A/N: Wow! Finally Chapter two yay! I'm sure you are shouting, "Shut and up and write woman!" So here goes.

Chapter One: What is in a Name?

Angel sat in the rose garden scribbling furiously in her notebook. Writing was her creative outlet, since music was banned in the De Chagny household. Her father, the Viscount De Chagny, had almost forbidden the roses, but at her mother's insistence only the red roses were forbidden. Angel looked down at the story she had written, the story of her mother and the man who had inspired her name.

It was the winter of 1870 and all sixteen year old Christine Daaé wanted to do was sing. She had been studying under a master of music, a dark and forbidding man known to her only as the Angel of Music. She believed that he was sent to her by her father, as Gustave Daaé had promised on his death bed.

Angel shook her head, wishing she had been named for her grandfather's promise and not for the murdering Angel as she feared. She just couldn't comprehend why a perfectly beautiful and normal person would choose to cut himself off from society by living deep underground and then stalk and terrorize a young girl. He must have been quite insane. Thoughts of him still haunted her mother, always there was a mixture of sadness and fear when she spoke of him, that was why Angel was writing the story down. It only took one beating for her to know her father wouldn't tolerate her endless thirst for knowledge bringing her mother anymore pain. Not that she could actually call the man father, it was difficult to believe he was when she was forbidden to address him as anything besides 'Messieur' or 'Viscount.'

Angel sighed and pulled her black hair over the marred side of her face. She hated the sight of it, the blue pulsing veins and the twisted scarred flesh disgusted her. There were no longer any mirrors in her room, every one she'd had had been broken as soon as she could reach them. She wondered if her face was why her father hated her? It was hard to tell since she was forbidden to hide it behind anything besides her hair. She'd lived with her face for sixteen years, she'd dealt with her siblings for fourteen of those yeas.

"Boo!"

Angel jumped up and turned around, glaring at the bane of her existence.

"Jonathan Raoul De Chagny!"

"What's the matter Angel? Afraid of a normal little boy, when you've got a face like that?"

Angel screamed and Jon took off running into the house. The fourteen year old boy was the second oldest of the De Chagny family, Angel being the oldest. There were three others; ten year old Michael James, six year old Andrea Michelle, and one year old Madelyn Danielle. Madelyn was the first baby who didn't cry and scream when she saw Angel's face. Anytime Angel wasn't in the rose garden she was with Madie. Madie had brought joy to her life where all else had failed. Before Madie there were many times Angel had wished to die.

Angel sighed longing to sing more that anything else in world. She looked around hastily to make sure no one was watching her and then took off running into the woods that surrounded the De Chagny house.

Angel arrived slightly out of breath and looked around at her cove. It was beautiful the sunlight danced playfully, reflecting through the emerald leaves of the trees, there was a small shallow pond that was a beautiful aqua blue, the woods were full of beauty and Angel loved it, especially when she could sneak away at night. She turned to her favorite tree, a slender silver birch that supported the vine of red roses she had planted. She brushed a velvet petal of one the deep scarlet roses as she inhaled the scent. She smiled, this was the one place where she was free to be herself. Alone and in peace. No one else knew about this place, maybe one day she would share this place with Madelyn, but for now she preferred to keep it her own. Angel took a deep breath inhaling the deep, rich smell of the woods and prepared to sing, but first there was one thing she needed. She reached into a hole in an Elm tree and pulled out her music box. Her father hated the music, but Angel loved it. She ran her hands over the smooth mahogany wood and traced the outline of the rose that was engraved into it. The music box had been a gift from someone at her birth, but Angel's mother wouldn't tell her who it was from. Angel opened the box and closed her yes as the hauntingly beautiful melody played. The second time through it Angel sang the words she knew went with it

Masquerade

Paper faces on parade

Masquerade

Hide your face so the world will never find you

Angel's mother had taught her those words and two other song before the Viscount banned music. Angel had only been five, but she remembered the other song perfectly even after eleven years.

