Chapter 1: Welcome to the Opera

Dark into light. Splendor into torment. Torment to lust. Each production the Opera House held had a sinister meaning behind it all. Each meaning brought something new to thought. Each piece was executed exquisitely, all to the Opera Ghost's design. Each to the ghost's delight. Faust, Norma, Hannibal, Il Muto, La Belle et La Bete, Notre Dame de Paris, Robert le Diable, each held such dark nature. The only one that did not was the Opera Ghost's on piece, Don Juan Triumphant. A tale of lust and enchantment, what was known as a passion play.

The Opera Ghost had no idea what or who was about to grace the halls of his opera. He was oblivious to the idea that his opera house was fixed with the electric light. He was unaware of the poor soul that was like a wandering child, lost and alone outside the opera house. He was also unaware that the opera house had become a school for the fine arts. He didn't hear the soft humming. All he could hear was the fussing and buzzing about that was occuring on stage.

Monsieur Carriere was the manager of the establishment, or rather, former manager. He had only felt it right to tell the ghost what was to occur. It was only right for him to be in the know. Swiftly and silently he crept down below the opera house where former torture chambers lay.

The Opera Ghost paced about. "My God, what is going on up there?" the Opera Ghost pondered as he heard the fussing and buzzing. Monsieur Carriere sighed, "They've turned the Opera House into a school of sorts." The Opera Ghost huffed, "A school of what sorts?" Monsieur Carriere felt it necessary to tell him. "It is a school of the arts." The Opera Ghost glanced at him, "The arts. I presume mainly Opera and ballet." Monsieur Carriere spoke up, "Yes, it is." "Thank you, that makes me assured that it is in good hands." "About that... I am no longer manager, I am afraid."

"Monsieur Carriere, that cannot be," the Opera Ghost breathed. "It is, I am afraid. There is one last audition, then I have to be dismissed." "And so is the way of life." Monsieur Carriere nodded. "Who is the last person to audition?" the Opera Ghost wondered. "Poor thing came to Paris alone. I would have at least thought her father would've arrived with her, then I learned her father passed," Monsieur Carriere spoke. The Opera Ghost glanced at Monsieur Carriere in frustration, "That does not tell me who." "Her name is Roselyn."

"Roselyn, a rather innocent name," the Opera Ghost remarked. Monsieur Carriere nodded. "I would much like to hear her audition," the Opera Ghost smiled. Monsieur Carriere looked to the Opera Ghost. "Then hear it you shall," Monsieur Carriere declared as he started to ascend the staircase.

Monsieur Carriere went to the entryway of the opera house and saw a young woman standing there. She was clad in a rococo period style outfit. Her hair was rather long, reaching near the middle of her back. "Mademoiselle, why don't you come inside?" Monsieur Carriere offered as he opened the door. The young woman scurried up the steps and went inside. She was shaking. "You must be here for your audition," he spoke. "Yes, monsieur..." she started. "Gerard Carriere," he introduced. "Thank you," the woman spoke. "You must be Roselyn." "Yes, monsieur." Monsieur smiled and escorted the young woman known as Roselyn to the stage. "Just stand in the center, there." Roselyn went to the center and took a breath. "Sing whatever it is your heart desires." Roselyn smiled softly.

She knew just what to sing. She took another breath, preparing herself for the notes she would soon hit, "Gently you wonder what life will bring to you. Slowly you wonder what your heart has yet to give. What chance do you have? What love do you share? How far away must you go and must you travel so far? Why do you leave me alone? Why do you even try to make it up to me? What love do you dare give? What love do you show? Is there anything in your heart, or is there just HATE? Why do you bother to make it up to me? Why do you ever get these ideas and fancies in your head? Just take your affection... just take these chances... just take it all from me and leave me alone with all these years that we've put to WASTE!"

Monsieur Carriere's jaw dropped. This piece was from an opera he had never heard of. "Miss, what was that from?" he wondered. Roselyn shrugged, "I wrote it myself." Monsieur Carriere put a hand to his chest. What if the ghost hated the work she had put out?

