Christine walked lazily around the small marketplace. It was quaint and little with charming little shops and filled with smiling people. Christine paused momentarily to gaze into the window of a whimsical gift shop. The window was filled with a display of darling little mélange. Little odds and ends that really were just useless items, but they were done up so nicely that you almost couldn't resist buying them even if they were outrageously priced. Christine held her gaze on a small thimble with a picture of the queen. Though the item did not hold much meaning to her, her mind was filled with countless thoughts. She had so much to think about, so much to straighten out in her life. But every time she got close to spending some time making sense of her mad life she would subconsciously make herself tend to something else. Procrastinating doing the one thing that could make the arising headache she was experiencing fade away.

Christine turned over her right shoulder and stared into all of the commotion. People were buying and selling, laughing and talking and even though Christine was among them she felt so alone. She couldn't get into their happy, go-lucky spirits. She couldn't join into their conversations without being the damper on their day. Over the past couple years she had begun to feel so isolated from the rest of society, like she was from a different species altogether, that she was an imposter in the human race. Christine knew that it was very hard on the rest of her beloved family. Raoul was so patient when she was having a day filled with despair and unparalleled depression. But Emiliee didn't know enough to be able to comprehend why her mother had those periods of immense sadness.

Christine scanned her eyes over the scene in front of her again. Only this time her eye caught on a small bench. A small wooden bench protected by the branches of an overhanging willow tree. Instinctively Christine began walking towards it. As she got closer she realized how aged it looked. The wood was rotting and there was moss clinging to the bottom legs. Christine knew that to sit down on the dirty, rotten bench was beneath her status in society. That people may talk and whisper and gossip. But she didn't care. Slowly she sat down. She didn't worry about the stains it may leave on her pale blue dress. She didn't think about anyone around her or what they might or might not be saying. She only thought of Emiliee.

Oh Emiliee, how dear she was. She had been their little angel sent from heaven to bring happiness into their world. She was perfect, beautiful and everything that Christine had ever dreamed of. She remembered the first time she held her. She had cradled her protectively in her arms. Tears of joy had run gently down her face as she looked upon her daughter. In that moment she promised Emiliee that she would never have her go through the pain she herself had experienced in her life. Christine had gently kissed the baby's forehead and whispered that she would never let anything happen to her.

That's the reason why she had not told Emiliee the truth about the infamous Phantom of the Opera. The subject was too sensitive for Christine to discuss. She knew that she should have told her the truth. But she couldn't burden her daughter with the wicked truth of her mother's pitiful childhood and existence. She also could not bring herself to discuss it again. Every time she was forced to remember the happenings at the Opera House she couldn't bear it. Every time it got more and more real and she had convinced herself that it was not.

Christine sighed heavily and put her head in her hands. Maybe she was just insane; maybe she had lost her mind, as well as her soul.


Emiliee's eyes opened slowly. The room was blurry and dim, when she tried to move her arms to push herself up a blinding pain enveloped her body. This situation seemed all too familiar.

The last thing she remembered was getting hit on the head with something. Something hard. That man had hit her for no apparent reason! But she had been so stupid to turn her back on him. Emiliee straightened her body and stared around her. She was sitting on the bed in her mother's dressing room. Ahead of her lay the mirror that was actually a secret passage way. Her eyesight began to clear and she found herself staring into her own reflection. Her hair was a mess, her clothes were dirty, and she looked absolutely horrible.

A soft knock came from the doorway and hastily Emiliee ran her fingers through her hair trying to make herself look presentable. But it was useless, no matter how she tried to calm her hair it ended up springing back up again.

"Come in" Emiliee called out, realizing that it was improper to make the person wait so long.

The door creaked open and Marcello walked in. His eyes scanned the room, searching for Emiliee before spotting her comically propped up on the bed. A smile broke out on his face as he saw her.

"Emiliee where have you been? I've been looking all over for you." He said

Emiliee was silent. How could she explain where she had been without getting sent to the asylum? Besides, she had not forgotten the threat that was made to her. She didn't think that for a second he would not abide by it.

Marcello waited for an answer but when it did not come he let a small smirk play across his lips.

