Child of the one unknown lay in her mother's arms. Dark ebony curls came down to her lower back and sweet azure eyes on her father. Raoul stared back at the child from across the large room, hand under head and elbow propped on his grey panted leg. Mother of the child was Christine Daae, now known as the Countess de Chagny. Soft pale hand stroked the child's ebony hair and soft whispers were given to her. The clock struck nine at night and child picked her head off of her mother's chest. Her father had been yelling great curses and such for reasons unknown to her. Christine picked up the ebony one and spoke softly to Raoul,

"She is your daughter, whether you believe it or not."

"No child of mine has hair like the raven, Christine."

"But she does, and it is time for her to sleep. Good night."

Christine carried the child up to her room. Scarlet carpet leading the way to the room of the child. The child looked older then she really was, and that could be a shame in a way. She was six years of age and she had pale skin of her mother although she was always found outside. And most she held slight rose to her cheeks, overall she was a beautiful child. Footsteps echoed down the hallway and Christine still held the tired child in one arm and opened the pearly white door with the other. The room that they entered was a rose color with a canopy black iron bed in one corner, beautiful pictures of Paris and a black dresser. The nursery showed no signs of a spoiled child but instead of a child who enjoyed gardening then anything else. A bouquet of differently colored roses were in a vase of peach coloring and drapes of an off-white at the balcony doors. Glass doors looked out onto the gardens below. Being at three stories up she rested on the last floor. Sitting her daughter on the bed Christine smiled at her, daughter smiled back.

Daughter was already dressed in white nightgown, bright azure eyes watched her mother take a book from a bookshelf. A favorite of the child's, a story that her mother had written. Excitement as she pulled red covers up and sat up listening to her mother's words. Her mother had a beautiful voice, it reminded her of a spring morning. She was intent on listening. The story that Christine had written was about a lonely man, the Phantom, Erik, and how he found a place in the world. It pained her to know her teacher was no longer with her, she worried on his health, she worried.

Child of Christine and Raoul listened carefully to the memorized story. She closed eyes and imagined it all, the darkness, the music that lulled her into securities, and the man in the mask. But the story was never finished it reached a climax then stopped. Reasons were for daughter to imagine the ending in any way she could. Christine closed the leather bound book and kissed her daughter on the forehead, soft whispers,

"Goodnight, love."

Raven haired child smiled up and rested head to the pillow her own words of night followed,

"Night, mommy."

Sweet smile on her lips as Christine closed the door silently. As night wore on movements at the large window door occured. Russling of a cloak and the outline of a shadowed figure could be seen. Without warning the door opened letting a cold breeze drift in, daughter shook in cold and pulled the covers up to her tiny chin. Black leathered glove touched the child's cheek. A sight to see if anyone had been there. Then as a sound in the hallway caught figure's attention it was out of the door and gone in a heartbeat. Glass door closed silently as the door on the other side of the room opened. In stepped a boy that appeared to be around eleven. Brown hair in his eyes he looked at his sister for a moment, reassuring himself that she was still there then walked out of the room. Back against the wooden door he looked at the scarlet carpet and bare feet. Then he started walking down the hallway, before he knew what was happening a blow to the side of his face.

The floor came fast and startled him, wind rushed away from his lungs. Gaping for the air he was not surprised at all to see his father looming above him. He always did something wrong. Face of the father was red, veins popping out at the neck. Christine would have left him long ago but he forbade her to. Sons and daughter were at his mercy. Glare from the brother was sent up. A well polished shoe in his stomich. Knees drew into his body and he held them close.

"And what do you think you were doing?"

"Checking on her." The boy gasped, still trying to catch his breath.

"You lying bastard. Dammit, my children all are liars."

"I'm not lying, father. I had a bad feeling."

"Well, you were wrong so get your sorry ass to bed. I never want to hear that your roaming the halls again."

Hand grasped the boys arm and wrenched him off of the carpet, pulling towards his room and pushing him in. Boy stumbled in and tears started forming at the corners of his eyes.

"I wasn't lying."

Then he crawled into his bed, eyes closed and he tossed and turned with a sinking feeling in his stomich. Meanwhile the Phantom lingered at the estate for a short while. He had plans and nothing would go wrong. He couldn't afford for anything to go wrong.