Meg sat on her knees and pressed herself up against the window of her mother's small second story flat. The cold seeped through until the pads of her fingers and tip of her nose were as white as the snow outside. The street below was packed full of carriages and their horses passing this way and that. Every so often she'd have to paused to wipe away the condensation from her excited breath.

"Meg, get away from there," she heard her mother call out from the other room. "You'll catch your death. And I see you haven't finished setting the table yet either."

Meg rolled her eyes and then purposely exhaled on the glass, drawing two stick figures in the condensation. One for her and one for Christine. It'd been all too long since she'd last seen her friend.

Reluctantly she got up off the sofa and returned to helping her mother prepare for dinner. Meg was folding the last napkin and arranging it into place when there was a knock on the door.

"I've got it!" Meg yelled, dashing to it before her mother could.

A tall, lanky man in a battered traveling coat stood in the cramped hallway.

"Good to see you again Monsieur Daae, sir!" Meg said beaming at him. His hair was peppered with grey, and his face had a lot more creases than she remembered, but the man smiled back all the same.

"Christine," he said softly, twisting to address someone behind him. "Don't you want to say hello to-"

"Christine!" Meg squealed as the girl peeked out from behind her father. Meg pushed him to the side and wrapped her arms tightly around her friend.

"Meg, dear, stop squeezing the poor girl. She's had a long journey. Gustave, won't you come in? Dinner is almost ready. I didn't know exactly when you'd be arriving, so I took the liberty of making some pork cassoulet. I hope that's alright."

"Oh, that sounds more than alright. Thank you, Antoinette."

Meg released her hold on Christine and stepped back. Her smile faltered slightly at the look on her friend's face.

The girl was deathly pale and looked almost as harrowed and worn out as her father. She was smiling back at Meg, but there was something odd about it. Something reserved.

When Meg and her mother had received the Daae's letter about a week ago, asking if the two could spend the Christmas holidays with them, Meg had been overjoyed. It'd been over three years since the family was last in Paris. They sometimes spoke of visiting, but Mr. Daae's work always seemed to take him elsewhere. Her mother sometimes spoke about visiting them in return but could never seem to find the time either, being the still somewhat newly appointed mistress of the corps de ballet.

Meg had thought her mother would be thrilled as well, but no. She'd just stood there in the kitchen, letter clenched tightly in hand, her lips pressed increasingly thinner with each paragraph.

Meg still didn't quite understand. Almost every single letter she and her mother wrote the Daae's ended with them inviting the pair to visit should they ever be granted the opportunity.

But now, looking at Christine… at her face simultaneously stretched and hollow…

Something must have happened.

God only knew what.

Meg was about to ask Christine about it when she heard her mother clear her throat behind her.

She was lingering in the hall, no doubt letting the cold air in.

Meg packed away her questions for the time being and invited Christine inside. She'd have to remember to ask her later.

Preferably when the two of them weren't under the watchful gaze of either parent, Meg added as her mother ushered both of them over to the dinner table.

Christmas had always been an incredibly busy time for her mother. The whole of Paris' elite delighted in socializing and seeing what the city had to offer around the holidays, and her mother was a manager now. Or rather she managed the ballet potions which - according to her mother - was quite enough indeed. Regardless of the true extent of her duties, they'd only served to place her even more on edge these past couple years.

Meg had developed her own little set of coping strategies, most consisting of blending in with whoever was around her when she sensed her mother's temper flaring up. Most of the time she was successful and the unlucky person standing right next to her got the full brunt of her mother's biting tongue.

Her new arrangement worked just as well, given the circumstances.

Normally Meg accompanied her mother to rehearsals, but with Mr Daae now an available, responsible adult, she found herself staying home with him and Christine more often than not.

Meg hadn't argued one bit. In addition to avoiding her mother's stress, Meg got to finally escape the opera house.

These days she watched all the opera's performances from their very first days of practice to their very end. Any novelty of being able to experience professional artistry for free while others paid an arm and a leg for it had worn off long ago. At this point, she could easily substituted herself into any of the ballet parts and the majority of the audience wouldn't even be able to notice. At least Meg thought she could; her mother scoffed when Meg brought it up once.

It was also fun being able to spend more time with Christine. The girl was still rather sullen whenever her father spoke to her, but she always brightened up when it was just the two of them playing.

The day after she'd arrived Meg tried to ask her what exactly had happened to bring them so suddenly to Paris, but Christine deftly avoided the question. Meg was usually good at weaseling information out of people who avoided questions, but something about the way Christine's mood soured for the rest of the afternoon told her to drop the subject for now.

