Disclaimer: I own only my ideas and my imagination.

My day started out rainy and cold. Unlike most of you reading this, I absolutely LOVE rainy and cold! It brightens my day (no contradiction intended)! I was reading The Phantom of the Opera in my room when some men barged into my room and grabbed me. They put a cloth over my nose and I blacked out. I don't know how long I was out. All I know is that I was in my room reading one minute and the next, I was on the bank of an underground river.

I sat up and looked around. No one was there that I could see and there was no exit in sight. I was stuck in this mud hole for however long it took me to get out. I did what I didn't want to do. I screamed bloody murder. The only effect was that my voice echoed off the walls (I didn't know there were any) and bounced back at me. I freaked out.

I may be a teenage girl but I usually don't act like a ditzy blonde one! I admit I have blonde moments but I'm not a screaming type. I digress.

I stood up in the mud and walked my way along the river for who knows how long! When I got tired, I stopped, and then I would start again. I did this for hours maybe. I really don't know. When you're scared and in a strange place, time doesn't seem to apply.

I stopped for the last time on a rock near the water. I could faintly see a door on the other side of the river. There was a boat on the opposite side so I would be forced to swim across. I didn't really want to swim seeing how the water was as clear as mud, but it was my only hope of getting out of the dark, gloomy, subterranean chasm.

As I started to cross the eerily still lake, I heard the most beautiful sound. I didn't think it was a voice or instrument. It didn't sound like anything I'd ever heard. It was lilting and melodic but also dark and fearsome. I was so entranced that I didn't notice a hand that gripped my ankle until it pulled me under. I didn't scream or lash out because the hand that was killing me brought me closer to the sound. I blacked out (again, I know).

When I woke up, I was lying on a strange bed. It was beautiful but not mine. The room was gorgeous. There was a finely carved mahogany desk across the room, a nightstand near my head, and a chair on the adjacent wall. A wardrobe was next to the desk. There was a door near the chair but it didn't lead out of the room. I found it led to the bathroom (which was good since I smelled like sewage!).

After I had taken a bath, (I'm quite slow at processing some things) I tried to figure out where I was. I thought I would be dead because of drowning but apparently I wasn't. I was in a door-less room with no window or any way of getting out. I was stuck here until someone either broke down a wall or found a different way to let me out.

 I was flinging my flip-flop at the ceiling when he came in. I didn't really pay attention to him because I was making what seemed like a world record.

"Wait just a minute and then I'll talk to you," I told him, still flinging my flip-flop. "Two thousand! Yes! That SO has to be a world record in flip-flop flinging! Ok. What am I supposed to do, Erik?" I asked as I rolled over on the bed to look at him.

"I am not Erik," the non-Erik man said.

"Then who are you? What do you want? What am I supposed to be doing down here?"

"Easy, easy. I'm the man who owns the bed you're on, I want what I want, and you're supposed to be listening to me down here. There. I answered your questions so now you can answer mine. Would you like to learn how to sing?"

"You didn't answer my questions very well," I stated as I began flinging my flip-flop again.

"I answered them truthfully but I admit they weren't the answers you wanted," he said as he gracefully caught my shoe mid-fall. "Now please try and be cooperative."

"I'll need that back for when I go. I can't walk around the airport in one shoe. "

He grinned. "Please answer my question. Would you like to learn how to sing or not?"

"Do you mean 'Would I like to sing well?' then yes. But first you must answer my question. What is your name?"

"Jacqueline, my name is Tristan. I am the great-grandson of Erik and Christine. I have a scarring on the right side of my face. I do not have a Death's Head or glowing eyes. I have Erik's music talent. By the way, it was my voice you heard when you tried to swim across my lake, which was very rude. Also, I-"

"Your lake looks more like a river. Why didn't you come get me with your boat when you heard me screaming? It would have saved me an awful lot of water in my lungs," I told Tristan. I wasn't mad but I did want to make my feelings known.

"As I was saying, I am wearing a flesh mask. Technology is quite lovely when it comes to masks. I look normal and I am not criticized when I go out in public. I am a well respected benefactor of the Opera Populaire. I am also known as the descendent of the great Opera Ghost or Phantom of the Opera, Erik. I am currently writing a book about his life as my grandfather told it to me. Anything else you want to know?"

"Not really. You just overloaded my brain with information."

"One more thing. I am not going to lock you in your room. I put a handle on the hidden door for you. You are free to come and go throughout the house as you please. You are only restricted from my room. There are clothes in the wardrobe for you, all modern clothes. We are in the twenty-first century after all. I wear modern clothes as well, as you can see." And I could! He was wearing a pair of khaki slacks, a light blue silk shirt, and black penny loafers. This was a trendy man!

"By the way, how old are you?" I asked.

"Twenty. You?"

