I watched from the shadows as Christine greeted her hairdresser, who was carrying the heavy jeweled dress that she would wear for the performance.

She disappeared with the girl, Claudia, behind the dressing screen and when she emerged a moment later she was a queen.

She was beautiful!

The red and gold of the dress accentuated her milky skin and the hairdresser worked quickly to fix her hair in a mass of curls. Claudia was quick putting on her makeup and when Christine finally stood before the mirror the transformation was complete. The makeup covered the circles that Christine had under her eyes. Circles that she had had since the first time I had laid eyes on her.

How could I forget the first time I had seen her?

xxx

It was just a year previous, as the Opera held auditions for their chorus. I was in my normal place in box five, boredly watching the proceedings. Most of the girls were untalented, or had middling talent at best. They performed with no heart, no soul.

And then they called her, the last one to sing.

"Christine Daae?"

"Yes. I-I am here," she stammered, walking forward. She came to stand in the middle of the stage, and I felt myself moving forward, to the edge of the box, not noticing or caring that I was stepping out of the shadows.

She was exquisite. Her long, dark brown hair fell to her waist in a mass of curls. She had a classically beautiful face, with high cheekbones, a pert nose and large eyes. Rarely had I seen such beauty.

Then she began to sing, and I felt goosebumps on my arms. Her voice! Her voice was that of an angel's. Her pitch, her tone, it was absolutely perfect. As she sang, I heard her potential, even as I noticed that her singing was as uninspired as the rest of the girls'. But as I watched her, I realized that, unlike the rest of the girls', she did not appear bored. Rather, there was an aura of sadness about her that you could almost see, could almost touch. Her eyes held an unmistakable sadness, and there were dark circles under her eyes, perhaps from a lack of sleep.

I stepped back into the shadows, hoping no one had seen me, even as I saw Madame Giry glance away and back at the girl.

Christine was dismissed and after she had gone I listened to their conversation.

"A wholly untalented bunch, the lot of them," said Monsieur Reyer with a sigh. "And that last one, have you ever heard a less talented singer?"

Madame Giry tilted her head. "She has potential, perhaps, with the right teacher."

I heard nothing else of their conversation. Madame Giry had given me an idea. If I could just get that girl, that Christine Daae, here, I knew I could teach her. Bring out her true talent, which was hidden beneath her sadness.

With a flash of my black cloak I disappeared through box five's hidden door and into one of the many hidden passageways that riddled the earth beneath the Paris Opera House.

Down I went, down five stories into the bowels of the Opera, to the rooms, which made up my home, the rooms that I had personally designed years ago when the Opera House was first being built.

I sat down at my desk and pulled out a quill and a piece of parchment and began writing a letter. The Opera Ghost had been entirely too quiet these past months, I decided. It was time to show my power once more.

"Monsieur Lefevre, Manager, Paris Opera House," I whispered as I wrote. I smiled thinking of the reaction this letter would get….

"Christine Daae?" Monsieur Reyer thundered. "You must be joking! She was terrible."

Monsieur Lefevre ran a hand around his collar, as if it had suddenly become too tight. "Yes. I mean, no. She was not terrible. She was wonderful, and I have written to her personally and asked her to join the chorus. She has also been given dressing room number two."

Monsieur Reyer and Madame Giry were gathered in Monsieur Lefevre's office. Lefevre had just announced that they were hiring Christine Daae.

Reyer ranted and raved while Lefevre, who was a pale man to begin with, progressively paled further as Reyer yelled.

Madame Giry, though, was silent, her gaze occasionally flickering to the large, ornate mirror that was built into the wall across from Lefevre's desk. The argument continued for another several minutes before Giry looked away from the mirror and stood up. She rapped her walking stick onto the floor once, and Reyer stopped yelling, his face still scarlet.

"The girl has potential, as I said after her audition," she said to Reyer. "If Monsieur Lefevre wishes her to perform, she will perform. He is, after all, the one running this Opera House."

Lefevre blanched slightly, but remained silent. He refused to catch Madame Giry's eye. Reyer, seeming too angry to even speak, stormed out of the room with a curt, "Yes, he is running this Opera House, and if he wants to ruin it, that is his choice!" With that he slammed the door shut, leaving silence in his wake.

"It is the Ghost, is it not, Monsieur?" Giry asked after a moment.

Lefevre sighed and took off his glasses. He rubbed his eyebrows as if he had a headache.

"Yes, it is the Ghost. He sent me this," Lefevre said finally, taking a letter from his pocket and tossing it onto the desk.