The Ghost was listening. He was surprised at her voice. This girl was belting where it was impossible to belt for an alto, yet this girl was a soprano. Granted, the voice was pleasant, but it was uncontrolled. Untrained. He wanted this girl in his opera house. He wanted her as a student. He listened closely as footsteps came below. It was Monsieur Carriere. "Was that Roselyn?" the Opera Ghost pondered. "Yes, that was," Monsieur Carriere responded. The Opera Ghost chuckled, "Her voice is rather naive sounding. Yet it has its charm. Her voice could use work. I want her in this opera house." "I thought you would."

"Now, these new managers will most likely not want her here, but I want her here. I need her here," the Opera Ghost spoke in a stern tone. Monsieur Carriere nodded, "Indefinitely. She will most likely need a teacher such as yourself." The Opera Ghost smiled to himself. "The aria she was singing, I had never heard it before," the ghost remarked. Monsieur Carriere noticed the ghost had changed topics.

"She wrote it herself." The Opera Ghost smiled. He had waited years for an original aria to take place in where he called home. "She belted on two words, 'hate' and 'waste', as well as adding a cadenza on 'waste' as well. With work, the cadenza will be more controlled and seem intentional." Monsieur Carriere nodded. "Did she name the piece?" the ghost wondered. Monsieur Carriere, now deciding to use the ghost's name, spoke, "No, Erik. She hadn't. She gave no name. She just performed it."

Erik huffed, "Regardless, it was well executed. Her voice is the only thing that needs the work." Monsieur Carriere nodded and ascended the staircase once more. This time it would not be followed by a return.

Erik paced. He needed to see the face behind the voice. "Roselyn," he whispered. His hand went to the mask that hid half of his face. Pure flesh touching porcelain, cold and unfeeling. Erik sighed. He wanted to feel. He wanted to love. He had not loved anyone since Christine.

As Monsieur Carriere entered the theatre, he came into contact with the new owners, a man known as Monsieur Allan Chaletti, and his wife, Carlotta, who were scrutinizing the new girl, Roselyn. "Monsieur and Madame, the new girl already auditioned. She is in," Monsieur Carriere informed. Carlotta, who was a woman with auburn hair and dark eyes that seemed black, circled this child. "What makes you think she can sing?" Carlotta squawked.

Roselyn felt disheartened. She had put effort into what she had performed, and now she felt discredited. Monsieur Carriere spoke, "She has emotion and that's just what the people want when we put on our seasonal operas." Monsieur Allan glanced at the former manager, "That still doesn't tell us if she can sing." "She can," Monsieur Carriere informed.

Roselyn blinked. She never had anyone stand up for her before. This was such a change. "Emotion, ha!" Carlotta laughed. Roselyn felt tears daring to fall down her face. "The only emotion I see is fear, that will get her nowhere." Roselyn twiddled her thumbs nervously. "However, if she is in, she is," Monsieur Allan remarked. He felt regret saying those words.

"The girl is a soprano, my darling," Monsieur Allan told his wife. Carlotta glanced at Roselyn, "A soprano with no control from what I've heard." Roselyn gulped. Tears pricked at her eyes, gentle and blue as the sea. "She would do well in the costume department of the school. She could be good at sewing," Carlotta laughed. Monsieur Allan nodded in agreement.

Roselyn sighed. She was going to accept whatever she got. She was taking as little as she felt she deserved. Her eyes were cast to the ground. She walked away sadly. She didn't know where to go. She just wandered aimlessly. She was lost. Carlotta and Monsieur Allan laughed at this new girl's confusion. It was amusing to say the least. They allowed the girl to get lost.

Roselyn wandered around the opera house. She took it all in. It was beautiful. She saw statues of copper. They were of some Egyptian woman. Roselyn didn't know who, but she just admired the beauty. She didn't notice it turning. She didn't hear the footsteps of someone. She was locked in a trance of no emotion. She couldn't let anyone see that she was broken.

