Dear Readers,

I apologize for the delay. It's been a really busy and hectic past couple of months for me, but hopefully things will be getting better. School is out, which means I will have more time to right. Unfortunately, my muse has decided to become very spastic, and only work at certain times of the day. I apologize for any spelling or grammar mistakes. It is currently 2:30AM, and I am much too tired to go over this chapter as carefully as I would like. Thank goodness for summer, though, as I'll be able to sleep late tomorrow. Once again, I apologize for the wait in this chapter, and I hope you enjoy it!

Monsieur Daniels,

I applaud you in your restoration of the Opera Populaire. You have my deepest gratitude for your assistance in these financially troubling times. However, repairs are coming to an end, and the start of our operatic season nears. Work must begin, rules must be laid, and a new chapter in the Opera's management must be written. So, on that note, I bid you welcome to the Opera Populaire; France's greatest theatre, the highlight of Parisian entertainment...my opera house.

I am sure you have been warned by Ms. Andre and Ms. Firmin of certain...difficulties...within the theatre. Or, if not warned, have at least heard the tales whispered in the hallways. Take heed to rumors, monsieur. They may seem as old wife's tales, but even old wives have some semblance of wisdom in their words. Let me assure you, we can be the most amiable of friends, or the most spiteful of enemies. Either way, my word is law, and is not to be taken lightly.

You seem a man of sense. Do not let that American pride of yours cloud your vision or threaten your well being. I will give you certain suggestions towards the management of my opera house from time to time. It is known that wisdom is a thing most precious among the hard-hearted and dim-witted these days. All I ask for in return is a monthly salary of twenty-thousand francs and an indefinite seat in Box Five.

Requests are things easily broken; demands, easily kept. Do not disappoint me.

I remain, gentleman, your obedient servant,

-O.G.-

The note lay open on his desk, a hundred messy creases zigzagging through it like the veins of some dark, muscled animal. Jackson Daniels snatched it up for the third time and crumpled it into a ball, turning towards the waste bin, turning around as if changing his mind, and unfolded it to read over the words once again. His empty hand fisted into a tight ball, relaxed, and clenched again. Madame Antoinette Giry eyed the man wearily from her seat before his desk, her guarded eyes scanning his face for any sign of emotion.

It was all there, written plain as day on his features. Agitation, fury, surprise. Monsieur Daniels was, apparently, no Parisian aristocrat. Men of France learn to wear the mask of indifference at a young age; this American could be read like a book.

He made a small sound of disbelief in the back of his throat before turning towards the ballet instructor.

"You're kidding." His accent was heavy, the unfamiliar French words clumsy on his tongue, but anyone could understand his words by the tone of his voice.

"No, monsieur. I do not kid." Her steady gaze proved the truth of her words.

"This has to be a joke!" One calloused hand reached up to tug at the thick black locks sitting atop his head. "I mean, come on. The Phantom of the Opera? I've heard stories, but he's not really real, is he?" The man's deft fingers pulled relentlessly before giving up their assault and settling themselves with running through the manager's hair.

Madame Giry smiled reassuringly. She had come to recognize those movements as a nervous gesture, and God knew this man needed all the comfort he could get while he was still relatively safe.

"I have lived here all my life," she spoke, her smile slowly fading. Daniels gently lowered himself into his seat, fingers arched and elbows resting lightly on his desk as he gave the Madame his full attention. That was one thing Madame Giry liked about the man. He gave everyone his full attention when being spoken to; whether it was to hear the complaints of the scene shifters, or listen to some of the older employee's ranting about the "good ole' days." He treated each person in this theatre as an equal. It made the ballerina instructor wonder about who had taught him such morals. Antoinette had asked him about that once, while they were overseeing the repairs of the Opera Populaire's roof after one of the carpenters complained about the dangers of working so high off the ground.

"Morals are a hard-learned thing out west," he had guffawed, his grin as jovial as a drunkards, though Giry had known by then he wasn't much of an alcoholic. "If you didn't treat your mother right, you were sent to clean the dishes. If you didn't respect your father, you got a whipin' that would sting for days. Those were the worst, the whipin's. Sure, it was an outright shame to be doin' a woman's work, cleanin' and all, but it was ten times worse walkin' around like your pants had ridden up on you, too afraid to sit because your back end stung so much you might burst out in tears any minute."

