Upon waking, I found myself in a dark room lit only by one candle. I had also been covered in a thick wool blanket. I sat up and felt the world spin around me. The more alert I became, the more panicked I felt. I no longer wore my blood and mud caked gown, but a nightgown that was not my own. I looked around the room. There was a small table near the bed that held the candle, Other than that, the only furnishing was a cabinet that I assumed held clothes. I glanced down and realized that my hands were no longer caked in blood. Someone evidently had found and cared for me, which lessened my fear a little but not by much.

I let out a breath I had not even realized I was holding and tried the door handle. It was locked from the outside. "Hello?" I called, trying not to sound panicked.

I looked around the room for some sharp object I could use to pick the lock. I opened up the cabinet only to find it empty, devoid of any hangers that I could fashion into a lockpick. I then felt in my unruly curls from a pin I could use. I had my hair pinned before I had fled, but evidently, that had been taken from me also. I sighed heavily, and sat on the bed once more, trying hard to keep my tears at bay.

Presently, the door opened. A tall thin woman stood before me. She had dark graying hair that was pulled back tightly into a bun. She wore a well-tailored, but rather a plain dark gray dress that flattered her wiry figure. She had black beady eyes partially concealed behind a large pair of spectacles and thin lips that were pursed tightly. Although she looked to be a rather severe woman, something about her presence put me a bit at ease. She regarded me for a moment, and inquired, "What is your name?"

Memories of the murder flashed before my eyes. I suppose I oughtn't to tell her my proper name. "Christine Gustafsson," I answered after a moment. I figured there were enough Christine's in Paris that I could keep my first name. My last name was not exactly a lie also, since my father's name was Gustaf, though I could not exactly have said my name was "Christine Gustaf-daughter."

"I am Madame Giry the ballet Headmistress here. You were found in a graveyard late last night, and I was instructed to care for you and offer you a position in the Chorus," she stated after regarding me for another moment.

"Asked by whom?" I inquired, baffled by this scenario, not quite believing my good luck.

"That is of little consequence. Provided that you can learn the blocking, you will perform in the upcoming showing of II Muto that debuts in three weeks. Our chorus has currently grown rather sparse or I doubt such a ridiculous request would have been made. I will not inquire as to why you were found unconscious, alone, at night in a graveyard, as that is your past and your business. However, should you accept this offer, you will be expected to not indulge in such behavior and behave with the highest amount of propriety. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Madame. Thank you, I believe I should like to accept your offer," I responded.

I supposed that it did not really matter who found me or why they had decided to show me such an extraordinary act of kindness, though being here reminded me of my days spent in Sweden with my parents.

"One-day min prinsessa you will grace all of Europe with your beautiful voice!" my father proclaimed, applauding my little performance.

I giggled and curtsied to my audience of two as my mother wiped a tear from her eye. "You ought to learn to dance, also," my mother commented, "If you ever want to be a real performer, you must learn to dance."

My mother's words rang in my mind even after all those years. My parents had paid for dance lessons, and I progressed quite well before I moved to Paris.

"—is that acceptable?"

I snapped back to the present, realizing that I had been spoken to again. "Sorry, I was distracted," I murmured, barely meeting her harsh gaze.

"You will still need to audition for the chorus, as we need to evaluate your singing and dancing abilities. Would you find this afternoon acceptable?" she repeated.

I nodded, "yes, thank you. Should I be officially accepted, would I stay here–" I began, before she cut me off.

"All young unmarried female performers live together in the dormitories. Provided that you are not engaged or married, you will stay there. Assuming you can sing as well as I have been informed, you will want to make arrangements to have your belongings transported here. In the meantime, you may keep the nightgown, and I will bring some fresh clothes for you to change into."

"I don't have any belongings," I remarked quietly.

A puzzled expression crossed her features but disappeared quickly. "I will find you some proper things to wear. In the meantime, you must stay here."

