A/N: This is a little strange...I was writing it on little sleep, after drinking a quarter of a Monster energy drink and being hyped up on a M&M/Oreo McFlurry (owned by McDonalds...) and a Tripple Thick Strawberry Milkshake. And it was past one AM. I've gone through and edited it best I could.

A line in here was stolen from the movie Rigoletto. Also, Vampiress, I could not remember exactly what happened at the end of that scene (or, rather, what was said), so I guessed since I don't have the time or opportunity to call you just now.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera. Gaston Leroux does. And just so I don't get into trouble again: Erik owns himself. I know I just contradicted myself, but I don't want to be in trouble with either my...er... 'friend', or anyone who might pick me randomly to sue.

I do not own the song 'I'm Not That Girl' from Wicked. That's owned by someone other then me (I don't know who).

Also: If you'd like to see pictures of almost all the characters that will be in this story, e-mail me and ask for the address. They're not EXACTLY how they look, but close enough.

Enjoy.

TWO MONTHS AND A YEAR LATER

The same woman walked warily down the halls of the Paris Opera. At first glance it may have appeared that she was afraid that the Phantom lurked beyond every corner, but that was not true. It was a slightly more earthly and terrifying force she was wary of.

Her sister. Her sister, and her sister's fiancée.

How oddly dark the Opera looked now. It had barely been over a year since she had worked there previously, and now it looked harsh and gloomy, whereas before it had been dazzling and splendid. She supposed that after the things she had gone through, even Heaven may have seemed devilish and insincere.

Then again, before she had been there as a dancer, and then a promising singer; now she was there to design costumes. Once she had been the understudy of the 'great' La Carlotta and even under the legendary Christine Daaé. And then...

Wait. That subtle, controlled voice that seemed to be directly behind her? The light, airy tone of it? Wasn't that...?

The woman looked over her shoulder briefly. Yes, yes it was. Her sister was talking to the managers. She could hear their muted voices, speaking about the grand ball that was to be thrown in her sister's and her sister's fiancée's honor.

The woman glanced around a brief moment, and then opened a near-by door and closed in. She listened as the voices drew nearer and nearer, until they were right in front of her, and then as they faded away. She breathed a sigh of relief then turned around.

She remembered this room. It had once been the dance studio until the ballet girls refused to enter it, having 'heard the Phantom threaten them' far too many times. So they found another, more convenient room.

This room was lined with mirrors along two walls, which reflected the womans appearance too many times for her comfort. Her golden brown hair reached a little past her narrow shoulders, her subdued hazel eyes looked oddly blue by the pale blue color of her dress. Her skin was rather too dark, she wished she had been fairer; and her lips were a light shade of pink. She was somewhat small for a lady of her age. She always had been rather small, always had been thin and always had been shorter then anyone she knew of her age, though not by too much. Her older sister had always been the pretty one. With long, golden hair, and blue-green eyes, fair skin and dark red lips. She had been elegantly tall, but still quite slender without looking as though she were starving. Beautiful, stunning, striking, attractive. How she wished she could look like her sister.

An old black piano stood near one side of the room; the woman walked over and pushed a few keys, seeing if it was in tune. Discovering that it was, she sat down and played a few chords. Soon, the chords became an all-too-familiar song. A song she had written with her sister, and her sister's fiancée. Of course, at the time, he had been hers...

Flashback – November 19th, 1881

"It's intermission already?" the woman asked her companion, a well-dressed handsome man, who obviously was not French.

"Yes, Denise." He answered.

Denise glanced to the other side of her, to her sister.

"Are you alright? You look tired." Denise said.

"I'm fine." Her sister answered with a weak smile. "I'll just leave a moment for some air. I'll be back soon."

"Do you need me to come with you, Mademoiselle Noel?" Denise's escort asked.

"No, thank you, Monsieur Sully. I'll be back before the Opera begins again." Her sister said, and stepped out.

Denise and her escort-Simon Sully-chatted casually, waiting for Denise's sister-Rosemary-to return. However, by the time the curtain went up again she had not returned.