Madame Giry had laughed at that. Imagining the tall, broad shouldered Daniels - a man formidable enough to make any bar fighter weary -bursting out in tears because of a sore bottom, was too much. He must have felt encouraged at her good humor, because he continued.

"Oh, our lessons are harsh out there in that wild west. Every man is equal, important. We all worked together like the limbs of a single body. You can't go huntin' without legs, you can't hold a gun without hands, and you can't chew your food without a mouth. I imagine the Opera Populaire is the same. You can't have a show without actors, but you can't have a building without carpenters. I suppose I fit in there somewhere by paying off everyone to do what they're supposed to do."

He had shrugged then, as if that little piece of wisdom was just common sense. Funny, how Madame Giry would think of that now, looking at his eyes through his rough hands. Yes, he would do very well here, if Erik's bloody threats didn't do him in, she thought bitterly. This man had a good heart, and a passion for music. Not much of a knowledge, mind you, but he loved it nonetheless. He would do good to listen to the Phantom, if only the resident ghost didn't push him too far.

"I have lived here all my life," she repeated, realizing she had been lost in thought for a few moments. "And have come to find that ghosts are more real than I would have previously thought." She left it at that, and though a curious spark glinted in the manager's eyes, the old ballerina kept her lips sealed.

"'Even old wives tales have some semblance of wisdom'," he quoted from the letter. Jackson glanced from the note, to Madame Giry, then back to the letter again, before a playful smile found its way onto his lips. "Alright. I'll humor this ghost. Imagine, the Phantom of the Opera! I'd heard stories, but the real thing, living here!"

He shook his head while rising from his seat. Antoinette rose with a grace only a ballerina could master, and stepped lightly towards the door; the click click click of her unneeded cane tapping out a rhythm only she heard.

"Madame," he said with a bow as the woman passed. She paused a moment outside the door, and heard Daniels speak to himself.

"All part of one body..." he mumbled sardonically. "I wonder what limb the Phantom is. The brains...or the ass."

Icy fingers... So cold, yet the pain they caused seared like a knife.

I...I hear it. The drum beats louder...like a...like a...

A heart.

I hear a heart.

I hear.

I...I...I...

"I can notta' work like dis," came a shout from the hall. It echoed annoyingly throughout the entire theatre, giving the pampered diva, Carlotta Gudicelli, the satisfaction of knowing her voice did not go unheard by anyone. The screech-like noise caused Juliet to jump out of bed in surprise. A cold sweat had broke out on her forehead, the last fragments of dreaded dream fading away as consciousness overtook her. The girl's head throbbed and she tasted salty tears on her lips from where she had cried in her sleep. Pushing aside the dusty sheets and groping around the darkened room, Juliet managed to find the door and thrust the thing open with all her might.

The problem: a pompous soprano stood in the way.

Fortunately for Juliet, the arrogant singer wasn't half as heavy as she looked and was easily pushed out of the way, landing smartly on her backside while stumbling backwards.

Unfortunately for Carlotta, her nose was the main victim for the force of the push.

Blinking in surprise, Juliet could only stare down at the sea of fiery red and orange fabrics pooled just outside her door, concealing a very hot-headed diva. Senora Gudicelli, on the other hand, was far from speechless.

"How dare you!" she shrieked, kicking her feet and flailing her arms as if that would help her to get up. Curses and obscenities flew from her mouth, but Juliet could only focus on one thing.

Her head was pounding and this woman was very loud.

She covered her ears, but the noise rose in waves. Carlotta managed to get up with the help of two frightened looking maids, and came at the girl with hot fury radiating off her. The street girl, out of instinct, jumped back and took off down the hall. Or, at least, she would have taken off if the angry Prima Donna hadn't grabbed hold of her sleeve just before she made the decision. More shouts came from the woman.

Juliet's head felt like it was going to split in two.

In one last act of desperation, the girl whirled around to face the fiery woman.

"Shut up!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, clamping her hands over her ears as her own voice reverberated through the hallway twenty fold. And it worked! She was about to sigh in relief when the screeching woman, shaking herself from the shock of being spoken to in such a way, started yelling once again.

Carlotta took a step forward and clamped a hand onto the girl's wrist, her fingernails digging into the other's flesh. It was at that point for Juliet instinct kicked in.

The woman had lifted her free hand to smack the girl.

Juliet acted first.