Christine also didn't seem to be as interested in music as she'd been the last time she'd visited, which was slightly odd but fine. Perhaps it was a phase.

Perhaps she was as sick of her father's busy schedule as Meg was with her mother's.

Once or twice Meg brought up the possibility of Mr. Daae escorting them around the city streets, but neither parent would hear anything of it. It was far too cold and risky to be running around these days, her mother said. Even with an escort.

With music and exploring both ruled out, there wasn't too much else to do for twelve hours a day, but she and Christine managed. Meg was hardly an heiress, but she had enough dolls and wooden puzzles for them both. The two of them often commandeered the bedroom while Christine's father kept an ear on them outside.

"I want to go out," Christine said abruptly in the middle of one of their play sessions.

Meg looked up from where she'd been trying to reenact a paltry version of the French revolution with two well-worn dolls and a stuffed cat. Christine was up on her mother's bed, staring out the window.

"You know we're not allowed to. Even if it's completely unfair," Meg said, thinking of all the beautiful store displays at this time of the year. "Though they might give in if we just continue to ask. We can go and try your father again."

"No, I don't even want him with us. Just you and me. Alone…" She paused, taking a deep breath. "Free."

"Christine, that's dangerous!"

"But wouldn't it be fun?" She glanced at meg, her eyes twinkling with mischief and… something else.

"It doesn't matter what it'd be," Meg said, bristling. "Because it won't happen."

A part of her was tempted. Although she preferred wasting away the day here rather than at the opera house, it was still a sort of prison when it came right down to it. She smashed that part of her into a tiny little ball.

"Besides," Meg continued. "How would we get past your father? There's only one door out of here, if you haven't noticed."

"Only one door," Christine said. She picked up one of the dolls and combed her fingers through its thick hair. "But plenty of windows."

"Yes. Windows for looking through, not breaking our necks as we try to climb out of them," Meg said. She sighed when Christine's sole response was a shrug. "Not to mention that even if we don't use the front door, our coats and gloves and scarves are all still hanging on the rack next to it. Even if we managed to get down to the street, we'd only be able to last three minutes before our fingers froze."

Christine scowled. "You didn't have to be that negative," she said. "It was only a thought."

"A stupid thought."

Christine was silent. Meg wondered if she was thinking of some comeback or another addition to her half-brained plan that accounted for the lack of winter wear. But all she did was clutch the doll in front of her.

Meg sighed.

"If you're not going to play, hand her over," she said. "The peasants are storming Versailles, and I'm missing a Marie Antoinette."

They were eating dinner when Christine's father made an announcement.

"I have something I must attend to tomorrow," he said in between bites. "Since I won't be here to watch the two of you, you'll be spending the day with Antoinette."

"At the opera house?" Christine asked.

There was a slight pause in the conversation as Meg's mother regarded Christine with pursed lips. Meg was curious as well. Christine rarely spoke at dinner.

"Yes," her mother eventually said. "Will that be a problem?"

"No! Just…" Christine bit her lip and glanced down, suddenly fascinated by her pasta. "You're sure we won't get in the way?"

Meg's mother raised an eyebrow. "Are you planning on getting in the way?" she asked.

"No, ma'am!"

Meg fought back a giggle. Since when had Christine ever called her mother "ma'am"? Perhaps the strict obedience her mother always demanded of her dancers had finally bled over to everyone else she knew.

"Good. You may watch our rehearsal from the balconies as long as you keep quiet. When was the last time you saw a show?"

"I…" Christine said, struggling. "I don't remember."

"Then this should be a real treat," her mother said with a thin-lipped smile. "Don't dawdle before bed tonight. We'll be leaving quite early."

Christine nodded.

Apparently satisfied with the plans for tomorrow, their parents struck up another topic of conversation. Meg meanwhile gripped Christine's hand with glee.

"Just wait until you see the opera house!" Meg whispered. "It's so beautiful! People are always saying the new one is going to be even grander, but I don't see how that'd be even possible."

"The new one?" Christine asked blankly.

"The Palais Garnier. They've been building it for years and years. It's older than both of us, you know, and it's still not finished. Mama said they're only now working on the interior. Personally, I'm starting to think it'll never be completed."

Christine seemed to… relax at this? Her shoulders loosened slightly and her face seemed a bit brighter. Meg always thought she'd been pretty good at reading people, but perhaps she wasn't as good as she'd thought she was because that made no sense.

