Marie wandered around the stage, hands stretched out beside her. Her eyes had fallen closed as her fingertips brushed the different props on stage, familiarizing herself with the new set up of the stage. She smiled softly as her feet took her around the stage as if by instinct. As the circuit completed itself, she opened her eyes and gazed at the looming gray hulks on the stage. Her fingers told her what each prop was, and what was left of her vision let her know where they were. She was ready to dance.

Luck had smiled on little Marie St. Clair a week ago. The accident had left her mostly blind, but by some divine chance, had not marred her lovely visage or her eyes. While she had curled up into a ball in the dormitory, Mmlle Giry had pleaded her case to the managers of the Opera. While the two gentlemen claimed no superstitions about the Opera House, its ghost, or the events that had taken place a few years back, fear of what could happen if they mistreated a dancer kept them from throwing Marie out.

"They have said you can stay as long as you can still dance, my dear. Perhaps if you learned to sing your place would be more secure. That takes less moving around and you would be in less danger of angering them by falling or marring a performance." While she knew that Marie could not see her face, Meg had smiled gently at the girl. Now I know why Mother took in Christine. It's so hard not to want to help such a talented young girl, especially when she has no one else.

The rest of the corps de ballet stayed to one side, allowing Marie to acclimate herself to how the stage was set up for the newest production. Most of the girls looked up to Marie even more than they had before. Before, she had been a flawless dancer, putting passion and emotion into a technically flawless performance. Now, she did the same without the ability to actually see where exactly everyone and everything was. Brigitte, however, could feel her manicured nails biting into the flesh of her palms as she watched Marie move gracefully around the stage.

This isn't fair. I dance as well as she, and I can see. Why should an orphaned gypsy be placed higher than me? I have trained for years and years and she flounced in here and became the favorite.

A dark shadow passed over Brigitte's eyes as she watched the young woman make her last circuit around the stage. She shook her head and dismissed the shadow as merely her anger at having been passed over for an orphan. Perhaps there is a way I can get back at her…

Mmlle Giry watched as her girls danced. Funny how I think of them as girls when they are really young ladies. I wonder if Mother ever saw all of us as girls even after we were young women. Few words escaped her as she watched them dance about the stage. She wished she could tell little Amelie to take smaller steps, but held back the urge. No one at the Opera Populaire wished to disturb their Diva when she was practicing, so Meg decided to talk to Amelie after their rehearsal.

Capucine's voice filled the empty Opera as the corps de ballet filled the stage with swirls of color and beauty. A sudden thud and a quiet yelp quickly ended the magic that a diva flanked by dancers could weave.

"For the love of God, which one of you little cows did that?" glowered Capucine. She had always wondered why she was forced to practice her art while the dancers practiced their gauche stage seductions.

Marie was quickly pulling herself to her feet, not sure what exactly had caused her to trip. "I…my apologies, Capucine. I did not mean to disturb your song."

Capucine rounded on her, eyes blazing fury at having been interrupted by a mere chorus girl, an easily over-looked ballerina. A muscle twitched in her cheek as anger rose in her chest. "Perhaps we should only let dancers who can see be on stage with me. What do you think of that, Maria?"

Easy strides brought Meg onto the stage. "Capucine, please calm yourself. It was not Marie's fault that she fell. I believe Brigitte's clumsiness is what tripped her."

Brigitte's face went pink, then drained as she realized that Meg saw her. She did not realize that years of being a dancer herself and then time as the manager of the corps de ballet gave her a keen eye for what the feet of her girls were doing. "I am sorry, Marie. Though, if you moved in a more restrained manner, perhaps you would not have tripped."

Meg's gentle smile went stony as she looked at Brigitte. "Brigitte, there is nothing wrong with how Marie dances. She puts passion into what she does. You only focus on perfection while she dances with feeling. If you can not control your own feet, you can be replaced."

Brigitte nodded stiffly. The contrite look on Marie's face for having interrupted Capucine made hot coals of hate glow in Brigitte's face. I will find a way to get back at her, I know I will.

As the rehearsal ended, Marie began to cautiously make her way to the back of the stage. Her hands unconsciously gripped her skirt tightly, wrinkling the delicate fabric. Seeing her chance, Brigitte walked up to Marie.

"Marie, I am sorry I was clumsy and tripped you. If you like, I can help you get around back here."

Marie nodded. "Oh, that would be wonderful. I hate it back here. I can hear the rats better than before, and I never got accustomed to moving around here. I fear I'll be lost."

Marie could not see how Brigitte's smile dripped poison and hatred as she took the other girl's hand. I can't believe how she trusts me. Now to get her lost back here.