A fist slammed into the Prima Donna's jaw.. No cat fights for this street girl. She had learned to fist fight long ago, and found it much more affective than a slap to the face.

The sound of bone popping was sickeningly sweet, echoing through the hallways relentlessly, reminding the girl of her strength, her fearlessness...her desperation.

Carlotta fell back and would have started screaming again had her mouth not hurt so much. Juliet was gone in the blink of an eye, a satisfied smirk upon her features.

"Serves her right," she spoke to herself; something she always did after a fight. It put her mind at ease to hear words of encouragement after such an ordeal, even if they were her own. She flew around a corner, narrowly avoiding a stagehand carrying some giant prop.

"No one fights a street girl, she should have known that." Her paces slowed as she receded further and further away from the scene of the fight. Juliet walked at a leisurely pace down a hallway she had yet to see. Realization that she was completely lost dawned on her, but for some reason it didn't seem that big of a deal. It was more of a nagging thought at the back of her mind rather than an immediate danger, so she ignored it. The sound of feet tapping rhythmically against the floor caught her attention and drew her closer towards one of the many doors in the hallway. Tap tap tap, she heard. Then a short pause, and a thump.

"Ah, no," came a frustrated sigh from inside the room. Juliet moved closer, peering through the keyhole. The room was fairly dark, except for a few candles burning in various areas along the floor. The walls, or what she could see of them, were lined with mirrors and it appeared there were no windows in this particular room. Suddenly a shadow flitted across the wall, it's dark form reflected in the cold glass, and the sight gave the girl a slight chill.

Then the noise came again.Tap tap tap. Pause...thump.

A form appeared in Juliet's line of vision, and her eyes hungrily studied this new apparition. It stretched and swerved, bending and twisting every which way in dark, fluid movements. Two thin arms rose above a tiny body, waving almost seductively, before falling innocently back against the sides of the darkness. This black shadow danced off the near blackness of her eyes, and the girl suddenly thought maybe this was a demon dancing some sacrileges ritual.

"No, no, no!" the form whispered angrily at the empty air. It stopped a moment, catching it's breath, and stepped out of Juliet's line of sight. She nearly sighed out of frustration of her own, when the form came running back into view. Tap tap tap, it's toes hit the ground in three long, graceful movements. There was a pause as it launched into the air, legs outstretched, body practically melding with the air and emotions swirling through it. Then...nothing. It landed soundlessly, arms stretched above in a circle.

"Yes!" came a whoop from the creature, and Juliet laughed lightly. She regretted it as soon as the sound left her lips.

"Who's there?" came the voice again, twirling towards the door. Before Juliet could even move, the wooden barrier was pulled open and candlelight illuminated the form. It turned out not to be a black demon after all.

Instead, a young girl about seventeen, with eyes as wide and innocent as a child's and hair as golden as sunlight, stood before her. Juliet quickly rose from her position kneeling on the floor, and cleared her throat uncomfortably.

"Well...ummm...I didn't mean to intrude. I was just...ah..."

She looked to the girl, hoping for some help in this conversation. Blinking away the surprise of being caught practicing, the young girl curtsied slightly.

"I am Meg Giry."

Juliet smiled and nearly sighed in relief.

"Juliet," she replied, holding out her hand. "Juliet Sa Malédiction."

The blond tipped her head to the side. Sa Malédiction...? But why -"

"You dance wonderfully," the girl cut her off, not wanting to explain her name to the young ballerina.

A bright crimson blush covered the girl's cheeks and she lowered her head, averting her eyes. "Thank you. I didn't know you were watching..."

"Oh, I didn't mean to eves drop or anything, I promise. I was just curious as to who was dancing so wonderfully."

Meg turned a deeper shade of red, if that were possible, and smiled sweetly. "Oh, it's nothing really. I come here sometimes to practice, so the other girls won't laugh if I fall."

"The harsh life of a ballerina, huh?" Juliet said with a grin, turning slightly. "I just woke up a little while ago. Would you care to join me for some breakfast?"

Little Meg giggled, a smile creeping onto her features."It's almost noon."

The street girl made a small noise of shock, then smiled herself. "Lunch, then? I just arrived at the Opera Populaire, and I need all the friends I can get." Her smile grew bigger as she thought of the pompous shrieking woman she had injured earlier. If luck was on her side, the woman wouldn't recognize her later on. But for now, she would enjoy what precious little freedom she had until Madame Giry decided to put her to work.

