Hello my readers! Since I haven't done this yet, I would like to remind everyone out there I do NOT own any of the original characters of Andrew Lloyd Webber's production NOR do I own the ones in Leroux's book (which if you haven't read is a great read) the only ones I lay claim to are: Belle, Conner, Lukas (yes its spelled with a K) their parents, Christopher, and the new managers. I would love reviews from you guys as I see them as a way to better my work. I remain your obedient servant, The Southern Rose.

The next several weeks and months, I worked as a stagehand and even an apprentice seamstress. I did everything from pulling ropes, moving props and sets, to fixing a ballerina's costume when the head seamstress was out. I was always jealous of them. I could never be that graceful, sure I tried but these girls had been trained since they were young. Oh well, I was happy with what I was doing, I had a paying job and my brothers have a place to sleep. If there was one thing to complain about it was hands down La Carlotta, yikes! Sometimes I wonder how she hasn't broken a window or mirror during a performance. As she began to less sing and more belt out her notes, the maids of the opera house quickly began to wad up small bits of rag and put them in their ears in hopes to combat the diva's shrill soprano screech. Stay in one place long enough you learn a few tricks of the trade. Even the directors seemed to follow her lead. Whatever she thought the tempo was, or the choreography was to look like, or even the costuming, no one ever dared to correct her. It was always "Yes Senora Carlotta." If another idea was suggested, Carlotta would fly into a rage and walk, no storm of the stage and toward the back exit of the opera house. Then Badeaux and Leroux would coddle her with pink dresses, new pets, and priceless jewelry and like a dog, would return to her stage to pick up where she left off.
Today was no acceptation either; La Carlotta had yet another lead role in a production. We were fixing props that were not to "Senora Carlotta's" personal liking and I got stuck with altering her dress. She demanded that there be more tulle on the skirt and there needed more pink in the dress as a whole. The production was set in England and Carlotta was to play a wealthy English Lady in a satire piece. English noblewomen usually wore bold colors, or white if the occasion suited.
"As you so desire Senora, but perhaps I may sugg" She quickly swatted me with her primrose fan and called me toad and other names in a thick Spanish accent, probably names I shouldn't repeat. Note to self; NEVER make a suggestion if you want to avoid being beaten to death by a fan. All I wanted to do was crawl into bed with my book and read until I fell asleep. The day seemed to drag on and on, no end in the future. Finally, Carlotta had enough for the day and left for her chambers. The ballet rats scurried through the sets and back to their holes to change and roam freely.
"My, my Mademoiselle, you certainly can hold your own around a stage." Said Christophe, the new head of sets. "But how are you when it comes to this?" and held up a whiskey bottle. I shook my head.
"I don't drink." I tried to walk away but he had other things on his mind. He grabbed my arm, flung me around, and pinned me to the wall. Though most people were bigger than me, he was a mountain and I was an ant. His tanned arms held me tight to the wall while his hazel eyes were glassed over with whiskey and bourbon.
"I never said you could leave ma ange..." His speech slurred and his breath stunk to high heavens. "No wonder your name is Belle… beauty like yours should be taken advantage of…" He leaned in to me slowly. I used this to my advantage. I pulled my knee into his groin, a slew of profanity stumbling from his mouth. I grabbed my knife from my boot and in one fail swoop, pinned him to the wall. I was about to issue a death threat when a powerful voice boomed from behind me.
"Touch her again sir, and you'll wish you'd never drank a drop in your life." That seemed to get his attention. I let go and he scrambled back to the stage with the other men. Why couldn't I be like other normal girls and be a simple ballerina? I tried to find who or what that voice was but just as quickly as it arrived, it vanished. I shook it off. I placed my knife back into my boot when someone was crying out my name.
"Belle!" I turned to see Meg Giry coming down the hall, her golden hair bouncing like her gauzy ballerina skirt. I gave her a hug. "Are you ok? Christophe told us what happened, but since he was drunk I wanted to make sure it was true." I nodded my head.
"I'm alright, I think. I have a question, I heard a voice defend me, but when I turned to thank him, it, whatever, it just vanished." Her face paled. Her eyes darted around before she took my hand and in a death grip led me to her dorm room and locked the door. She told me that it was the Phantom of the Opera. I'd heard of this Opera Ghost but I never believed in such a childish bedtime story. Plus, it couldn't be even if such a man did exist; he died in the fire of the opera house years ago and if my memory serves, he likes the dainty singing and dancing type, not a girl who works for a living. The clock sound reminded us that it was time to turn in. She walked me to the door and bid me goodnight. I trudged to my room and turned my music box on and sang with the music as I bathed and changed. I was in bed with the newest book from the bookshop when I noticed the mirror wasn't as wide as it normally is. I went over to fix it when I found a stairwell descending into the darkness. I grabbed my long cloak and threw it on and strapped my knife to me for, safety reasons, then grabbed a candle and followed it One day my curiosity is going to get me in trouble. The passageway wasn't what I expected; it should be covered in cobwebs and dust, but none of them were to be found. Someone has been down here, and very recently. As the hallway ended, a small lake began. I walked around for a boat or another way around but to my luck, there wasn't. As I turned around to head back up the stairs, a light began to glow. It was small, like a single candle, and then slowly grew larger and larger. Now I had to find out what, or who, was over there. I eased into the bone-chilling water and swam to an iron gate. I dove under the gate and gasped when I came up for air, my teeth were chattering like squirrels. Now I could hear music, very beautiful music at that. I pulled myself out of the water and walked toward the music, ringing out my cloak and frail nightgown. I turned the corner to see a man sitting at a small piano forte playing his heart out. He stopped, wrote something on his paper and returned to his playing.