"Should we go look for her?" Denise wondered.

"No, Denise." Simon said. "I'll go make certain she's alright. There is no reason for us both to miss the Opera."

"Well...alright. Come back soon."

"I will."

He said, and left. Yet halfway through the second act, he still had not returned. Remorsefully, she stood and walked out of the Box. She stepped outside and looked around, but did not see either of them. So she stepped inside and looked about. Passing by the stairs that led to the roof, she noticed something shining on a step. She walked over and picked it up, and examined it. Her sisters' ring. She walked up the steps, wondering why Rosemary would possibly be up there. She pushed the door open slowly, and stepped onto the roof. After a moment of looking around, she found them-Rosemary in Simon's arms, him whispering soft words to her.

Denise would have thought he was only comforting her, that Rosemary was upset because of...something, she could not think of what, but then she saw Rosemary lift her head, and Simon lower his, and their lips meeting.

She froze, unable to think, to move, to breathe. Suddenly, Simon lifted his head and looked at her.

"De-Denise." He stuttered. She didn't respond- she couldn't respond.

"Elphaba, please." He pleaded, leaving Rosemary's arms and walking towards her.

"No!" she heard her self scream. She clawed his ring off her finger and threw it at him. "Don't call me that anymore!" She felt her legs turn, her arms throw the door open with ease that had earlier been difficult to open, felt herself running down the stairs as fast as she possibly could. She heard Simon behind her, shouting something at her, but she couldn't hear him. She couldn't hear him and she didn't care if she could- all she could see was her love's arms around her sister, his lips kissing her perfect sister...

She didn't stop running until she could no longer recognize where she was.

End Ultra-Dramatic Flashback

Denise Noel hummed the familiar opening, and then she sang the words:

"Hands touch,

Eyes meet.

Sudden silence,

Sudden heat.

Hearts lead in a giddy whirl.

He could be that boy,

But I'm not that girl.

Don't dream

Too far

Don't lose sight of

Who you are.

Don't remember that rush of joy.

He could be that boy,

I'm not that girl.

Ev'ry so often we long to steal

To the land of what-might-have been.

But that doesn't soften the ache we feel

When reality sets back in.

Blithe smile,

Lithe limb.

She who's winsome,

She wins him.

Gold hair with gentle curl.

That's the girl he chose,

And heaven knows,

I'm not that girl.

Don't wish,

Don't start.

Wishing only wounds the heart.

I wasn't born for the rose and pearl.

There's a girl I know,

He loves her so.

I'm not that girl."

She paused, thinking. Her voice wasn't exactly soubrette soprano, which seemed to be the manager's favorite. She had a spinto soprano voice, deep and rich, yet not quite alto. She remembered when...

"You need training." A voice interrupted her thoughts. An angelic, deep, rich tenor voice, whose beauty was beyond description. Oddly, it sounded familiar.

A moment later, she knew who it was.

"Monsieur Phantom?" she asked softly.

"You sing like a goat." The voice continued.

She already knew that. She knew she had never really had any talent for singing.

"Monsieur Phantom..."

The voice suddenly sounded enraged.

"Get out! Get out of this room, and never come back here!" It commanded.

"Yes, Monsieur Phantom." She said. She stood and walked quickly out of the room. She walked swiftly down the halls and out of the Opera before she paused to catch her breath, of which she had lost when she had heard that voice. Fear causes you to lose your breath.

And if there was one thing she had learned from her time at the Opera, it was to never, ever question the Phantom's orders.

RubyMoon's Secret Place

RubyMoon: Don't worry. This and the next two chapters will probably be the slowest chapters in the whole darn thing (I may have to turn this fanfic into a trilogy, so many things happen). It WILL pick up.

You don't really get to see Erik's 'creepiness' here, but it'll show up. Real soon. See hint above.

Please, please, PLEASE review! I know, I'm resorting to begging, but I live off of reviews. And thanks to those who already reviewed. - You two made my day.

Ja Ne!