"Eighteen. I'm almost a sophomore in college. How do you go to college if you live down here?"

"I'm out of college. I graduated two years ago."

"You just made me feel so stupid. Way to boost my self-esteem!" I joked.

"I'm sorry!" He looked hurt. Well now I knew he wasn't going to consciously hurt me.

"I was joking, Tristan. There are NO self-esteem issues here!" I said as I pointed to myself.

"Oh. Why don't you come see the rest of the house? It's pretty cool if I do say so myself!"

"Tristan. I just noticed something. I can understand you!"

"Yes. Your point?"

"I speak English. We're in France. You speak French. How can I understand you?"

"Jack, if I may call you that, it's not that difficult to figure out. I learned English in school. I knew you only spoke English so I decided to learn it. Now can we please start your tour?" Tristan smiled. I loved his smile. "The room you're in now was originally for Christine Daae as you probably know from your reading."

"You sure know a lot about me."

"Yes I do. I was one of the men who watched you around your town and took you here. Don't you recognize me somewhat?" I did. He had been wearing different clothes with a different hair color and stature but Tristan was definitely the man who put the cloth over my face.

"Now as I was saying, Christine Daae originally occupied this room. Her clothes are in the drawers of the wardrobe beneath your clothes. Her wedding dress is even in there." We walked out of the room (I noticed the beautiful handle of the hidden door) and into the hall.

The first door we came to was made of solid steel. "This door leads to the torture chamber. Erik 'redecorated' it after Christine married him. She wanted a parlor for guests. I don't know if anyone besides her, Erik, and the Daroga ever came to this room while Erik lived here. The parlor is for your use. You may keep belongings in there, write letters, or work on your homework. There is a telephone in there as well." Tristan saw my perplexed face. "My father had it put in so he could talk to his overseas relatives from his own home. You may call home whenever you like. It's not like I'm cutting you off from civilization!" He chuckled while I burst out laughing.

"I was expecting to be cut off here! It's just like a vacation now!" I exclaimed. I could barely breathe from laughing so hard.

"I like your laugh," Tristan said, suddenly serious.

"Thank you. I like your smile so please smile now. You look too serious," I babbled. I sometimes do that when I'm uncomfortable. Tristan smiled which put me at ease.

"The next door is to the library." Tristan opened the huge French doors and I swear there were angels singing "AHHHHHHH!" The library was a big as a public library. The shelves went up to the very tall ceiling with rolling ladders around the room. I walked in, star struck.

"Are all of these yours?!"

"Yes. You may 'check one out' whenever you like."

For probably twenty minutes, I walked around, feeling the books' spines. Some titles were in French, others in English, and some in Latin I think. As I was about half way through the room, I heard Tristan chuckling.

"What? Am I drooling?" I joked.

"No. I'm just marveling over how entranced you are by the books. I don't know if I've ever met anyone so fascinated by books as I am. It's nice," Tristan said. Again, he was too serious. In his gaze, I felt as if he could see my soul.

"Smile."

"You don't like it when I'm serious?"

"No I do. It's just that your gaze makes me feel as if you can see my soul." Whoa. I hadn't ever been so open about my feelings. This was strange but in a nice way. I liked it.

"Maybe I can," he joked, smiling. My heart melted. "We'll come back later. Now to the kitchen." We made our way out the French doors and across the hall. There was no door, just a big archway into the kitchen. The kitchen was set up with the latest appliances, marble countertops, a mahogany dining table, and a cabinet filled with china dishes. "Those dishes were Christine's. She brought them here when she married Erik," Tristan explained. The walls were painted in a tan-gold color with beautiful writing around the edges.

"What does that say?" I asked. The most prominent writing was above the arch.

"'Mai Dieu bénisse ceux qui entrent et donner la paix à ceux qui quittent.' In English, 'May God bless those who enter and give peace to those who leave.' The phrase was an idea of mine. I am a Christ-follower. What do you believe?"

"The same. I like the phrase. It's almost more beautiful in French," I said.

"Jack, vous êtes plus belle que les fleurs qui fleurissent dans les prés et le chatoiement de neige sur les sommets." Tristan was looking seriously at me again as he said this.

"What did you just say?" I asked, my heart fluttering.

"You will not like it."

"Try me."

"Alright. Jack, you are more beautiful than the flowers that bloom in the meadows and the shimmering snow on the mountaintops." Tristan stiffened as if he was expecting me to hit him. I smiled. He looked quizzically at me.

"Thank you." I reached up hugged him around his neck, resting my head against his shoulder. "That was beautiful," I said as I cupped his right cheek.

"You do know that the cheek you're touching is the one with the deformation, right?" He whispered in my ear as he cautiously put his arms around me.

"I know." I stood back and smiled. "I'm going to like it here!"