Messieurs Gerard Lamarre and Sinclair Rousseau -

It is my great pleasure to welcome new managers to my opera house. Allow me to be the first to congratulate you on a job well done. Thanks to both of your perseverance and determination, I must say that the Opera Populaire is looking absolutely wonderful. I'm sure tonight's Re-opening Gala will be nothing short of splendid.

Included with this letter is a basic list of requirements and guidelines, to which I ask you follow closely.

Please be sure to give my regards to the stage manager, Madame Giry. If you have any questions concerning any of the requirements, she is the one to consult.

Thank you once again for your fantastic work on rebuilding this opera house.

O.G.

"That's it?"

Two men stood inside an office, their faces white with an uncertain fear. One stood, leaning over the desk, his hands supporting him as he looked at his partner. Gerard Lamarre was a practical man. Still fairly young, not older than 40 years of age, Monsieur Lamarre had been interested in rebuilding the Opera Populaire because of the amount of money invovled once the work was complete. Whatever artistic value opera house held for the community was not important to him.

The other man shook his head. He sat in his chair, one of those big, fancy leather things you'd expect to be in an office. Sinclair Rousseau was, by no means, what you could call traditional. He did things his own way, how he wanted. That was why he seized the opportunity to rebuild the Opera Populaire. He could run things the way they ought to be. So, while he oversaw all the plans and proceedings, his partner collected the money. He flipped through the pages in his hands, sighing heavily. "No, there's more. He says he wants Box Five empty. . . Free access to all parts of the opera house at all times, and-" The man's eyes went wide with shock. "Twenty thousand francs! A month!"

Lamarre could have had his eyes pop out of his head. He couldn't believe this! "Twenty... twenty thousand francs?" he repeated, his voice hushed down to a loud whisper. "Rousseau... Do you have any idea how much that'll cost us?" He sighed, falling heavily into his chair. Already he was having doubts about this new career. After a moment of thinking, he turned back to face his partner. "Who is this 'O.G' character, anyway? Who is he to tell us what to do?" His tone adopted a a slight prickle of anger as he spoke.

Rousseau seemed surprised at the question. He'd assumed that Gerard had heard about all of this beforehand. Most of what he'd heard, he thought, were nothing more than rumors. A lot was just too far-fetched to possibly have any truth. But nearly all of Paris new at least something about the mysterious events that occured in this theater, truth or not. "You mean you haven't... Surely you must have..." Rousseau was met with just an expectant stare, his partner still awaiting the explanation. He sighed, scratching his head absently as he set the papers down on his desk. The explanation began.

Oh, was it good to be back. After three years of living on the outskirts of Paris, he felt it was about time the reconstruction was finished. Upon arriving at the newly completed opera house, all his doubts were duly erased. The finished theater, by far, surpassed what he had expected. In some ways, it seemed the new Opera Populaire was even grander than the old one. And to think, if it hadn't been for him, this place would have probably just fallen apart.

Though he would have very much liked to have waltzed in through the main door, he decided that he didn't want to frighten anyone away. There was still probably someone a bit sore after the disaster, and he would prefer to be alive for the opening performance. So his entrance wasn't magnificent as he might have dreamed, but at least he was home. The metal grate easily opened for him, which was a surprise. No one, as far as he knew, had used it in years. It was strange how it simply swung open with just the slightest tug. He soon forgot about this as he began his descent into the darkness.

He couldn't exactly explain it, but as he came closer to his destinated, there seemed to be music playing. Each step that brought him nearer made the music seem even louder, as though it were filling the hall in which he stood. But, of course, that wasn't possible. The only music that could be playing would have to be from upstairs, and that was too far above him for it to sound so close. Puzzled, but still intrigued by this mysterious tune, he continued onward, determined to find out what was creating such a wonderful sound.

A gloved hand reached out and tugged back the crimson curtain, and a burst of light stung his eyes. He blinked a few times, adjusting to the sudden brightness. The scene before him made his eyes go wide. This wasn't possible... It just wasn't possible...

Candles, the hundreds he'd already had and perhaps even more, were lit all around the room. How could this be? No one had been here! And the music... The music played even louder, echoing through the very walls of this cavern. He stepped slowly and cautiously forward, his eyes taking in the scene in absolute shock. Everything was tidy, spotlessly clean. No papers on the floor, no glass, no anything. All the mess that had been left behind was entirely gone. Though he was quite surprised as it was, nothing prepared him for what he saw next.

As he turned a corner, he found himself frozen in place. He found the source of the music. Standing there, in front of the lake, was a girl. In her hands was a violin, placed upon her shoulder, and a bow, which danced across the strings with enviable ease. Her eyes were closed, and her mouth was shut. No sound came from her except that of the instrument she held. She made no movements except to play another note. Golden hair fell in delicate waves to her waist, her fair skin softly illuminated by the candlelight. She wore a dress of a deep, richly colored blue, its edges accented by a braided gold trim.

The two of them stood there, one still in shock, the other wonderfully oblivious. When at last, the final note was played, the violin was brought down from its place on her shoulder, her other hand falling slowly beside her. Her eyelids lifted slowly, revealing the pale gray color beneath. A moment of uneasy silence settled in before she, at last, turned and found that an unpexpected audience had dropped in. The silence didn't end, as both of them struggled to recover from their surprise.

She inspected the man closely, her lips pursed together tightly. He was actually sort of frightening. His clothes were all black, or at least black was the only color she could see, save for the white mask over the right side of his face. A dark cloak made him look rather intimidating, as well as the black fedora pulled close over his eyes. In the flickering candlelight, most of his face was in shadow, making him all the more frightening.

He didn't know what to think. Anger was gradually building up inside him as he stared at her with cold eyes. What was she doing here? This was his home. i His /i home! How could she have gotten here? He'd waited three years for this place to be rebuilt, and for what? To find himself without a place to live? His gaze fell to the violin still in her hand. A bit of his anger subsided as he recalled the wonderful music she had played for him. He'd never heard anything quite like it.

In a long moment of uncertainty, their eyes met. Neither knew what to say or do. To both of them, the other was the intruder in this place each and come to call 'home'. And yet, neither was able to be entirely furious. Annoyed, perhaps, that they'd been discovered, but nothing more.

The silence was unbearable. Still gazing up apprehensively into the man's eyes, the girl lifted the violin back up to her shoulder and began to play.