Weeks went by and you did not see him again, and you had not gone looking. Monsieur Martin gave you the rest of your payment on the last Friday of the month, and apologized for the tardiness of the new construction crew. He assured you they'd be there next week, and also told you that you'd be in charge of supervising them. You were a bit surprised he'd given you the role of supervisor, but you supposed it was because he still didn't want to set foot in the opera house. You hoped it were true they'd be here next week, as you'd started to get rather lonely walking the opera's halls.

Over the last two weeks you'd managed to finish cleaning the library and to the best of your ability the boxes and auditorium aisles. Of course there wasn't much you could do with the chandelier still laying overtop the orchestra pit and the first few rows of seats. Not to mention the charred state of many of the chairs. The work that needed to be done did not end there however. You still needed to clean the ballroom located behind the auditorium, the offices below the grand foyer, and the dormitories. But before you got started on those rooms, you decided to finish the rooms you'd already started by fixing up any paintwork you could reach and polishing the floors.

In order to do that you needed to make another trip to the hardware store. Packing enough money for what you needed to buy, you grabbed your rolling cart and made the walk to the store. You were lucky enough to find that the judging Gustave was not working today, although you weren't sure you were better off with Pierre. If you had to guess, he had a crush on you, and you weren't exactly sure how you felt about that considering your luck in the past. He was quite handsome though.

"Bonjour Mademoiselle, it's good to see you again," Pierre called the second you'd stepped through the door. It was like he'd been waiting for you.

"Bonjour Pierre," you replied. He seemed surprised you'd remembered his name and he smiled.

"I take it you need some more supplies. How is your job at the Opera Populaire going? Scared out of your wits yet?"

You laughed and replied, "it's going great actually. I've made a lot of progress."

"No ghosts or goblins?"

"Haha, no. None that I've seen."

"Lucky you. Maybe I'll have to come around some time then, check out all of the work you've done," Pierre suggested, giving you a dazzling smile.

You hesitated at first, but found yourself saying yes and agreeing with his idea. The thought of having some company excited you, but you immediately regretted it after. What if he really did like you? You hadn't had a suitor in a long while, especially not after you left the nobility of your family behind.

"You know, you never told me your name."

"Oh, I do apologize. It's Y/N."

"So Y/N, what can I get you today?"

You handed him your list which included many bottles of cleaning solution, marble polish, new sponges, and a plethora of other items. Pierre quickly ran around the store, packing all of the needed items into your cart, frequently glancing at you and smiling. You found yourself smiling back.

You paid for your items and left, finding yourself blushing a bit at the thought of Pierre coming to visit you at the opera house. It had been a long time since anyone had shown interest in you like that, and you were scared. Although you didn't want to admit it, you were excited too.

~

The following morning you woke early to begin polishing the floor of the entrance hall and grand foyer. The prospect of Pierre coming to visit made you giddy with excitement, and you hummed as you polished the floor. Your high energy allowed you to finish quickly, so you moved on to polishing the grand staircase and banisters.

Halfway through your work a voice called to you from the entree hall. It was Pierre. You hadn't expected him to show up today already, but apparently he was eager to see you. Quickly adjusting your hair and apron, you walked down the stairs to the front hall.

"Salut," you greeted him. "I didn't expect you to come so soon."

"Today's my day off, so I thought I'd come for a tour."

He smiled at you and you smiled back. You began leading him through the Opera House, showing him the grand foyer, the restaurant and even the auditorium even though it wasn't yet finished. He listened intently as you told him about the work you'd done, and you were careful to leave out any inclination that the Phantom of the Opera actually existed.

"Wait," Pierre called as you were about to lead him from the auditorium. You turned around to face him. "You have some dirt on your face."

You immediately reddened, embarrassed that you hadn't realized you were covered in dust and dirt. Before you could wipe your face yourself, however, he raised his hand. You tried to stop him, but it was too late. In his attempt to wipe the dirt from your face, he'd moved away your hair. He immediately pulled back his hand and froze. You looked to him and tried to squash the fear that was bubbling up inside you. Maybe he would be different.

"Witch," he breathed. Something you hadn't been called in a long time. Your hope shattered.

"What?" Your voice broke.

"You've been kissed by the devil."

"N-No, it's just a birthmark. It's just–"

In your attempt to reach out to him, he had slapped your hand away and recoiled from you. Your heart sunk and you pulled your hands to your chest, clenching them together. He only stared at you for a second longer before rushing out of the auditorium, leaving you behind.