"Well, alright. Dinner's being served in the dinning hall. C'mon I'll show you how to get there." He said motioning towards the hallway.

Emiliee's limbs ached so furiously that she knew that there was no way she could possible make it to the dining hall where ever it was.

"Thank you Marcello," she began. Her voice was very formal. She had been taught by her parents how to speak.

"Marc" he corrected smiling again.

"Marc…right, sorry." She said a little flustered. She couldn't remember what she had been saying. It felt like there were a million people drumming in her brain. "I don't think I'll come to supper actually. I have a terrible headache and…" she trailed off, hoping that he would leave her in peace.

"You have to go," he said "the managers were going to introduce you to the entire cast and crew and we are already running late."

Emiliee sighed and then nodded slowly. "Alright, Alright. I'm coming" It seemed she had no choice in the matter and she was pretty hungry.

Shakily she stood up and walked to the door. Marcello watched her curiously as she stumbled over. Her limbs seemed very stiff and sore. Either that or she had been drinking and she didn't seem like the person to do such a thing.

"You alright?" He asked genuine concern in his voice.

"Yes," she answered a little too quickly "I'm fine."

Marcello nodded and then walked out the door. Leading her to the dinning hall in which all of the Opera Populaire staff were to have been congregated. Emiliee couldn't help but feel a tad bit nervous to what they would say about her. What they would make her say.

She walked dazedly after Marcello, not really noticing what doors she was passing or which hallways he was leading her. Being on her feet made her feel very faint. Oh God. What if she fainted during the dinner?

Before she had time to conjure up a plan to explain why she had fainted in the middle of dinner she could hear the murmuring of many people coming from the door ahead of her. In front of it Marcello stopped and smiled at her.

"Here it is. Ready?"

Without waiting for an answer he pushed open the door and walked in.

There were many tables sent up around the room. Elegantly decorated with sweeping table cloths and silver cutlery. Many people were mingling with each other.

Emiliee slowly walked in and let the delicious smell of the food flood into her nostrils. But she felt very strangely alone. She didn't really know anyone in the Opera House expect Marcello and didn't know where to go, who to talk to and how to act. She felt herself closely following him even though he was heading towards the kitchens.

Sensing her presence still behind him he turned towards her.

"I have to work in the kitchens," he began, motioning towards the doors ahead of him "but you don't" he said laughing "why don't you go and talk to Andre over there? He said he wanted to talk you you earlier."

Emiliee nodded and smiled at him before quietly thanking him and making her way over to Andre. He was talking quietly to a young boy. He looked a couple years older then she, with short blond hair and bright blue eyes. Emiliee felt her heart accelerate as he turned and smiled at her. He looked so…perfect. She felt her hands clam up as she reached him. Both Andre and the boy stood watching her expectantly.

Emiliee realized that she didn't have anything interesting to say.

"Erm…Hello." She said and then smiled towards them both. Hoping they would keep the conversations going.

Andre didn't seem to notice her awkwardness because he smiled down at her and continued speaking as if she had just announced a cure for a deadly disease.

"Hello Miss. Chagny," he said "I haven't seen you all day. Our meeting was so brief. I suppose you were making you way around, finding your bearings huh?" he said smiling down at her.

Emiliee felt her face flush. It everyone she talked to was going to mention her little disappearance then she didn't want to talk to anyone.

"This is my son, Francois." Andre said motioning down to the blond boy.

"Mademoiselle…" he said softly in the same formal tone Emiliee knew all too well.

He smiled at her and grabbed her hand. Emiliee noticed how soft and cool his hands were. What was wrong with her? His gaze didn't falter as he kissed her hand softly. In that moment, Emiliee felt like she was going to faint.

Before she could say another word Marcello walked out from the kitchen doors and in front of the hall. He cleared his throat and scanned around the room. Obviously trying to get everyone's attention. He caught Emiliee's eye and smiled. In spite of herself she smiled back. She seemed so close to him now. He was the only person she could trust at the Opera House anyway. Oh what an eventful day it had been. Emiliee glanced sideways and suddenly became aware of Francois inquisitive look.

