Alison thought about her conversation of the roof for hours after it happened, and eventually began to question if she had hallucinated the whole thing. It didn't seem possible for him to just disappear the way he did, she believed, and even more impossible for her not to see him the next morning.

While painting, she would feel that he was there but she never saw him. She would find objects in places she hadn't seen them in before. Letters commonly laid on desks of the heads.

Alison worked alongside Madame Petit quietly as they tied ropes. Of course, she listened to the critic and followed advice when it was given. She still was too afraid to ask Madame Petit anything personal.

It was then that Alison met more of the stage performers of the night as they ran to the stage with their costumes firmly placed on. She stopped her work, smiling, and watched as they passed by. She wondered if her mom was ever the same way as them - joyous, living life. Then she remembered she had been before having kids.

A hard foot came down on hers and she jumped from her reverie to glance up. A tall woman walked past, nose up in the air as she passed. When they met eyes, her brown ones narrowed to mere slits and she stopped to put her hands on her hips.

"Watch where you are going!" she snapped harshly, waving a finger in the air. "Do not ruin my costume!"

She glanced over Alison, then raised an eyebrow.

"Name?"

"Alison," came the response, and she heard Madame Petit turn around.

"Obviously not a dancer. Singer? Hardly." She tilted back her head in a loud laugh, drawing the attention from the dancers. "Out of my way, or else!"

Alison moved to the side and the woman walked past with her hips shaking.

"Eden," Madame Petit said from behind Alison. "Second leading."

"I didn't-"

"No one ever does. Get back to work." Alison nodded and wound more ropes in silence. Madame Petit did as well and looked to the rafters as she worked. "Do not worry about her. She is rude to us all."

"Even you?" Alison regretted the words, but Madame Petit took it in good humor and laughed.

"Ah, of course not. She is still scared of me." Alison followed Madame Petit's gaze to the rafters and looked up, searching for Erik. She wondered if he was there, waiting, or if he heard everything. It was simply black. "He is not there."

"What?"

"The Phantom." Madame Petit looked at the ropes she was working on without saying anything else. It was as if she was talking about the weather. "You have seen him, no?"

"Yeah," Alison replied with stiffness in her voice. "A few times."

"A few times? My girls only have ever seen him once, maybe twice." She raised an eyebrow at Alison, looking over her face carefully.

"Strange," she mumbled before placing the coiled rope in its place again.

"Come back in two hours. You are dismissed for now." Alison nodded, secretly pleased, and made her way to the seats of the theater. Alison wished to explore and she was excited for the time to do so. The janitors were cleaning the seats as she passed, or swept the floor, or polished the balconies. Alison smiled at them as she passed, then pulled out her phone as she reached the front of the building. She sat on the stairs with a sigh, opened her camera, and took a few pictures of the area. When she did, she went back to the camera roll to look at them. Most of the pictures were completely normal except for one.

She hadn't seen it until she zoomed in on the area. She very clearly saw a white mask. When she looked up, he wasn't there or anywhere in sight. She said nothing about the picture, but kept it on her phone for reference.

When the show would be starting soon, she returned backstage to assist with the final touches. The actors were backstage practicing. Eden hadn't forgotten about Alison, either, and sent glares every chance she could.

People began to flood into the theater before the show was to begin, and Alison looked at them from behind the curtain. She felt nothing special, as it was something she had seen many times. But when she looked to the 5th balcony closest to the stage, she raised an eyebrow.

He was sitting there, waiting for the show to begin. He looked over the audience, then the stage, and repeated the notion again. Alison continued to stare at him until he noticed her watching him.

She waved up to him with a soft smile, and he simply watched her. He was confused as to why she wasn't frightened - for the years he had been there, he had always frightened the stagehands and the performers. Several of the girls who worked for Madame Petit even stayed away from what was once his room, where he often entered to the catacombs beneath the opera house.

She didn't seem as afraid as the others, though. She was . . . friendly. He had tried to scare her since day one, but it never seemed to affect her. It scared her for a few hours, yes, but never more.

Foolish girl, he thought bitterly. She does not know what I am capable of.

Neither did Christine.

He glared at the stage at the thought of her. Christine was someone who had been on his mind since she had left and never left. He missed her. The thought was enough to send him near tears.

He looked to Alison, still watching him but with a curious gaze. Madame Petit walked up to her as their eyes met, grabbed her arm, and pulled her back. She seemed hesitant until it was apparent Madame Petit was lecturing her.

When she had retreated and he could no longer see her, he sighed. He didn't care for this Alison all that much - in fact, she managed to annoy him. She always wanted to see him, when others didn't. She followed him up to the roof once. She talked to him, even when he didn't want her to. She was a painful child to deal with.

But at the same time, he had to admit she was kind and her aura was different than the others. Even Christine's had been different, and it had been somewhat melancholy. While this girl's was as well, it was overpowered by the ability to smile and speak nice words. He had seen the way she treated others she met. He had seen how she reacted to the repulsive girl named Eden. He had watched her relationships grow stronger with the days that passed.

Yet, he wished to know where she had come from. She never spoke of her past, or her family, or anything of the such. He had seen her pictures on the wall, but never knew who the people were with her.

Why should I wish to know this? He suddenly thought to himself, raising an eyebrow. She is no Christine.

And she wasn't - she was simply (or so he thought) a stagehand.