Roselyn didn't hum. She didn't sing. Not a peep. No sound came from her lips. Erik was stealing glances. He seemed to be everywhere. He saw Roselyn. He could see her broken expression. She looked so defeated. Erik sighed. He wanted to hear Roselyn sing. He heard what she had uttered earlier. If she could make sounds like that, then she had a place here as a singer.

A costume design student didn't seem right for her. Erik did wonder if this girl did have drawing abilities, though. He would allow her to be in the costume department for now. He wasn't happy with it, but it seemed fitting. He could see what this girl was wearing. A deep red jacket with hints of gold fabric on the shoulders. Her blouse was a cream color, she was wearing a skirt that had gold and blue, as well as red ribbon and ornate patterns. He saw the blue beret and red stockings, with russet colored boots to match.

She does have rather good taste in fashion. So ornate, so practical. She knows how to dress from the rococo period, Erik thought. He watched this girl wander around. He watched her twirl when she thought it appropriate. He saw the petticoat underneath. Smiling, he left fifty euros in plain sight for her. He knew she would need them. He also left the address to a shop that would carry everything she would need if she were to be involved in costume design.

Roselyn blinked. She turned to see the euros and address. She strolled over to them, the heels of her boots tapping against the floor. "Who could've left this here?" she pondered as she lifted it up. "Fifty euros..." she breathed. Erik watched her delight. Roselyn, seeing the address, picked up both the money and the paper. She saw the instructions. They read: Go here and tell them what program you are in. They will help you find supplies.

Roselyn nodded to herself and headed out to the streets of Paris. They seemed ever so busy. They were buzzing. Roselyn sighed as she wandered through. She looked back at the street address. She didn't know where it was. A local noticed she was lost. Slowly walking up to the girl, the local inquired, "Do you need some help?" Roselyn nodded, "Yes. I do. Would you happen to know where this place is?" The local smiled, "Of course, it's just down the road and to the right."

Roselyn smiled, "Thank you." The local walked off. Roselyn walked down the road, looking to the right. She saw the place she was supposed to go. It was an art shop. Roselyn sighed, looking at the way it was crafted. It was simple. Red oak with brass door knobs and cedar window frames. It was quaint, mimicking a home from the Rococo period.

The shopkeeper saw her. His voice was soft spoken, "Nice, isn't it?" Roselyn turned towards him, "Hm?" The shopkeeper spoke softly, "The architecture. It's been standing here since the early Rococo period." Roselyn smiled, "Oh, then yes. It's lovely." The shopkeeper took note of the paper in her hands. "What have you got there?" he inquired. "Oh, that, it just told me the address. I was supposed to tell you that I'm in costume design," Roselyn told the shopkeeper with a tone that could only be described as shy and quiet.

The shopkeeper nodded, "Then I think I know what you need. Follow me, would you?" Roselyn nodded softly as the shopkeeper came out from behind the counter, going over to a shelf that held leather bound sketchbooks that had enough paper to last nearly four opera seasons. Roselyn reached out and touched the red leather spine. "I take it you like this one," the shopkeeper remarked. Roselyn smiled, "Yes, I do." "It matches the one the phantom used when he was designing costumes," the shopkeeper informed.

Roselyn blinked, "Phantom?" The shopkeeper saw the girl's confusion, "You don't understand, do you?" Roselyn shook her head as she gently grasped the book. "There is a story to tell. Beneath the Opera Populaire, where the former torture chambers, there lives a ghost, or so they think. They say he died, but they want his spirit to live on. This is the only sketchbook that was made to match. It is almost as if he had never left," the shopkeeper spoke as he went to get colored pencils for Roselyn, as well as colored pens for her to outline each design.

Roselyn blinked, "A ghost, you must think me mad to believe something like that." The shopkeeper glanced at her. "You won't be saying that when you meet him. If you saw the ghost, you would never be let go by him," the shopkeeper warned. Roselyn sighed as the colored pencils and pens were placed on top of the sketchbook colored red. He strolled back over to the counter and went behind. Roselyn approached the counter, clenching onto what the shopkeeper gave her as well as the euros that were left for her.