"Out of curiosity…" Christine trailed off, stabbing some pasta with her fork. "No, forget it," she said. "It's silly."

Meg blinked. "What?"

"I said it's silly."

"And I want to know," Meg said adamantly. "I won't laugh."

"It's just…" Christine sighed. "It's not… haunted, is it?"

"What? The opera house?" Meg bit back a snort of laughter, just barely remembering her earlier promise. "Why would you think that?"

"Oh, I don't know," Christine said. Her face reddened. "It just seems the sort of place that would be. Big… old… plenty of shadowy rooms…"

"Scared of ghosts now, are you?" Meg teased. When Christine didn't reply, she continued. "Well, if it is haunted, I've never heard a thing about it. And I should know, Mama dragging me in there every day. Mind you there are a couple of the men that like to try and scare the girls. Mama says they do it hoping they'll get an offer to walk a girl home, but most of the dancers have lodgings in the opera house itself, so I really don't know why they even try."

Christine giggled at that, and Meg smiled.

It was well before dawn when Giry woke them and hurried them off to the Salle Le Peletier.

Christine's heart was beating wildly, her nerves electrified.

She'd forgotten that this far back, the Palais Garnier hadn't even been completed yet. And Meg had practically laughed when she'd asked if the place was haunted. Common sense told her she wouldn't have to worry about the Opera Ghost. Not yet anyway.

So why couldn't she get herself to calm down?

All Christine had do was keep her nose down and her mouth shut, and she'd be looking at a fairly uneventful day. That is, until she, Meg, and Madame Giry arrived home that evening.

Her father had said he had appointment for the day, and that only could only mean one thing.

Christine shut her eyes briefly as she walked through the cold, barely awake streets, praying that everything would finally be resolved by the time the sun rose and set again. The doctor would find out what was wrong, and her father would be cured.

And until then…

As they neared the building, Meg started to protest, wanting Christine to experience the opera house in its full glory. Madame Giry would have none of that and herded them around the back to the far less spectacular, performer's entrance.

Christine hesitated for a second on the threshold and then stepped inside.

In the darkness, she took a single whiff. The various scents bombarded her: musty air from hallways that never saw the sun, cut wood from scene construction, perfume thick enough to choke an elephant from all the various divas who'd ever set foot there, and there, mingled in with everything else, the sweat of a hundred artists too tired and busy and poor to ever fully wash it away from their clothes…

This was home.

Apparently she had dawdled too much. Madame Giry grabbed Christine's hand and began weaving her through the corridors. Then she broke off and headed in one direction while Meg grabbed the now vacant hand and started pulling Christine in the other.

"Come on!" Meg said. "You won't believe how big the seating area is!"

Rather than the seating area, Christine was tempted to see the rest of the backstage. She'd never performed in the Salle le Peletier. The opera house had burned down while she'd still been in the conservatory. While she'd still been provided for by the goodwill of Oskar Bernstein, who'd been ever so saddened by the untimely death of such a gifted artist. Who'd thought the daughter of such a man ought to have been given her own chance.

Of course when it'd become clear that Christine was never going to become the artist her father had been, the goodwill had run out. Thus had begun her life as a ballet rat.

But Meg refused when Christine timidly brought it up.

"Besides," she said. "I thought you were scared of the dark corridors."

"I'm not-" Christine couldn't think of a way to adequately explain her earlier fears. "Never mind."

And so Meg whisked her down the hall before she could even get her bearings. Christine dimly registered the stage somewhere to her left, the musicians already warming up in the pit. Then Meg dragged her through the door that served as the portal between their world and the audience's.

The hallway on the other side was draped with persian carpets. Miniature chandeliers graced the ceiling. It was a hallway of luxury and circumstance. Rich women, bedazzled with silk and feathers and diamonds walked down these halls.

And it was indeed very beautiful, Christine replied as Meg dragged her through the doors to the main seating area and showed her yet again and again different angles of the same auditorium.

In way it wasn't fair. Meg couldn't imagine a place more grand, and here was Christine. Spoiled by the Garnier.

It wasn't that the Salle le Peletier was in anyway shabby. Quite the contrary. But Christine had grown used to the artificial splendor. This public side was simply an opera house's skin. Not even its skin… its make-up maybe. The twisting catwalks, dark hallways, narrow staircases, and cluttered dressing rooms… Those were its heart.

But for Meg it was all still quite new, so Christine did her best to play her part as awed tourist.