Forcing your feet forward, you dragged yourself to the chapel before you collapsed both figuratively and literally. You could feel it coming, could feel your heart shattering, the cracks growing. Sinking onto the chapel floor, you lit the candle in front of the portrait you'd painted of your mother. Your hands were shaking, and you could barely see through your blurry eyes, making lighting the candle difficult. Unable to get the disgusted look on Pierre's face out of your mind, you burst into tears and curled up on the damp floor.

Why did misfortune always find you? Why did you continue to let people in, only to be met with disappointment? Never again, you swore to yourself. Never again.

You thought you could physically feel your heart breaking in your chest as sobs racked through you. You almost didn't hear the sound of a piano playing softly amidst the sound of your cries. You sniffled and stilled, listening to the sound of the playing. It was a somber yet delicate piece, and it was the only thing that kept you from breaking further.

~

When you finally rose from the floor what felt like hours later, you made the decision to visit your mothers grave. You hadn't gone in a long while and felt like you needed her the most right now. It was at least the closest you could get.

It was a long walk, and you could not afford a carriage ride. By the time you reached the cemetery your feet were aching terribly and your tears had dried up. You wished you'd forked over the money for a ride then, but at least the walk had given you time to think. If that was what you could call it. Really it was more of a wallowing in self-pity.

You found your mother's large gravestone by the center of the cemetery. You made sure your father paid for a nice headstone and plot. Especially since this was not just the grave of your mother, but her unborn child too. Sometimes you wondered if the child would have been a boy like your father wanted or if it perhaps would have been another girl. You remembered wishing back then that it had been a girl, as a way for the universe to tell your father he didn't deserve what he wanted. A universal fuck you. It had never come to that.

While many of the surrounding graves had flowers, your mothers did not. No one had visited in a long time, not that you expected your father to with his new wife. Depositing the marigolds—your mothers favorite flower—that you'd purchased along the way, you opened your mouth and let loose a long sigh. You were about to do something you hadn't in a very, very long time. Sing.

Opening your mouth again, you began to sing a lament to the tune you'd heard in the chords coming from the mysterious piano playing beneath the chapel. Your mother had always called you her little siren, and so that was what you sang, a sirens lament. You grieved your mother, your failed chance at love, and you grieved your life.

For a long while you sang, letting loose all the emotions within you that you'd never voiced over the years. The anger, the sadness, the longing. By the time you were finished your throat felt raw and you felt numb, but a tiny crack in your heart had healed by finally allowing yourself to sing after all these years of silence.

You heard footsteps approaching behind you, and you turned around to find a young woman a little younger than you with curly brown hair and brown eyes. She looked quite familiar to you, but you couldn't place where you knew her from.

"Your voice is beautiful," she said, smiling at you. "But that tune... I know I've heard it somewhere before."

You understood then that this was her. It was Christine. And if she knew that mysterious tune, then it had to have been his tune, and she had to have known him too, right?

"Does he still live?" She asked suddenly, her face filling with sadness then. Her question confirmed your suspicions.

"He does. At least as much as one can in a destroyed opera house."

"Is it true that they're trying to reopen it, the opera house?"

"Yes," you said. "Would you come back? Would you sing again?"

"Oh, no. I don't think I could. I don't think I'd be welcome there, not after what I did."

So it was her who had betrayed the Phantom that fateful night five years ago. You'd thought that those were just stories. You'd never let yourself believe that any of them were true.

"Will you tell him," she asked, grabbing your hands gently. "Tell him that I'm sorry? And would you look out for him for me? He doesn't deserve to be alone for the rest of his life, no matter who he is."

You nodded and noted the sadness in her eyes. It was deep and regretful. You didn't have the heart to tell her that the thought of going near him again scared you, especially after he'd almost killed you. He had saved you though. Twice. It was then that you noticed there was a hope in her eyes too, but you didn't know what for.

"I will," you said and Christine smiled, the sadness disappearing from her eyes.

"Thank you," she beamed. She gave your hands a gentle, reassuring squeeze before turning to leave.

It was only then, standing alone as a soft breeze blew, that you realized your hair was not covering your face. It had not been for your entire conversation with Christine, and yet she only ever looked at you with kindness. For the first time in a long while, someone looked at you—all of you—like you were still a human being.