A/N: Chapter three! Also replying to reviews… just because. :) And one more thing: I know I said this was going to be movie & musical-based, but at this point, it looks like I might be incorporating things from the books as well.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. As this applies to the whole fanfic, this is the last time I'm repeating it!

- 3 -

Christine stood wrapped in her cloak, gazing at the partially formed skeleton of a building. The whitish, long timber truly did resemble bones. A wooden sign stuck in the ground nearby bore the words "L'Opéra Populaire." The ink looked fairly fresh.

Christine had no memory of this place, but for reasons she could not comprehend, it beckoned to her irresistibly. She shifted, frustrated. She knew she must have known this place before. What other memories had disappeared?

She turned her face upwards. Clouds had shrouded the moon, which only moments before had lit the architecture so brightly. Sparse snowflakes began to float down, some lightly touching her face before melting into cool drops of water. She wiped them away from around her eyes and walked toward the maze of wooden beams and supports.

An entryway seemed to be in the works, preceded by a few ascending steps, but she passed it by and decided to walk around the building. It was not what was inside the entrance that intrigued her. It was something else.

Halfway around the construction, in the shadow of another building in the alley, she found what she knew she had been looking for. A grate was set into the ground here; it looked heavy, but Christine knew it was light enough for her to lift. She quickly looked both ways and bent down to grasp the grate with both of her hands. It was icy to her touch, and flakes of rust peeled off where she touched it. It had apparently not been handled for quite a while—but why should it have been?

She braced as she pulled at the grate. It came free with a small creak. Christine looked dubiously into the darkness beneath her before gripping the edge firmly and lowering herself inside. Her feet met a solid surface when the opening of the sewers was at the level of her shoulders. The ground was damp and cold to her bare feet; she involuntarily curled her toes. Replacing the grate above her head, Christine sat down. Where to next?

Feeling the wall with her right hand, she began to crawl forward. It was dark, and the faint lamplight filtering in through the grate did little to light her way.

As she inched forward, Christine's hand all of a sudden met empty space instead of stone. She lost her balance and tumbled down a steep flight of steps, only barely managing to bite back a shriek.

‡

Sometime before dawn, Meg awoke. It was snowing; she noted that it was the first snowfall of the reason. She stared at the thin white layer blanketing the streets and roofs of the city for a while and smiled, letting her head fall back on the pillow. She then cast a glance at Christine's bed, and her smile faded. The bed was empty.

‡

Christine was lost. She had lost track of how long she had wandered through the tunnels. Her panic was steadily rising, try as she might to keep it in check.

And what—what was it that she had just heard? The clank of metal, and footsteps. A breath of moving air brushed her cheeks. She broke into a run.

She dashed blindly through more corridors, down a flight of stairs, and then—

And then she took another step and found herself ankle-deep in water. She jerked back with a gasp. She could not possibly swim in this condition. The exertion was already proving too much for her, and the burns on her skin smarted. She took another corridor, which turned out to be even longer than she expected.

Then the echo of her footsteps changed, indicating that she had entered a chamber of some sort. Her hands outstretched in front of her, she moved forward.

Her foot caught an object on the floor and knocked it over. She winced at the clatter it made, and then jumped as it played faint, sparse musical notes before resuming silence. It was a music box.

A few more steps later, her hand met a wooden object. She slid her hands over it and discovered it to be a desk. Whoever the occupant of this place was, he was certainly messy. She felt pieces of paper scattered all over the surface of the desk, along with odds and ends she could not identify by touch. One object she felt, however, caught her attention. Picking the small box up, she gingerly slid it open and felt the contents. She nodded in satisfaction; the box held matches.

Christine struck the match against the side of the box and held the flame up, blinking at the bright light that suddenly pierced her dark-accustomed eyes. What she saw stunned her.

She was standing in a room cut off by water on one side. There were mirrors all over the room, all of them shattered. Clothes, among other unidentifiable pieces of cloth, were strewn on the floor; numerous candles lined the wall or stood in delicately carved candelabra. The items on the desk also caught her eye. A seal bearing the emblem of a skull, an overturned inkpot, sheets of paper with music scrawled recklessly over them, tiny sculptures, some of them broken . . . a chill ran down her back.

The most conspicuous feature of this room, however, was the impressive organ. Christine crossed the room toward the organ, and with her match, lit the candles positioned on it.

The scene of destruction about her began to sink in, and a wave of grief hit her along with a vague sense of fear. What was this place? The entire room spoke of destroyed beauty, of despair, of loss. A tear splashed down on her foot. She started and came to herself. She was quite the child tonight—and a silly child, at that.

Which was not surprising, considering she had been mad enough to venture underground in the first place. She shook her head self-deprecatingly and turned her attention back to her surroundings.

Her gaze wandered to one of the less damaged mirrors near her. Out of her scarred face, seemingly innocent brown eyes stared back. Christine stared for a moment longer and then pulled her hood over her face—as much to escape the eyes as well as to conceal the hideous gash. She almost felt like she did not know the woman who looked back at her.

Letting out a sigh, Christine picked up one of the candles and looked into the next room. This room contained a bed, its iron frame beautifully shaped like a swan. Black curtains were draped about it, and through them she could glimpse the bed's crimson interior. The room itself was furnished elegantly, but had fared only a little better than the first room.

Without warning, the candle in her hand went out.

A moment later, the other candles on the organ followed suit, and Christine once more found herself in utter darkness.

Her panic returned, and she dropped her candle and ran in the direction she thought she had come from. It was too late; her waist was grabbed from behind, and a cold hand covered her mouth. She struggled wildly to escape and finally succeeded. The next moment, she felt something whistle through the air toward her, and instinctively flung her arm out. The rope coiled around her hand and she grasped it, pulling it taut. Her heart beat wildly as she strained her eyes vainly, hoping to see who it was that held the other end.

He spoke first, in a snarling hiss. "What do you want?"

--

A/N:

mcekul: Yep, I'm working on the chapter lengths . . . I'll try to make them longer. Also, hi again. I recognize you. :) Yeah, Christine's life is definitely looking depressing at the moment . . .

Genevieve Lee: Ah, sorry it was confusing. It seems Christine was so traumatized that she lost her memory of recent events. Poor Christine.

Mini Nicka: Thanks! I'm glad you find it interesting!

GeekandaHalf: Good to hear that. :) Aaaand here's another update.

Catoftheopera: Thankies. I might not be able to post new chapters on weekends, but otherwise I'll certainly try to stay consistent about posting new chapters!

Reviews greatly appreciated:D