HaHa thank you so much to my reviewers (even though I only have 2 at this point...) Hope you guys like this chappie... Tell me what you think, ok? Please? Ok, anyway, enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own PotO.

Erik went about his task, readying the barrels of gunpowder and making sure his plan had absolutely no flaws in it. He dared not pull any pranks on any of the cast or crew members, for fear that they should realize that he was alive after all.

It was three months before the grand opening of the performance, during one of the rehearsals, that Erik finished all of his necessary preparations. It was all ready... and so was he. How on earth would he be able to wait until the show!

"What am I going to do?" he asked himself in a despicable voice, "It's not like I can resume my favorite pastime of terrorizing the cast and crew of the opera house. What am I going to do!" he tried to occupy himself with songwriting, but found that, after only a minute of composing, he wasn't in the mood. He tried to read a book (which he had read well over fifty times), but could not concentrate. He tried to illustrate pictures, an activity he had become drawn to (A/N:turns blue from laughing at stupid but funny pun:) only recently, but could not hold the pencil straight due to his anticipation.

Ah, well, he thought, since I won't be able to fully enjoy the opera that Andre and Firmin are putting on in a few months, I might as well enjoy the rehearsals, I guess...

Erik went swiftly down his hallway and into his room. He went over to his desk and pulled open one of the drawers, taking out a maroon box. Lifting the lid, he reached in a hand and grabbed an exact copy of the pale white mask he had always worn. Gingerly, he raised the mask to his face and pressed it against his skin, and it immediately stuck, as he knew it would, since he had made it that way. Once his mask was secure, he strode back down the hallway to the main room.

He donned his cloak and stepped into his boat, being careful not to get even a stitch of fabric wet lest he should leave a trail of water in the opera house. He strode down passageways whose locations were unknown by anyone but himself, and came upon the theater.

How long has it been since I've been here? Erik thought with an inaudible sigh, Well, only a few weeks, but it feels like years... He looked down upon the stage from his usual hiding place in Box 5.

So Andre and Firmin have hired new dancers... How interesting. I wonder how little Giry has been speaking of me to them. It might be fun to listen to her far-fetched tales of me after all, since I have nothing better to do. Erik continued to watch the dancers prance around the stage, trying to block out the sound of a new (and horrible) Prima Donna practicing.

Ah, little Meg Giry has grown a lot in these few weeks... Sorelli is out of shape... Little Jammes is as air headed as ever, silly girl... Erik continued to criticize every dancer he knew, having precious few nice things to say about any of them. From his position, though, he could not see all of the dancers (though that didn't worry him much, for he doubted that he would have anything good to say about the ones he couldn't see, anyway). How very wrong he was to think that.

"Ah, Miss Beaumont, it appears that you have skill beyond what we figured," Andre and Firmin remarked from far below Erik, in the second row of seats, "If you would, kindly move to the right of Sorelli, mademoiselle."

As Erik watched, a slim young girl with brown, curly hair moved almost to the position of center stage (for center stage was occupied by Sorelli herself). This should be good... he thought with a small smile as he heard the maestro begin to direct the orchestra.

The music started, and all of the dancers began their steps at the same time. They pirouetted in nearly flawless unison, then chasséd in almost perfect beat to the music. Erik watched them, uninterested for the most part, but then his eyes fell on miss Beaumont as she danced.

Well, she certainly is talented. No wonder she's almost center stage, Erik thought, but he immediately kicked himself and tried to look for something to criticize her on. She... doesn't make very many mistakes at all. Erik looked closer, squinting his eyes to get the clearest view of her. There! Her port de bras was off-beat! Erik sat back in his seat, satisfied with himself, then thought more about it. If she had messed up (for Erik admitted that he could've been mistaken), then it had only been for a fraction of a second, and then she had fallen back into perfect step.

Why do I want to see her mess up so badly? Erik asked himself, surprised at his own antics. He thought about it, but could not think of a probable answer. Did he simply not want some ballet-rat getting the attention of the mangers and becoming as cocky as La Carlotta, or did he want to see her mess up for another reason? Say, that he wanted to make sure she was human, since she seemed so... angelic?

For it was true. Everyone remarked upon the new girl's performance, and all positively, at that. The ballet chorus seemed to agree that she was the best, aside from Sorelli and little Giry, who had both been in ballet for their whole lives (and little Meg Giry was younger than miss Beaumont).

"Jane, where did you learn to dance?" Madame Giry asked miss Beaumont (for Jane was her first name). She was obviously pleased with Jane's dancing, which was rare, at least with new dancers.

"My aunt taught me. She had been a dancer in her younger years, and never lost her skill. After my parents died, when she took me in, she taught me everything she knew, in hopes that I would fulfill the dreams my mother had for me: to be a great dancer in a famous theater!" Jane's face radiated honest joy as she dabbed beads of sweat off of her face. The chorus of dancers crowded around her, asking her questions and complimenting her dancing. Madame Giry took her hand and led her down the hallway of dressing rooms.

"Here, child, this will be your room, as the managers have given you a new position and therefore you shall now need your own dressing room," Madame Giry informed Jane. She opened a door on the right side of the hallway, revealing a classy dressing room behind it. Madame Giry stiffened as she looked around the room, as if it gave her painful memories, but she smiled at Jane (a tight, slightly forced, smile) and handed her the bronze key.

"Merci, Madame," Jane thanked, and Madame Giry nodded stiffly and left the room. Jane looked around, then collapsed, suddenly exhausted, into a comfortable armchair. She removed her toes shoes and leaned back, her eyes closed.

"Think of me

Think of me fondly

When we've said goodbye

Remember me

Once in a while

Please promise me you'll try," She sang, her sweet but hollow soprano voice filling the air. Jane slouched down farther in her seat, then slowly drifted of to sleep.

Erik, on the other side of her mirror, watched in wonder and silence. Intriguing, he thought to himself, She's just like Christine before I gave her lessons...

Reviewers Thank Yous

TheAngel'sMaggie- HaHa I'm so glad you like this story so far! You are ike, totally one of my fave reviewers! Thank you so so so much for being so cool and all! And I'm not just saying that! Seriously girl, I luv u! (But not like that... I love Erik like that LOL)

RoSeQuEeN- I know what you mean- I hate reading cliffies, too! But I just love writing them... :evil smile: and I can write them, because I have health insurance! HaHa LOL! Thank you so much for reviewing!