A/N: Hi everyone! I'm finally back from Europe! Here's a brand-new update for you! Tra la! Remember to review! One more chapter left!

It was only a long, long time later, during the beginning of M. Pedro Gailhard's administration, that I discovered why the name Daaé sounded so familiar. That was around the time when my head began to hurt, when splitting headaches began to resound through my head. Already so tired that I did not have the energy to even combat the shades that were swiftly enveloping me, quickly destroying my mind, the headaches only confirmed that I was losing, that my mind was dying…

I had forgotten my family, but they had not forgotten me. M. Gailhard himself brought them to see me. He was tremendously grateful for my state service, and had even considered obtaining an official title for me from the government. Nevertheless, he promised to keep my identity a secret from all…

…but two familiar faces.

"Lotte?" I hear a voice call out. It is not the Siren's voice; it is someone far more familiar than that. It is an older man's voice, a voice and accent I have not heard in years…

"Lotte?" I hear M. Gailhard's voice exclaim incredulously. "You call her Lotte?"

"Of course," I hear another voice snap. This time, it is an older woman's voice, with that same old accent I have not heard for so long… "That is her name. We used to call her our Little Lotte."

M. Gailhard snorts derisively – he cannot believe this monstrous shade was once called Little Lotte, I suppose. Much less that this shade would have parents to look for her.

For those are who the two voices belong to.

Mama and Papa.

"Mama?" I squeak rather feebly, and step out from behind the corner I had been hiding behind.

And there they are, standing before me, shrouded in darkness – my mother and father. M. Gailhard stands there as well, but I pay no attention to him.

They are so much older than what I remember! Although, I suppose the same could be said of me… Their hair is thinner, faded, and there are wrinkles upon their faces that were not a part of my memory…

But now their tired eyes widen in surprise and horror. Mama chokes out a startled wail, and grabs onto Papa, who roars at me, "Demon! Stay back! Monsieur Gailhard! What is the idea of leading us to this monster? Is this some kind of joke?"

I shrink back behind my wall, head pounding more than ever from Papa's exclamation. They don't recognize me!

M. Gailhard is now trying to assure my parents of my identity. "Monsieur, madame! Calm yourselves! This is indeed Charlotte, divorced wife of Monsieur Henri Poligny. Please, monsieur, you must understand that M. Poligny stowed her away in the cellars for all these years, and living beneath the Opera House can do such things-"

Mama wails even louder. "No! That… that thing is not my daughter!"

On and on they shout, with my headache growing even worse, until at long last, M. Gailhard convinces my parents to approach me more kindly.

Mama is the first to make the move towards me as I sit beside my wall. She creeps along so hesitatingly and warily, lantern in hand shaking, that I can hardly believe this is my own mother. Slowly, slowly, she crouches down, and lifts a trembling hand to my face.

Her hand, clammy from the underground temperature, touches my cheek, and I, unused to human contact, flinch involuntarily. Mama wrenches her own hand away.

"Yes, it is me, Mama," I say rather dryly, and I remove the felt hat from my head. "Not a monster… not a demon. Only Lotte…"

Mama's gaze drifts across my face. She raises her hand and reaches for my face again, as if searching for any hint, any semblance of the daughter she once knew. That perhaps the face she examines now would be the face she examined so often so many years ago…

Suddenly her eyes widen. "Good Lord," she whispers in realization.

Of course, once my identity had been established, Mama absolutely would not hear of my living beneath the Opera House. She sent me above the ground, and despite M. Gailhard's protests, sent me straightaway inside one of the dressing rooms that the performers used.

"With all due respect, Madame," says M. Gailhard in his most authoritative tone as Mama leads Papa and I to the nearest dressing room, "I cannot allow you to use the Opera House dressing rooms. It's already in use, and we can't afford-"

"Then cut the salaries you pay your performers," Mama snaps bossily. She ushers me inside the room, and beckons Papa to hurry along inside as well. "This Opera House has ordinary street clothes for young ladies, does it not?" she adds.

M. Gailhard stands exasperated in the doorway, taken aback by Mama's demeanor. "Why, of course, Madame…" He changes the topic. "But, Madame, haven't you ever heard of Mademoiselle Daaé?"

I had. I perk my head up curiously, while Mama says curtly, "No."

"Well, she was a very popular singer here, nearly on her way to becoming a diva. This was her very dressing room, and she met a strange downfall… She disappeared, never to return… They say that this dressing room is cursed-"

"So be it," Mama says indifferently. "Lotte cannot be cursed anymore than this. Now, if you please, clothing for my daughter…?"

M. Gailhard throws his hands up and sighs, then turns around exits the room, closing the door behind him.

"Lotte," says Mama in Swedish once M. Gailhard is gone. She sits me down upon the chair by the dresser, and looks kindly into my eyes, pitying the strange creature her daughter has become. "How have you been?"

I smile weakly. Have I forgotten my language already? I hesitate, and rather slowly string together the words. "Rather tired, I'll admit." Before they can question me, I launch into my own questions. "How did you find me? How did you know I was here? What has been going on since I left?"