The shopkeeper hadn't noticed this girl's face until now. He gulped. The ghost had been in here multiple times, he was asking for a woman who looked like the waif who stood before the counter. "You shouldn't have come here," the shopkeeper warned. Roselyn looked at him as the shopkeeper scanned the prices. "He was here, waiting for someone. Someone who looked like you," he answered. "Like me?" Roselyn repeated. The shopkeeper nodded, "Yes." Roselyn started to hand him the euros. "No, he'll come back. They're on the house. Protect yourself. Keep the money," the shopkeeper spoke frantically as he saw the figure approach the shop. "Hide behind one of the shelves. He will never find you," the shopkeeper whispered.

Roselyn nodded as the shopkeeper helped her behind a shelf near the wall. He draped fabric over the side that was thick enough to hide the outline of Roselyn's frame. The ghost, who was known as Erik, strolled in. Erik turned to the shopkeeper. The shopkeeper glanced at Erik who was walking around. "Has a young woman come by here?" Erik inquired. The shopkeeper had to lie, "No. One hasn't. Why?" "She's part of the costume design part of the school. She was told to come here to get everything she would need." The shopkeeper nodded.

"Will you let me know if she's stopped by?" Erik inquired as he still looked around. The shopkeeper started to trail after Erik, "Yes, of course." Erik saw the fabric, "What have you got behind there?" The shopkeeper lied once again, "Just some stray kittens." Erik got increasingly closer to the fabric. "Then you wouldn't mind if I took a look?" Erik inquired. The shopkeeper didn't even have time to answer. Erik just pulled the fabric down. There stood Roselyn. She screamed.

Erik pulled the girl close and put his hand over her mouth. "Alert the whole damn town, why don't you?" Erik spoke as Roselyn still screamed, though the sounds were muffled. "By God, let the child go," the shopkeeper breathed. Erik wasn't going to. He dragged Roselyn, his hand still over her mouth. My Christine, Erik thought. My sweet Christine. My beautiful Christine. Roselyn tried to fight against him. She wanted him to release her.

Erik found an entryway to the sewers of the Opera House. He dragged her down below. He was going to keep her. He wasn't going to let anyone take her. Roselyn struggled. She fought against him. Erik chuckled. "My dear, stop. You will only make yourself ill," Erik remarked as he continued to bring her down to his domain. Roselyn felt herself calm. She ceased fighting. Erik removed his gloved hand from Roselyn's mouth.

Roselyn's eyes danced around the scenery. It was beautiful. Erik saw her delight. He saw how her jaw became agape at the lagoon. He smiled. "You seem surprised," Erik remarked. Roselyn had no words. She saw the light from the stage reflecting on the lagoon. It twinkled like stars that had fallen from the sky. Erik saw how she was staring. "What do you see in the lagoon?" he inquired. Roselyn smiled. She spoke, "I see small stars, twinkling. Not dancing, just twinkling. Not dim, but not bright. Somewhere in the middle."

Erik felt a twinge of innocence in this girl. The way she described the way light hit the water was heaven to him. It was enchanting. "Do you feel like you're floating?" Erik pondered. "Floating, falling, sweet intoxication..." Roselyn sang. She blinked. She never heard those words, yet she knew them.

Erik blinked. He only sang those words to Christine. How did this girl know them. "Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation," Erik continued. "Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in to the power of the music that you write," Roselyn intoned. Erik grinned, "The power of the music of the night."

Erik led her to the boat on the lagoon. He was the first to get in. After a moment, he helped in Roselyn. He watched her sit as Christine had so many years ago. He pushed it through the shallow lagoon to his true domain. There it would host a pipe organ and blank scores. Erik smiled to himself as he pushed it along. Softly, he uttered the words, "Welcome to the opera." To himself, and only himself, he whispered, "Welcome home Christine."

Songs in this chapter:

"The Power of Emotion"-Performed by Roselyn, written by me

"Music of the Night (1)"-Performed by Roselyn and Erik, written by Andrew Lloyd Webber with lyric alteration by me