Madame Giry took it gingerly and read it.

"So, he wants to tutor her, give her voice lessons," she said finally.

"Yes. And he wants her to have a private dressing room. How do I explain that?"

"You do not need to explain. After all, you are the manager."

"Oh yes, I have the title of manager, but you and I both know who it is that runs this place!" Lefevre said with another sigh.

I smiled from where I stood, behind the two-way mirror. It was good that Lefevre knew his place. It was I who ran the Opera House, as he had said. The man had so little spine it was a miracle that he could even stand, but that worked well for my purposes.

"He still asks for a salary, I assume?" Giry asked. She alone was Monsieur Lefevre's confidante.

"Of course. As if this place makes enough money to pay his extraordinary salary as well as Carlotta and Piangi's."

Madame Giry sniffed. "Carlotta is not worth half the salary you pay her, and you know it."

"I know that. But she has a name, people know who she is. Without her, I doubt this place could even stay running."

Monsieur Lefevre sighed again. "I am resigning as Manager of the Opera House, just as soon as I can find someone stupid enough to take over."

"Monsieur, you jest! You cannot leave!" Madame Giry gasped.

"Oh, I most certainly can, and I most certainly will. I am tired of having to live under this Opera Ghosts rule! Do this, do that; I cannot take it any longer."

So, Lefevre was planning to leave. I had wondered how long before he would. I had been seeing signs of his unhappiness for a while. This was not good. I had Lefevre exactly where I wanted him, paying my salary, leaving me my box, taking my orders. It would not be as easy to train someone else to do my bidding. But at least I had Christine, which was one thing I could be grateful for…

xxx

I was brought back to the present when I heard Claudia tell Christine that she was all ready. Christine turned from the mirror, smiling at Claudia.

"Thank you, Claudia."

"You are welcome, Miss Daae. Good luck tonight, I know you will be wonderful!" little Claudia said, bobbing a little curtsy as she hurried out of the dressing room.

"You must hurry, child. The opera is about to begin," I said softly.

"Oh, Angel, I am so scared! But I will try to do a good job for you!"

"You will be magnificent, child. I will be waiting for you afterwards, and do not worry. I will be there the entire production."

Christine smiled once again, looking towards the ceiling as if she expected to see me floating in the air above her. "This is for you, Papa. I hope you will be watching tonight, I hope you will be proud," she murmured quietly as she left the room.

I stood for a second longer, to make sure she was not going to come back, then quickly opened the mirror and stepped through. I placed a single long stemmed rose, tied with a black satin ribbon, on her dressing table, amidst the make-up and perfume bottles. I turned and went quickly back to the mirror, careful not to look at my reflection as I stepped through and pulled it silently shut behind me. I knew I must hurry so I would be in my box before the curtain rose.

xxx

She was perfect, absolutely perfect! From the first note, the audience sat, enraptured. The roar of applause after every song was deafening. She held the audience captive with her beauty, her grace and her voice. Although there had been murmurs from the patrons when they first realized that they were not going to be seeing Carlotta, by the time intermission came everyone was raving about the unknown Christine Daae.

As the curtain fell for intermission I sat quietly in the shadows of box five, listening to the comments being made, when suddenly I heard quite a commotion from the Manager's box, which was next to Box Five. I looked to the right, trying to get a better look.

"Can it be? Can it be Christine?" cried a loud voice that belonged to a handsome young gentleman seated in box four. He was practically falling over the railing trying to get one last glimpse of Christine as the curtain fell.

"You know that young lady, Vicomte?" asked Monsieur Andre.

The Vicomte was flipping through his playbill. "I think it is she! We grew up together, spent our entire childhood together. She has changed so! The last time I saw her she was but a gawky child, and now look at her! She is stunning!"

I felt an emotion course through me, an emotion that was no stranger to me. Jealousy.

The Vicomte continued chatting with the managers, telling them of the summers he spent with Christine at the Ocean. I tried in vain to tune out his voice, but it seemed to cut straight through me, filling me with his foolish ramblings.

The curtain was lifted and the second half of the performance was underway. It was hard to concentrate on Christine as the Vicomte spent the second half of the play hanging halfway over the railing staring at Christine through a pair of Opera glasses. It was rather distracting, and it was making me angry as well.

I forced myself to ignore the Vicomte and instead focused on Christine, who was perfect. Her voice captivated the audience and when the curtain finally fell to end the night's performance I had never heard such cheering before. After a standing ovation for Christine, I hurried through the passageway to get to Christine's dressing room. I had to be there when she got there, to give her my congratulations on a job well done.