Meg showed her the view of the stage from orchestra seating, then all the way up into the mezzanine, until finally the girl settled on watching the rehearsal from the privileged seats of box seven.

If Meg noticed how Christine double checked the number before entering, she didn't comment.

Barely a minute had gone by of the actual rehearsal before Christine furrowed her brow.

"I know this one," she said.

"As you should," Meg said. "It's the Magic Flute. They perform it at least once a year. Though… I thought you said it'd been awhile since you last saw any shows."

"Oh, it has! But you don't need to see a whole show to know the music from it," Christine said quickly.

Meg seemed to accept this answer.

The Magic Flute. Knowing that, Christine was surprised it'd taken her a full minute to find it familiar. The piece was indeed an opera house staple and the Queen of the Night a most coveted role. Christine shuddered as she suddenly remembered Carlotta lording over the rest of their ensemble, shrieking out those terrible Fs.

As the tenor playing Tamino took his cue and launched into the very first aria of the opera, Christine's stomach did an odd tilt. No… Carlotta wouldn't be here, would she?

The woman had been with the opera for a very, very long time.

As it turned out, Carlotta wasn't the Queen of the Night, but her daughter, Pamina. It was odd seeing the woman so young. Meg and Raoul were one thing. She had memories of them all as children. But this was completely different.

The woman couldn't have been much older than Christine had been before… well, this.

Christine suddenly noticed that Tamino was played by Piangi and nearly laughed. Of course they would play opposite each other, the two singers inseparable, regardless of what the script called for.

Then her heart stopped cold.

Piangi was on the stage, young and cheeks flushed with life. Piangi who was last discovered by Meg.

Murdered.

She felt like she was going to be sick.

Christine stood, needing to get out. To breathe. To be anywhere but that box.

"Christine, what's wrong?" Meg whispered. "Mama told us not make any trouble."

"I'm not. It's nothing," Christine said, forcing a smile. "Just feel dizzy all of a sudden. I'll be right back."

"Do you want me to go with you?" Meg asked, standing as well.

Christine looked at her dearest friend and at her gentle smile. The dim light of the stage reflected off her soft curls, framing her face with an innocence so pure it nearly calmed her. And then it morphed.

Her dearest friend, white as paper, screaming in horror.

He's here! The Phantom of the Opera…

"I… I'd rather just go out by myself, thank you," Christine said. "I'll be right outside," she added as Meg put on her best suspicious Giry face. "And if I'm not back here in this box in five minutes, you can do whatever you want with me."

"Alright. Five minutes."

"Five minutes," Christine promised. And then she slipped out.

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as she gasped for breath. The world was still spinning slightly, but it was already slowing here in the hall.

Christine tried to collect her thoughts. She had to be stronger than this. Piangi was alive, wasn't he? Wasn't that a good thing? Wasn't that to be expected? If she was going to fall apart at every little thing like this, she wouldn't last long at all.

Piangi wasn't dead. Buquet wasn't dead. Her father wasn't dead.

She had to stop thinking about them like they were.

But as much as she tried to stop them, the images flashed one by one. Her father, eyes cold and lips bloodless as the mortician closed the lid of his coffin. The dull thud of the first clump of dirt as it hit the top. Buquet, limply dangling as he swung over the heads of the terrified dancers.

Christine had never actually seen Piangi's corpse, too swept up in everything else that'd been happening at the time. She was glad for that at the very least.

No.

They were alive. Not dead.

Alive.

Not dead.

Eventually Christine managed to fight off whatever sob spasm had been threatening to take over. She took a deep breath and walked back in. Meg still didn't look any less suspicious, but Christine settled with flashing her friend her most reassuring smile. If Meg still had concerns, she didn't voice them.

The rest the opera progressed as well as any other. One of the ballet girls tripped and fell towards the end of act one, earning a quick stop from the maestro - Monsieur Reyer, also rather young - and sharp smack from Madame Giry. Christine ultimately didn't recognize the woman playing the Queen of the Night, but she was vastly more talented than Carlotta had ever been.

Christine wondered just how Carlotta had come to replace her. The older woman must have stepped down due to age or some other related reason. Carlotta could've never replaced her as prima donna on sheer talent alone.

All too soon though, even with the constant pauses and stops and repetitions, the opera was over and the auditorium silent once more.

"We can sit here a little while longer," Meg said. "Mama always works with the dancers for a little bit after the main rehearsal."

Christine barely managed to bite back an "I know."