"Madame's and Messieurs, dinner is served." He said before walking back into the kitchen.

Emiliee looked towards Andre to see where she should sit. But he had forgotten she was with him and had disappeared to the side of his fellow manager Firmin. She jumped when she felt Francois hand upon her arm.

"Come over here and sit with me." He said. His voice was calm but yet demanding.

It would be rude not to thought Emiliee before smiling and obliging.

She sat herself down at a small, round table near the front of the room. Francois, after pulling out her chair for her, sat on her right. But to her dismay an old, overweight man with a graying beard sat on her other side.

Emiliee turned to look at him and smiled expecting a smile in return. But it did not come. The man completely ignored her obvious polite gesture and turned to talk to the woman beside him.

A little taken aback Emiliee turned back to her plate. A few seconds passed in silence before Marcello came with their appetizers. He handed them out along the table. Smiling kindly at everyone he handed them to. But everyone ignored him; he was invisible, since he was a staff member. As he handed Emiliee her plate she returned his smile.

"Here you are mademoiselle." He said formally

"Thank you messier." She replied, echoing his formality

She smiled as he left and then turned to Francois. Francois only gave Marcello a small murmur of thanks before turning his attentions back to Emiliee.

"Friend?" he inquired softly

Emiliee nodded and picked up her fork. She realized that she should have chatted up Francois more then she had. But she was famished and she did miss lunch.

But before she had time to get a forkful into her mouth the plump man beside her taped her on the shoulder.

"Excuse me Mademoiselle. Are you that daughter of Christine and Raoul de Chagny?" he asked leaning over to her.

Emiliee ran her fingers through her hair before replying.

"Yes, I am" she said simply hoping that the conversation would end before it began.

The man turned to the woman beside him and muttered something under his breath. Emiliee watched at the lady kept shooting interested glances in her direction. The young de Chagny began to feel very uncomfortable.

"Excuse me sir, but why did you ask?" she said as politely as she could. But she couldn't help keep the slight edge in her voice.

The man turned back to her and stared at her in wonder.

"It was just that….well….is it true?" he asked.

Emiliee looked at him curiously. How could she respond to that?

"Sorry, is what true?" she asked. Feeling very lost and foolish

The man drew closer to her and looked around him, as if to make sure that nobody was listening to him. When he spoke his voice was indeed in a whisper and Emiliee had to lean forward to understand what he was saying.

"You know…with the…" he trailed off and looked behind his shoulder "the…Opera Ghost" he said just above a whisper.

Emiliee stared at him perplexed. Opera Ghost? What the hell was he talking about? Her eyes widened as she added everything together. That man that kidnapped her, who knocked her out, who saved her life….he's the…he's the…

But that's impossible. He's dead. Father told me so, father said that he was… her mind was racing to comprehend what was going on.

But whether he is dead or alive this man knows where I was. He's going to kill me, Oh god. He's going to kill me…

"What do you know about the Opera Ghost?" she asked quietly.

"You know, with your mother…Christine." He said. Obviously trying to coax her out of an explanation.

Emiliee just stared at him. This man was making no sense to her at all. What had her mother have to do with the Opera Ghost? Surely he meant Meg…

"My…my mother?" she asked quietly

"Yeah. Well, I've only heard the rumors. About how he…you know kidnapped her or something of the sort…" the man continued talking but Emiliee didn't hear him.

She felt tears of confusion well up in her eyes.

No, he's lying. He has to be. It was Meg…Meg was the one...

Her mind was bustling, trying to make sense of what this man was saying to her. She wanted to leave, to run back to her parents. Did they lie to her? No. They wouldn't do that. They couldn't. She trusted them.

Emiliee's breath was shallow and shaky. What was going on? Was the man she saw earlier…did her mother? She relaxed a little to feel Francois whisper in her ear.

"Hey, don't worry about it. Come, let's get some air ok?"

Emiliee relaxed almost immediately and stood up slowly. Nodding to the other people she began to make her way to the door. Francois very closely behind her.

"Are you ok?" he asked, staring at her intently as they reached the door.

Emiliee didn't answer.