Nighttime sharpens

Heightens each sensation

Darkness wakes and stirs imagination

Silently the sense abandon their defenses

Angel didn't know who had composed the song, but it was so beautiful. She wondered why her mother refused to speak of the song's composer.

Slowly gently night unfurls it's splendor

Grasp it sense it tremulous and tender

Turn your face away from the garish light of day

Turn your thoughts away from cold unfeeling light

And listen to the music of the night

Angel sighed, cutting the song short, she really didn't want to sing someone else's songs. She reached into the Elm again and pulled out one of the few instruments she'd been able to purchase and hide, using money that she'd saved from the meager allowance her mother gave her. If Messieur le Viscount knew about them he would have a foppish fit, Angel smiled at the thought of the Viscounts face if he knew that she had been sneaking out at night for years and that she'd taught herself to play the flute, the violin, and the viola. This time she pulled out the flute.

Angel sat on a fallen tree and put the flute together. She raised the silver instrument to her lips and began a slow warm up. Once that was through she began to play a slow sweet song that she had written after on of many run ins with her father. The song was over all to soon and Angel sighed as the last not reverberated through the trees. Once that last note had faded into oblivion Angel began to play a more melancholy song that she had written on a day when thoughts of her face had grown overwhelming, it was the same day that she had slammed her fist into the mirror, shattering it and slicing her fingers, she still had the scars. The song spoke to her as always, of how she would never be accepted, of how no man would ever love her. She should have entered into the debutante society long ago, but her parents refused, knowing what the outcome would be. No nanny had ever taken Angel into her care and her mother was never enthusiastic about her care. So angel had practically raised her self, and had grown independent, a quality not appreciated in highbred wives.

Angel dried the tears from her eyes as she finished her song and placed the flute back in its case, deciding that she was done with music for the night. She turned to the elm tree and nearly dropped her flute in surprise. A strange man dressed all in black was standing there, how long had he been there. Angel touched her hair, glad that it was covering her hideous face. She vaguely wondered why the man was wearing a cloak in the summer and why the hood was pulled so low over his face. Angel's heart pounded in her chest. Did this man know who she was? Was he going to kidnap her for ransom? Would my parents even pay the ransom, she wondered.

"Good evening Mademoiselle De Chagny," he said smoothly. So he did know who she was.

"Wh-who are you?"

The man radiated intensity and Angel was intimidated.

"I am…. an old friend of your parents, you may call me Messieur le Ange."

"Why are you here Messieur le Ange? What do you want with me?" Angel wished her voice would stop shaking, it didn't help when Messieur d'Ange laughed, a cold baritone sound that made Angel take a step back.

"Have no fear little Angel, I bear no ill will to you. Tell me, how does your mother fare?"

"She… she is quite well, Messieur."

"Good… now tell me, Mademoiselle Viscountess…."

"That title, Messieur," Angel interrupted, "does not belong to me."

"Oh really? Your father will not pass his title on?"

"Oh he will, but not to me. I am the oldest yes, but the title does not go to me, but to my siblings. The Viscounts eldest son, my brother, Jonathan Raoul, will inherit the main estate and Michael James will inherit the countryside estate. Andrea Michelle and Madelyn Danielle will each get dowries, but I, Messieur, shall receive nothing, and not even my mother cares." Angel glared at the man, angry at her self for telling him so much.

"So, you and your…. siblings… do you get along well?"

"Not really no. Madie and I do, but she's to young to understand…… except the others…." Angel stopped unwilling to share anymore information with this man.

"Yes…." he prodded.

"Well we don't get along. I am the oldest and I am….. different. Suffice it to say that since Madie is a baby she doesn't understand theses differences. No if you will excuse me Messieur le Ange, I am nearly late for dinner." Angel placed the flute in the elm and hurried through the woods, pretending not to her him when he called after her.

"Your music was beautiful Mademoiselle Angelique."

A/N Hm….. Long and sort of a cliff hanger…. I wonder who that man was? Well I already know how Angel is going to leave the De Chagny home….. Very tragic, very sad….. Hee hee (cackles evilly) but you just have to wait and see. R and R please!