The two girls played a simple hand game and counted seats for awhile before Meg led them back down the stairs and through the door leading backstage. Madame Giry soon finished up with her dancers and together they made their way home.

Her father was sitting at the kitchen table when they arrived. He didn't look up.

"Papa?" Christine asked, as she hung her coat up on the rack next to Meg's.

He didn't acknowledge her.

"Come, Meg," Madame Giry said. "To the bedroom. Let's give them some space."

Meg looked confused, but thankfully obeyed.

The door shut with a deadening click behind them, and Christine and her father were alone.

There was a clock ticking somewhere. It echoed in the silence.

"Papa?" Christine repeated, coming around to sit next to him. He didn't say a word, his eyes now in her direction but looking straight through her.

She reached for his hand.

"How did you know?"

Christine withdrew her hand.

"I…"

"I saw the specialist. He thinks it's consumption."

Consumption.

The romantic, graceful death.

Christine fought for words.

"But that's good, right?" she managed. "They know what it is, so they can cure you. You can get better."

"It's consumption. There is no cure."

The world stopped.

No.

Obviously someone had gotten something mistaken. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. This wasn't how she'd allow it to happen. Why else would she have woken up here? Why would someone have given her this chance?

"But they're doctors," she heard herself saying. "That's what they do."

"Not this time." Her father closed his eyes as Christine looked on in sheer uncomprehending horror. "Not this time."

Something was terribly wrong.

Over the course of a single day Christine had gone from a somewhat more timid version of the friend Meg had remembered to a shattered husk. Meg gave up inviting her to play dolls after the poor girl had burst into tears three separate times. Though the tears were almost an improvement. The rest of the time Christine would just sit somewhere, staring blankly off into God knew where.

Their parents weren't any help either. Meg's mother simply said it wasn't her place to say, and Mr. Daae didn't even seem to notice she existed anymore. Occasionally when Meg was particularly obtrusive, he'd snap out of whatever trance he'd fallen under. He'd pat Meg once or twice on the head and praise her for some silly thing she hadn't even said, and then quickly fall back under its spell.

It was clear that it was up to her to do something about it, but soon enough she found herself spending her days with her mother at the opera house again.

"To give Christine and her father some time," her mother had said.

And so, Meg had taken to wandering the backstage corridors again, hunting for any kind of gossip or news that would make the day pass by quicker.

"It's not fair that we're not invited," she heard a girl said as she started to pass by the dressing rooms. Meg stopped and lingered.

"Christmas is for the patrons. New Year's is for us," another girl replied. "We already have one party. What do we need a second one for?"

"But I already know everyone at the New Year's party. I want to see some new people. Some new men!"

"Sssh! Don't let Madame Giry hear you talking like that!"

Meg rolled her eyes and kept walking.

The average chorus or ballet girl wasn't on the invitation, but her mother was. Management and seniority had its benefits.

Meg had thought she'd be spending a fun evening with Christine and her father, but now the prospect looked considerably less welcome. Christine would stare and cry and Gustave would stare and… well, stare.

Or would they?

It couldn't be healthy - for either one of them, but especially for Christine - to be locked away in the apartment day after day after day. Whatever was bothering her wasn't going to get any better by thinking about it constantly.

No, what Christine needed was some distraction.

It'd be perfect, as Meg thought more and more about it. The two of them had always loved glitzy things and dressing up. The fact that Meg didn't really have a dress fancy enough for the Christmas party and Christine probably didn't either was only a minor inconvinience. Several of the costume women owed her mother huge favors, and Meg knew from experience that there were several children's sized dresses in the opera wardrobe. All they needed were a few adjustments and no one would ever know the difference.

Mind now abuzz with her new plan, the rest of the day flew by. Meg practically leaped out of the building when her mother finally finished with the dancers. By the time mother and daughter had reached the end of the street, Meg had explained her entire idea.

"…so I really do think it will help her take her mind off things."

Madame Giry pursed her lips. "Somehow I think it'll cheer you up more than Christine," she said curtly. "However, the idea has some merit. I didn't wanted to get involved, but that girl is in some dire need for fresh air."

Meg brightened up. This was going easier than she'd thought it would.

"You have my permission as long as both Christine and her father approve."

Meg practically squealed.

"Thank you, Mama!" she said, throwing her arms around her.

Meg walked the rest of the way home with a bounce in her step. This would be the thing that finally turned everything around.

She just knew it.

A/N: Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews! Up next, I continue to flesh out the cast. Not too many more characters left...