Disclaimer: Don't own anything.

A/N: Thank you again to my beta, FantomPhan33. Thank you for the four reviews. Enjoy the double update.

Chapter Four

The next time I see him, the Overture is complete, and when he plays it for me, I burst into tears.

"What is it, child?" he asks, irritated.

"It's beautiful," I sob. "I'd never imagined that I'd ever get to hear it, and for it to be so wonderful…"

He goes back to the piano.

Slowly, we develop an odd relationship – he is always annoyed by me, and I am terrified by his apparent ability to appear out of thin air and his violent mood swings. But we begin to trust each other, a fragile line drawn between us that neither of us cross. Sometimes, he even leaves notes tucked under my pillow in the ballet dormitory, detailing whether there is a room change, or asking me to make changes to lyrics.

"How is Jean Valjean doing today?" I sometimes ask as I sit down next to the piano.

"Singing his last aria," he replies absently, engrossed in the score in front of him.

Then things start to go missing. Sylvie's pointe shoes, various jewels belonging to Carlotta. Meg, Christine and I giggle as we listen to the diva having a tantrum at the top of her lungs, shrieking and cursing the Opera Ghost, the managers and her maids.

Somehow, they manage to placate her, though it would have been better if she had stormed out, refused to sing as she did for Hannibal. Looking back, I can't believe how foolish the two managers were for defying the Phantom. It cost more than anyone could have ever imagined.

...

"Marianne," my mother pulls me aside in the hallway, her mop dangling from her hand and more lines of tiredness etched across her face.

"Maman," I say, smiling at the sight of her. We ballerinas are kept so busy and what with my weekly meetings with the Phantom, I haven't had a chance to sneak up to the servants' quarters to visit her.

"You'll never believe what my friend Renée gave to me last night!" she is beaming, and continues before I can ask her, too excited to make me wait. "A ticket to Il Muto! She said that she didn't feel like going, and she thought I would like to see my daughter dance on stage."

"Maman," I'm at a loss for words, a feeling of sickness growing in the pit of my stomach. I choke it down. I can't ruin her obvious excitement. "Maman, that's wonderful. Though I've told you I'm not very good."

"But I'm going to the Opera!" she laughs like a little girl. "I haven't been since I was a child. And I'm sure you'll be enchanting! Don't tell me anything! I want to find out on the night!"

I bury my face in her shoulder, feeling the cotton scrape against my cheeks. She wraps her arms tightly around me and I breathe in her scent. "I love you, Maman, and I'll dance only for you," I say.

"Oh ma cherie, my beautiful girl. I will be so proud. And now," she holds me at arm's length, "I have to work, or Madame Halley will cancel my evening off."

She kisses me on the cheek, and picks up her bucket, humming off-tune as she begins to clean the floor again.

...

Meg helps me with my steps, staying late in the practice room after hours to teach me. Christine sits against the wall, legs drawn up to her chest and eyes closed.

"Well done, Marianne," Meg claps as I finally complete the routine, an exhausted smile spread across my face. "That was the best yet."

"Thank you," I blush, sitting down in the middle of the floor to remove my pointe shoes.

"You're all going to be brilliant," Christine smiles, opening her blue eyes that have worry swirling in the depths. I don't comment, but Meg does, sitting down next to her. The Phantom's threats have been getting darker, more and more serious. A disaster beyond our imagination. And with him, no-one knows what that could mean.

"I'm sure he wouldn't do anything rash," she tells Christine comfortingly. A shiver runs up my spine, and seconds later a whispering voice echoes from around us.

"Or wouldn't I?" it says, accompanied by a soft chuckle.

Christine lets out a soft cry, and flees the room with Meg following her. Swallowing my fear, I look around the room.

"Please don't do anything too awful," I say to the empty air.

There is no reply.