Meg nodded and took off down the hall with Juliet by her side, talking about the inner workings of the Opera, asking how Juliet came to be here, and offering to tour her around the building.

"Giry, you said it was?" Juliet asked, as an afterthought.

The little girl nodded happily, her blond curls bouncing up and down.

"I met your mother earlier..."

Once again, below is the original chapter 3. Please review!

Kodu

3

His Failure

Life soon fell into a normal, if not mediocre, lifestyle for Juliet. Since she had no talent ‘as of yet evaluated’ she had become the news runner - a position created just for her - for everyone at the Opera.

Though Juliet much rather preferred to call herself the gossip runner.

Her job: to deliver messages to the other people around the theatre.

Sometimes it was something important, like a casting change for an upcoming play or that someone’s salary was due. But most of the time it was just gossip amongst the actors and stagehands. ‘Go tell such-and-such that he said he thinks he might like her if her friend says she thinks she thinks she likes him’ was the most common message Juliet had gotten so far.

Ah, to be young and in love!

Juliet broke out laughing as she ran to deliver one of these very messages. Ah, to be young and naive! she thought hysterically.

No, Juliet had never fallen in love. And she didn’t plan on doing it anytime soon either.

The girl rapped on the door lightly and was surprised to find another girl come out. But this love letter was from a girl... “Er...umm...” Juliet mumbled. “Yes?” said the woman patiently. “Is there a monsieur in residence here?” The other girl looked just as confused as Juliet. “No mademoiselle.” Juliet cocked her head. “Oh. It’s just...you see...I had a message for Jame-”

The girl smiled politely. “Yes, that’s me. My name is Jaime but some of my friends call me James.”

Now Juliet was not only confused but a little frightened as well. “Well,” said the girl in the doorway. “What’s the message?”

Juliet noticed the ballerina gowns scattered about the woman’s room, smiled politely, and lied like she’d never lied before. “Oh, your friend Margaret said you did wonderful performing today.”

The girl blushed. “Oh that Margaret is such a doll.”

I’ll bet she is, thought Juliet.

“Tell her I said thank you.” The girl nodded and ran down the hallway. Rounding a corner, Juliet tossed the note into a waste basket. There was just some things you couldn’t ask a girl to do.

That, Juliet thought with a shake of her head, was definitely one of them.

The weeks passed by quickly. Madame Giry had pretty much forgotten about the little urchin she had saved from the streets and Meg had decided Juliet didn’t really need a tutor, seeing as how the young girl had adapted so quickly to life at the Opera.

They did, however, become very good friends and made it a point that they see each other every day.

In one of these meetings in Christine’s old room - which had, to her delight, become Juliet’s room - the street girl had asked about the strange man she had met in the piano room. Meg had been overcome with fear and wonder as Juliet retold how he had jumped from the balcony, played the most beautiful song she had ever heard, then presently disappeared into the shadows.

Meg had then begum to relate the story of the Phantom of the Opera to her.

She started at the beginning, with the arrival of the two new managers Andre and Firmin. Her eyes got wide as she told about the strange letters and the disappearance of Christine. Meg had tossed her hands in the air while telling of the performance of Duan Juan Triumphant. She lowered her voice to just above a whisper as she told of the choice Christine took, as related to her by Mademoiselle Daae herself, down in the dungeons of the Opera House.

All-in-all, when Meg was done she was out of breath.

“That’s horrible,” Juliet said, her voice raised. Meg was nodding in agreement.

“That monster! How could Christine do that to him?”

Meg was caught in mid-nod.

“No, Mademoiselle, you have it all wrong. The Phantom is the monster. He tried to...well, he...”

Juliet faced Meg with a smug look. “All that man ever did was love unconditionally. That’s all.”

Meg’s eyes widened, but she knew she saw the reason in this.

The clock struck twelve. “Oh, I really must be leaving, Juliet! Goodnight!” The little ballerina strode over to the door. “Goodnight, Meg,” Juliet called back as she left. Her limbs ached from a hard days work of running. She slipped her clothes from her body and crawled into bed. “That poor man,” she said just before drifting off to sleep.

And that is how Juliet learned of the Phantom’s failure.

The Phantom himself lay behind the mirror, tears forming in the edges of his eyes that he never let fall.