"Wow" I whispered. He stopped, perked up and turned around. I hid behind the corner before he could see me. I heard his bench move and footsteps walk in my direction. I took off running, hoping to find a place to hide.
"Who's there? You can't hide from me!" Oh yea, watch me. His voice made him sound large like a beast yet his footsteps were as light as snow. I slid to a stop at the Iron Gate, nowhere to go but down. Soon the hallway was flooded with light. I dove head first into the glassy water and missed the gate by mere inches. I swam under the water and held my breath for as I could. I waited for the light to disappear. Finally, when I couldn't hold it any longer, the light moved away and I surfaced, gasping for air. My body was shivering and my teeth chattering as I swam the rest of the way to the steps of the staircase. When I got to the edge, light swamped the catacomb. On the shore was the man playing the piano. "How did you?" I asked. He just shook his head.
"What are you doing down here Mademoiselle?" He demanded. I pulled myself out of the water.
"Well, I saw my mirror wasn't right and found this hallway. I followed it and well, the rest is history."
"I could kill you where you stand. And in all honesty, I should." he said, his hand behind his back. He pulled out his sword and pinned me to a wall. I took my knife out of the strap on my leg and drove the butt of it into his elbow. He jumped back and howled in pain. He tried again, but this time, I was ready. I ducked, letting his sword create sparks off of the wall. We went back and forth for what seemed like forever when he swung his sword at me again, cutting my arm. I reached for my arm when he thrusted the weapon forward, making me jump back and into the water. When I swam back to the surface, the man was still standing there, his face as cold as the water, the tip of his weapon meeting my cheek.
"I must say mon cher, that was some impressive knife fighting. Maybe you are worth more alive, eh?" His words sent shivers down my back. He extended his hand out to me and yanked me from the water. My arm burned like fire from his steel. "Like some help?" His voice surprisingly soft.
"Oh so now we're being civilized." I sneered back. His face was still cold.
"Well I could let you bleed." Point taken. I sighed and let him help me. The stranger took my hand in his, guiding me to a small boat, big enough for just 2 people. After he ferried me across the lake, he laid me on the floor next to his piano bench to drip dry without ruining his precious furniture. He returned with a bottle of alcohol and soft, gauzy cotton. He let the alcohol drip onto my cut. I bit my lip hard to keep from crying out in profanity. He let out a small mumble, then wrapped my arm in the cotton. He quickly left to return the supplies to their proper place; only when he returned did he see me eyeing his piano, which looked like the one Father had and taught me on. He asked "Do you play mon cher?" I nodded. He pulled another bench next to the piano and listened as I played. I played on to the sheet music he was working on earlier, working hard to keep the tempo the music demanded. As I played I could see the wheels in his mind begin to turn. While I was playing his work, he swayed to the music and even hummed, making him seem almost human. I came to the end of what he'd written and then added what I thought would be a good ending. His eyes widened with excitement. "Here; dry clothes for the night." He said with clothes in hand. I walked to his side to grab the clothes.
"Thank you." I said. I turned for the boat when a rock on the floor caught me by surprise. I used the wall to catch myself, cutting my hand in the process. I didn't even notice it until my new acquaintance said something.
"Mon cher, your hand." He said. I looked down. I didn't think anything about it. My hands often bled when I worked, a small cut was nothing new. "May I ask you something?" I gave him the 'go ahead' look. "Why are your hands cracked? A ballerina's hands don't ever crack."
"Oh well, I'm not a ballerina. I'm a stagehand, and I don't dance all that well." He nodded, deep in thought. Not changing his facial expression, he reached behind the piano and pulled out a small jar. He leaned in close, now I could see that it was a mask that he had on the other half of his face. No wonder he kept only one side to me.
"Give me your hands." He asked and took my small cracked hand into his much larger and smoother one. He opened the jar and got some of its contents on his free hand. With one stoke, he smeared the lotion on my hands. At first it stung, but after working it in, my hands felt much better, better than they had in years.
"Thank you" I yawned. He laughed and shook his head.
"You should be getting to bed." I didn't even try to walk; I just let him pick me up and set me in the boat. We rode across the lake back to the stairs leading to my room. When we docked, I could hardly see. In three or so steps I fell asleep in his arms. The next morning, I found a small box plus a note in handsome calligraphy sticking out from my book, which was placed in my hand.

Mademoiselle,
I do apologize for my actions last night, you are the first visitor I have had in years. Please accept this nightgown as a token of my apologies. It will serve you much better than its original recipient.

OG

I opened the box to reveal a beautiful nightgown. It was pure white like a wedding gown and made of real Chinese silk. The bodice had a soft blue ribbon underneath it with matching blue ribbons on the sleeves. I quickly put it on, never feeling something so wonderful before. It was much too big for me, the sleeves ended at my forearms instead of at my elbows, the bottom was at my ankles and my chest didn't quite fill out the bodice, but I loved it. At the end of rehearsal, I was pleased to slip into its comfort and fall right to sleep, no reading required.