I nodded meekly, as there was nowhere for me to go anyways. I did notice that as she left she did not re-lock the door, which provided me with a bit of comfort. Nearly an hour passed before I heard her footsteps approaching. She stopped a few yards outside my door, and I heard her voice talking to someone. Putting my ear to the door I attempted to listen in on their conversation, but I was only able to glean bits of their conversation. "I really do not know why you picked this one," I heard her state.

The words stung a little, but I did not understand why I had been 'chosen' either. "Who is she? She does not even have a single belonging! How do I know you have not delivered me a thieving maniac who will slit all our throats in our sleep?!"

"Calm yourself, Antoinette," I heard a smooth silvery voice respond, "I will keep watch over her and ensure your safety. I would not have brought her here if it were not for the greater good."

I felt unsettled by the voice and quickly backed over to the bed so it would not seem like I had been eavesdropping. I wondered if perhaps the voice had been involved in my rescue. Presently, Madame Giry entered with a satchel and a bucket filled with water. "You should find everything you require in the satchel. Clean yourself up. I'll return later and show you to the dormitories."

I thanked her as she left the room. I had expected that she would provide me with a fresh gown and perhaps a change of undergarments. However, she had been quite considerate in obtaining for me two fresh gowns, another nightgown, two pairs of stockings, fresh undergarments, ballet slippers, among other items I had not even considered that I would have needed. I began to wish that I had thought ahead enough when fleeing to have brought some of my personal belongings. However, it was too late to return to my previous home to retrieve anything. I had a new life, and I would readily accept it.

I dressed quickly and washed my face. I found my hair pin returned to me in the satchel, and I used it to pin up my unruly curls. I waited again for nearly twenty minutes for Madame Giry to return again. This time, when she knocked on my door and entered, she was accompanied by a pretty blonde girl.

The girl was taller than me, but not quite as tall as the ballet mistress. She had long blonde waist-length hair that she had pinned away from her face, but cascaded in long waves down her back. Her eyes were large and sea green and seemed to sparkle with mischief. She had a toned figure and moved gracefully, evidently a ballerina.

"I thought I should introduce you to one of the girls here so that she can show you around. This is my daughter Meghan, one of the ballet rats. I'll leave the two of you to get acquainted," said Madame Giry a little stiffly as she turned to leave.

Meghan, however, appeared much more enthusiastic and friendly. "Hi!" she exclaimed as she rushed forward to embrace me, "you can call me Meg. My mother can be a bit gruff at times, but that's just because she's a perfectionist who dislikes change or any sort of unusual disruption. Not that you're much of a disruption, though the Opera Ghost has never demanded that a random girl off the streets be thrust into the chorus. Your arrival is just a bit unconventional, though I would expect you will have a successful career given that the Ghost is on your side!" she prattled on.

"Ghost?" I asked confused.

"Oh yes, I suppose you haven't been here long enough to have heard of the Ghost." Meg flashed me a grin and began her tale, "Once upon a time, there lived the finest opera singer to ever have existed. It was said that he had the voice of an angel and the face of a god. For years he performed alongside his one true love, the prima donna of course. It was rumored that they were engaged to be married, but the prima donna had been unfaithful and her lover attempted to prevent the wedding. In a tragic turn of events, the prima donna, overcome with guilt, poisoned herself with the very venom intended for the Opera Ghost that her lover had craftily placed in his goblet. Broken hearted, the Ghost shot and killed her lover before turning the pistol on himself. He now walks these very halls, searching for his one true love, and has done so for the past 100 years. He also has a heavy influence over the activities in the Opera House and no one ever dares to oppose his wishes. Evidently, he wishes for you to join the chorus, so here you are."

Meg finished her gripped tale, and I chuckled. "Well that's tragically romantic, but I don't believe in ghosts." I'd have a couple haunting me now if I did, I thought, though I was wise enough not to say so aloud. Though I did wonder, If there isn't a ghost, why on earth am I here?

"Doubt if you will, but you'll learn soon enough!" Meg laughed gleefully, pulling me to my feet, "Come now, I know half a dozen other ballet rats who are dying to meet you."