A/N: Ooh...update...!

Yeah, guys, I'm just barely having time for this...I'm FREE AS A BIRD today! No rehearsal or performance, no homework, home alone, AND I went to school 2 periods late today! LIFE IS GOOD!

But tomorrow, back to it! Hope you enjoy this...wish me luck working on it...

Chapter 2—Masked

In accordance with the note her mother had left, the police took the child to Paris, where the Garnier manor was well known. Monsieur Garnier was a famous architect, and Madame Garnier had a five-year-old boy. The masked young girl's steps were slow as she approached her new home, following the men in uniform. When the master of the house first saw her, he grimaced.

"I had heard," was what he said. "We are prepared, monsieurs."

They were shown inside to a parlor, and the officers were given tea. Christine did not care when she was not offered a cup. She was focused across the room, where stood a grand piano of darkest black and purest white. She ached to go over, to reach out and bring music forth from the keys, but she remained motionless, except for the clenching of her fist on her violin's handle.

She was aware of the staring eyes upon her, but she did nothing in their regard, her head bowed slightly but her eyes drinking in every detail of the piano. She felt very small in the great house, the great room, the great chair she was in. She felt about as massive as nothing at all.

Monsieur Garnier stared at her often during his conversation with the policemen. His eyes viewed her mask, her clothing, and—most of all—her violin, with dark hatred. His sister's child…nothing more than a shriveled whelp.

When the men had left, the master turned to the young girl who sat submissively before him.

"Know this," he told her in a very different tone than he had used with the officers, "we do not want you here. We never expected my whore of a sister to go and kill herself and dump you on our doorstep. We will not tolerate anything but obedience. Is that understood?"

"Yes."

"You shall address me properly."

"Yes, sir," the girl said dutifully.

"Tell me your name."

"Christine, sir."

"Christine, know this also: we do not tolerate music here. Give me this—" he stood and wrenched her violin out of her hands, "—and you are not to touch that piano. Is that quite clear?"

Christine's eyes had widened desperately throughout this entire proclamation. No music? How could she live? How could she disobey the Father's last words to her? She swallowed to hold back the quiver in her voice when she answered, "Yes, sir."

"You are in a very different place now. I shall expect you to do exactly as you are told. We shall get you a new mask—that one is filthy." He gestured to her face and she drew back protectively. "For now…" He called a servant over. "Show her to her room."

Christine was led to a small closet of a room, with no furnishings except for a small pallet on the floor in the corner and a short table with an unlit lamp on it. Once alone inside it, she sat down and laid her head in her hands. She doubted this would be any sort of a life for her to live.

--

It had been night when Christine had entered her room, and she had lain for hours, sorrowfully recalling the past, racing though the possibilities for the future. She was awoken suddenly in the morning by a loud banging outside her door.

She adjusted her mask as she went to open the door, and was met by a girl older than herself, but still quite young, sixteen perhaps. She said, "The master desires your presence," to Christine, who followed her up to a study. Within the study, Monsieur Garnier sat at his desk. He looked up when the servant announced Christine, and gave her his unchanging grimace.

"You will come with me today, Christine," he said harshly, as though reprimanding her. "I have made an appointment with a friend of mine, a craftsman who will make you a mask." He stood and stalked toward her. "I thought to get the thing done as quickly as it could be. You will also be found clothes to wear, for those—rags—are preposterous. Come along, now, and look sharp."

He exited the room, and Christine scurried behind him, not daring to speak a word. She was silent throughout the carriage ride, too, and upon entering the building labeled The Artisan. She remained Monsieur Garnier's shadow as a man came from the back, dusting his hands to offer one to the gentleman.

"Nice to see you, Charles," he said, shaking Monsieur Garnier's hand heartily. "You have a new project for me, eh? Where is she?"

Christine was drawn forward by her master's firm hand. "Here," Monsieur Garnier said with distaste. "T'will be no great matter for a fine man such as yourself, Lucius. I'll just return in an hour, then." And with that, he hurriedly left.

The man—Lucius—appraised Christine through narrowed eyes, then beckoned her to follow him into the room from which he had come. "Sit, child," he directed the girl, pointing to a hard chair in the middle of the room. Christine sat nervously, perched straight-backed on the chair's very edge. The man walked to a table and gave something in a bowl a few stirs before he approached Christine again.