Nervous tension built up in Marie as the other woman led her through the passages and tunnels that comprised the underbelly and backside of the Opera. This is taking so long. Shouldn't I be in a dressing room by now? While her mind ran full of nervous fantasies of being lost with the rats, Brigitte softly let go of her hand and began to make her way out of the basement. She watched with delight as Marie took a few steps, not yet realizing she was not being guided anywhere.

Marie's thoughts clouded her mind with a fog of nerves until her hand brushed a cold wall. She reached out to grip the warm hand of Brigitte and found nothing. Sharp fear pierced the haze of nervousness and she whimpered softly. She began to run, desperately searching for anyway out of the mazes beneath the Opera. Her feet moved of their own volition as she frantically scanned the areas around her for some sort of familiar shapes. The gray twilight of the Opera basements, however, made every figure blend into one flat gray-scape. Tears ran down her soft cheeks as she tried to frantically find her way back to the stage.

He was walking through the basements of his Opera house. His thoughts were often on his beautiful Christine. If only she hadn't been so frightened of me. If she hadn't taken off the mask, she could've loved me. Why did that miserable little Vicomte have to ruin our happiness? Oh, my Christine, why did you run in fear when you saw me here last? His thoughts often strayed to the last time he had seen her. She had decided to come to the Opera with her new husband. Erik had promised himself he would let them live their lives happily, had given his word to them through the Persian that after the torments he had inflicted onto his beloved Christine, he would bother them no more. But, seeing her had ruined his lofty ideals. While she was walking her old paths around the Opera, he caught sight of her angelic form. He wanted only to gaze upon her, that was all, but she had seen him. A soft mist formed over his eyes as he remembered the look of horror when she spotted him skulking in the shadows. She had run away, crying out for her Raoul and he had never seen her again. Am I so terrible as to frighten away the woman I loved by only wanting to be near once more?

For once, he was walking without paying much attention to his surroundings. His feet knew every inch of the Opera. No trapped door or concealed tunnel was a secret from him, its primary designer. Melancholy wrapped around him like a second cloak as he continued his solitary walk through the basements. His thoughts strayed to why God was still seeing fit to punish him after the only bright spot in his solitary life was whisked away so cruelly. As the soft body collided into him, he let out a little grunt, his eyes filling with the fires of his rage as he glared down at his chest.

Marie quickly backed a step away, lowering her head in apology. "I'm so sorry. I did not mean to run into you."

Erik blinked once, unsure of what to do. When the young women of the Opera had even the slightest suspicion that he was near, they would run and hide crossing themselves to ward off his demoniac form. "It's all right, young lady, I was not paying attention."

The sensual waves of his voice broke over her as her head snapped up. She delicately adjusted her head so that it would appear as if she was looking at him. "Thank you for your forgiveness, Monsieur. I do not mean to ask silly questions, but, am I to stage level yet?"

Realization dawned in Erik's head. The girl could not see him. She had no idea she was in the depths of the Opera basements, nor that she was looking at the spectre that had haunted the minds of ballerinas and divas alike for years. "No, Mademoiselle, I am afraid you are not. I will lead you back to where you wish to be, though."

"You are too kind, Monsieur…"

"Monsieur Angelline. What shall I call you, my dear girl?"

"I am Mademoiselle St. Clair, one of the ballet girls."

He took one of her delicate hands in his and began to lead her upstairs. She could feel something tighten in his grip and wondered at it. Why would he be so tense? Is he angry still that I ran into him?

As Erik looked the girl over, he felt something inside him tighten into anger. The silky hair, like a raven's wing and the warm chocolate eyes belied her gypsy heritage. Her skin was lighter than that of her people's. She would've been a perfect street dancer, why is she a ballerina. She should be stealing money and dancing like a whore on the street. What is she doing in my Opera house? Memories of gypsy camps began to slowly swirl in his mind. He remembered the cruel taunts of the gypsy women who reviled and feared him. When he heard her cry out in pain, he finally realized he had been squeezing the girl's hand far too hard.

As her rescuer led her up to the lights of the stage, Marie's nervousness melted away. She looked in the direction of his face and was surprised to see no form there. Startled by the sudden disappearance, Marie walked back onto the stage and began to cautiously make her way back to her rooms.

Moving with catlike grace, Erik began to make his way back towards his palace by the lake. He sighed softly, wondering if perhaps watching the little gypsy wench dance would give him some sort of inspiration for his music. As he began his stroll home, his sharp ears picked up on a very soft sound. The gypsy girl was humming softly. He stopped and stared from his shadowy hide away as the angelic sound escaping her throat caressed his ears. A violent shake of his head dismissed the thoughts he was having. Gypsies have no place here, not after what her kind did to me. How dare she come down into my domain and haunt me, tempt me, with her vile ways? He moved with a predator's deadly grace as his footfalls brought him deeper and deeper until he reached his home.

I will have to find a way to deal with this…this vile woman.