouble holding onto him. Nearly.

"Erik! Erik, help me! It's me, the Daroga! I saved your life! Stop this madwoman! Erik!"

What is this fool talking about?

Swiftly, before I let go, I drag the struggling man up out of the cellars, across the Opera House, and back into the managers' office, where, once again, Henri sits with Debienne. This time, however, there are two other men in the room, two men whom I have never seen before.

"–Richard, Monarchmin, we would be delighted to–" Debienne breaks off when he sees me.

"Henri!" I shout. "This eccentric Persian has been prowling my cellar again! I thought I told you to put an end to this!"

Henri turns rather red in the face, and he makes an odd gulping sound as he glances from the two strangers in the room to me and back to the strangers.

"Charlotte," he stammers, "yes, you're quite right. I shall deal with him, now."

"That is what you always say!" I interrupt. "No, Henri, just hire him! He wants to see the scenery backstage, so just make him an employee! But I don't want anymore uninvited guests!"

"Yes, Charlotte, thank you," Henri says. He stands up, and ushers me very quickly outside the office, under the bewildered eyes of the two strangers and Debienne. "Wait outside, Charlotte, I shall be with you very soon."

Henri walked back inside, and shut the door… But I could still hear them speaking.

"Who was that character, Poligny?" I hear one of the strangers inquire.

"She's quite a useful personality," Debienne chortles. "Explain to them, what kind of Opera House this is…"

I had heard enough.

I went home.

And so, the Persian did not enter the cellars anymore. I continued leading unwelcome visitors back to the world above. The Siren continued taking me to see the operas under the pretense that I was his little lady with a footstool and a fan and chocolate and flowers, and that he was giving me freedom for a night.

It was my life.

For a time.

A/N: So what did you think? Let me know with a review! ;D