"Take it off," he said, not unkindly. Christine bit her lip and did as he asked, wincing as her deformed flesh came into his view. He was silent for a moment, staring in concealed shock, but soon moved back to the table and picked something up.

Christine quietly did all he asked as he applied some claylike substance to make a mould of her face. She was then perfectly still, watching him as he brought the mould back to the table and poured something into it. In a few minutes, he brought back a soft mask, which he put onto her and worked gently with his hands, smoothing the edges, smoothing the outside, forming it exactly to the contours of her face so that it would remain in place without the use of string. He stepped back in a moment, and nodded to himself in satisfaction. He removed the mask and took it back to his table, brushing it with white-coloured glaze and letting it harden.

In several minutes, the mask was finished, and he handed it back to Christine. She put it on almost timidly, pressing it to her face. The surface was cool and smooth against the demented skin that it covered so neatly. The artisan held up a mirror, and looking into it, the young girl saw what might have been a ghost, her face half-sheathed by a stark white shield.

In that moment, Christine was given a deadly confidence. The mask, accented by her piercing green eyes, red lips, and ebony hair, granted her an ominous, foreboding air. She knew suddenly that she had enough power in her to do anything. She could command the world, if she wished. All she had to do was set her extraordinary mind to it, and she could twist all aspects of her life to her liking.

No music? Ha! She would play, she would sing, and she would do it through any punishment she was given. She would simply defy the rules until she could truly force men and women to obey her.

"Thank you," she whispered, turning her eyes up to look at Lucius with gratitude.

He smiled gently. "So the little one can talk. I am glad that you like it." He gave her his hand to help her to her feet, then continued. "Now, Monsieur Garnier said that he would return in an hour, and it has been naught but twenty minutes. Would you stay here and wait for his carriage, or go elsewhere?"

Christine paused in thought. "I am not familiar with Paris, monsieur. I would rather remain here, if you please, sir."

He considered her for a moment. "Would you like to watch me work?"

Christine's face brightened with a flicker of hope. "I would like that very much, monsieur."

Lucius smiled again. He had sensed the presence of the girl's powerful muse for the arts the moment she had entered his shop. He could tell she would be great, if given the right instruction. "Come along, then," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder and bringing her with him to another part of the room. "I will show you the statue I am working on."

He brought her to the very back, and she saw a partially-finished statue of an angel. The body, basic head shape, and arms had been carved, while the wings, fingers, face, and what seemed to be a lyre, had yet to be defined. She thought it beautiful work.

"Would you like to learn about art, my child?"

Christine's breath caught in her throat. "Could I?"

"You can," he said, "but you must tell me your name first."

Christine saw a sparkle in his eyes that contradicted the seriousness of his tone. "Christine," she said, a slight smile twitching the corners of her mouth.

"Christine," he repeated carefully, as though testing the sound of the name. "Watch me, Christine."

He showed her each tool he picked up, and told her its name. She watched him carefully while he worked, and listened closely while he explained every cut of his chisel. She watched in almost perfect silence, speaking only to ask a question or confirm a technique. She saw the delicate, thin fingers emerge, curved around the shape of the harp. She took all the information and stored it carefully away in her mind to remember forever.

"It is lovely," she breathed after what seemed quite a short time.

"Merci," he said in reply, then continued, "but you must go now, little one."

Christine started. An hour already? But she had learned so much, seen such beauty, been so accepted…

"Might I come again?" she asked quietly.

Lucius' eyes looked upon her kindly. "Of course, dear child. I would be happy to have you again. But Monsieur Garnier will be waiting. I will see you soon."

Sadly, Christine bade the craftsman good day as he saw her to the door, and exited the shop hurriedly to the waiting barouche.

Lucius, upon returning to the workroom, saw the child's former, cloth mask lying on the table. He picked it up and, after a thoughtful moment, tossed it into the fire. The child had a new dignity, a new life now. There was no use in saving any shadow from the past.

--

A/N: I like Lucius. No reference to Harry Potter. Seriously.

I love everyone who reviewed! And by the way, I recently got a "review" that yelled at me for yelling at people who don't review. Question mark! Yeah, it was weird. But okay, I'll ask NICELY...REVIEW PLEASE!