Papa smiles. "It's been so long, Lotte. You married that Frenchman and then you were gone! And we never heard from you since! We've been getting along well back in Upsala, but we had begun to worry for your sake. Your husband, Henri, would not answer our letters… so we traveled to Paris ourselves, and found him. He finally admitted that he'd divorced you, and were now living in the Paris Opera House." Papa's gaze hardens. "What is the meaning of this, Charlotte? What sort of middle-class lady do you think you are? Divorcing your husband! Living like a demon! What-"

"Hush, dear," Mama says suddenly to Papa. "Don't overwhelm her." To me, she says, "We saw your daughter with Henri, Charlotte. I cannot believe you never wrote us about her! She's such a darling girl! How could you stand to give her up?"

I nod, puzzled. A daughter? I remember… "Her name was Adele, was it not?" I ask.

Mama and Papa frown. "Yes…" They exchange a quick glance – but not so quick that I do not notice the worry.

Suddenly, we hear a knock at the door. "I have the clothes, Madame," says M. Gailhard from behind the door.

Mama and Papa stand up to leave. As Papa opens the door and retrieves the clothing for me, Mama says, "We'll leave you to change from those old garments of yours. Get some rest, Lotte. Your father and I will be around the Opera House. Do not leave the room; we shall return."

With that, Mama and Papa depart, leaving me in yet another sort of birdcage with clothing to go with it. I frown at the clothing Papa dropped in my lap. A dress, of course. No, a few nice dresses, to give me a choice. A dress or a dress – not much of a choice, really. And the corset – who could forget that?

So. Christine Daaé's dressing room, this is? I remember now, that name… A distant memory of a little golden-haired girl, giggling madly to herself as she threw down my doll into the grass…

I look curiously around the room. It is a nice room – leave it to Christine to secure the nicest dressing room for her own, spoiled self. Dropping the bundle of clothing to the floor, I rise rather tiredly from my chair. There is a large, ornate mirror on the wall, and before me stands a twisted, pale reflection that does indeed resemble a demon rather than Little Lotte. A demon before it; behind it, who knew?

I turn away from the mirror, and look to the dressing table. Perhaps Christine left some old relics or souvenirs of her past here…

As I peruse each drawer (each of them revealing the standard dressing room fare, but nothing that would suggest that Christine had lived here), I wonder at the irony that Christine had been there all this time – and I had never known!

Rather half-heartedly, I open and shut each drawer door, and when I open the last drawer-

"Hello, Lotte."

I stumble backwards at the sound of the tiny voice emitting from the drawer, and fall ungracefully to the floor.

"Surprised to see me?"

I crawl slowly back towards the open drawer, trembling from both fright and excitement. "Who are you?"

"Oh, I'm insulted! You don't remember your old friend?"

I peer over the top of the drawer.

"My goodness, Lotte, you're hideous! What have you been doing all these years?"

"You're not in too good of a shape yourself," I respond wryly to my doll.

For my doll it is, resting in the bottom drawer in Christine Daaé's old dressing room. And while I know I do not look well myself, my doll could certainly outdo me in terms of ugliness. Old and worn-out before, she now looked as if she'd been stomped upon and drowned and forsaken all at once. Half of her faded blonde curls had been torn out, an eye was missing, and her nose was gone altogether. The area where her lips should have been was seamless, and her skin was marred by spots of dirt and mud. Her frock, previously a rather grayish red, was now completely gray with only the slightest hint of dull pink.

"Yes, but that's because our old friend Christine was none too gentle with me," my doll retorts.

I gasp. "Christine! You've been with her all these years!"

"Why, yes, Lotte. So don't complain about ill treatment, because you don't know ill treatment until you know Christine."

"What did she do to you?"

"Oh, the standard Christine fare, you know. Threw me around, lost me in the dirt – and then she left me here all alone in the Opera House, do you realize that? She left me!"

"Didn't you… didn't you ever try to talk to her?"

"Christine? Hah! She's a deaf little girl, Lotte! I told you it was useless to try to teach her anything – she would never listen!"

I shake my head in dismay. "I'm so sorry for leaving you with her… I should never have…" Gently, I lift my fragile doll out of the drawer.

"But what have you been doing, Lotte?" asks my doll slyly. "I have been pushed around by Christine all these years, but don't think I've lost my mind. But you?"

I bow my head silently, refusing to meet my doll's eyes.

"Ah… so it was precisely as I had predicted, wasn't it, Lotte? You forgot me. You forgot to listen to my advice. You forgot. And so you lost your mind… Tell me, who did you lose it to?"

"Henri Poligny and the Siren," I mumble shamefully.

My doll snorts. "Pathetic."

For a long moment, there is complete silence.

"Well? What are you waiting for?"

"What?" I ask, confused, the sound of my own voice hurting my head.

"You know what to do."

I stare, bewildered, at my doll.

My doll sighs, and says, "Lotte. Your mother and father are not here right now. Not even the Siren is here! Poligny is most certainly not here. Look how free you are! You're in a dressing room – but it is unlocked!"

"I am so tired… and my head hurts so much now…"

"Quit making excuses, Lotte. You complain – don't you understand? You have so little time left! Leave the people who have imprisoned you. Walk away. Do it!"

I stare at the door.

And open it and walk out of the Opera House.