A/N: Big hugs and thank you's go out to: BelleDayNight, artificial night and ChoChangLookAlike for your kind reviews! Thank you thank you thank you!!

I'm sorry for the short chapter, but I had to end it there to start the next part. Don't worry, the chapters will get longer and there will be much more action to come!

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera or its characters, much as I wish I did!

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The next morning I woke up slowly. It was Saturday and the house was quiet. Mama was probably at the market with Stephan.

My dog, a little white poodle, was curled up on the bed next to me. When I opened my eyes she reached over and licked my cheek and I smiled.

Sasha had been a birthday present. Papa had Charles buy her and bring her to me early in the morning on my tenth birthday. I had fallen in love with her immediately. She was such a sweet little ball of fluff.

But even though she was my birthday present, Sasha preferred Papa over everyone else. She followed him around and lay at his feet when he sang.

I remembered, clearly, when I had chosen her name. We were trying to decide what to call the puppy when I suddenly said, "We should name her Sasha!" I said and Papa's face went white. Mama asked him what was wrong but he just shook his head and said that Sasha was the name of a dog he'd had as a child. When I asked what had happened to her, Papa got that faraway look in his eyes and said simply that she had died of old age. Even at ten I had not believed him.

I got up and dressed and went downstairs, Sasha close behind me. I could hear the faint strains of music coming from the music room.

I opened the door slowly and found my father sitting at the organ. He was playing a slow, haunting song, one I had heard countless times before but never tired of hearing. I leaned against the doorframe and listened as he sang. The song was Music of the Night, a song he wrote for my mother years ago when he was her voice tutor. His voice was wonderful, Mama said Papa had the voice of an angel.

I listened to the words, and for the first time realized the meaning behind them. I understood why he preferred to stay away from people. I was suddenly fascinated with my father, a man I knew so little about, only that he and Mama had met when she was singing at the Paris Opera House. Then Papa became her tutor and taught her how to sing. Then they had decided to get married and she had stopped singing and they had moved to the country. I knew nothing else about him, except that his parents were dead and that he was an architect as well as a musician and singer. He spoke many languages and loved to read. He was often quiet and withdrawn and when he was composing music it was as if he were someplace far away. Papa was mysterious, no doubt of that.

Suddenly I had a million questions, but I knew I could not ask them, not then.

Papa turned then and saw me standing in the doorway. He stopped singing. "Bethie, I did not hear you come in," he said with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes, which were the same shade of blue as my own.

Sasha ran over to him and he gently stroked her head. I sat next to him on the bench.

"Your mother tells me that you sang beautifully last night," he said. He picked up a single red rose that was sitting on the organ and handed it to me, as he had done after each and every one of my performances.

I blushed and held the rose up to smell its sweet fragrance. "She has to say that," I said softly. "She is my mother."

Papa studied me intently. "Bethie, you have a beautiful voice. You are so very talented. With your voice you will be famous someday."

I looked up at him. "You really think so?" I said hopefully.

"Yes I do. You will be a Prima Donna. Perhaps someday you will perform on the stage at the Paris Opera House where your mother used to sing," he said. He was looking at me, but there was a distant look in his eyes.

"Really?"

"Yes, Bethie, really," he said.

I smiled up at him. "Mama says you are the world's best teacher," I said and Papa chuckled softly.

Just then I heard the door open and Mama called to me to help with the groceries from the market. I leaned over and kissed Papa on the cheek and smiled as I hurried to the kitchen.

I vowed then and there that one day I would make it to the stage at the Paris Opera House. I imagined standing there in front of a grand audience, all cheering for me, and Papa on the front row, watching me.

I would sing in the Opera House. I would make my father proud.

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