Years of hiding, the Phantom had stayed under the rubble of the theatre. Day in and day out he traveled along the water ways under the city, trying to make a new home. The world was unjust to him and he did not want to let the people above ground hurt him again. The day Christine had left, his heart was torn viciously out of his chest. The only woman he cared about did not feel the same way for him and chose a gentleman who was far more handsome than he was. It hurt…He had gave her his music, his sweet music that he had poured all his sweat, blood, and tears into, just for her. And then she denied his love for her and chose another. How? ...Though before Christine had left him, she gave him a ring to remember her by. He treasured if with all his being and kept it close to him at all times. He ran his fingers through his thin hair and sighed. If she had only stayed. They were an awesome duo and could have gone far together. But she gave it all up. She had follower her own heart. It may had been unfair to keep her all to himself, and to keep her in such a desolate place. He knew in his heart that he had to let her go and spread her own wing without him. He had poked and prodded her enough to become confidant when she was on stage, not forgetting she had also done that in her singing. He could at least relish in what he had done for her.

Now he was alone; no one to love, no one to share his passion. He couldn't even do what he loved. After the collapse, he had lost everything: his massive piped organ, his plays,…his home. The Phantom now lived with the rats, the darkness, and the musty smell of the water. He wished he could go above ground, and live a normal life like his Christine.

He sighed. All his thoughts dwelling on that subject made his dreary. He pushed the thoughts out of his head and tried to make his new found home an actual home, like at the opera.

Where he called "home" now, was much the same as he was before; rocks and water. Late at night, he would go above ground through the sewers, and rummage for items that people discarded so easily. With the few years that passed from the fire, he had managed to have what he had once had. Candle holders of all shapes and sizes littered the area to create some light. With the money he had still, he had managed to purchase an older organ and have it in his home. He was able to compose once more, which put his mind at ease. He was lost without his music.

It was a cold night in Paris that evening when I young girl had found herself in an alleyway, cold and shivering. She had just been booed off stage at a small theater, and was told she could not make it as an actress. Her director told her she could not project, nor act. What does he know? She thought to herself. I was just an understudy for the main character; I couldn't grow from copying someone I loathed.

Unfortunately the actress that played the leading lady had fell ill a few days back and was unable to play her part, so Josephine had to take over. She was always some extra. Her director never saw any more potential that just a back up. She hit her fists against the cobblestone and growled in furry. I don't need you! I am better than what I was! I will make my own way for myself!

Suddenly she hears pebbles scuffing across the way from the street. She huddled to the wall and had almost stopped breathing because of the fear she felt. Josephine squeezed her eyes shut and wished for whomever it was to go away and leave her be. Her wish was denied though. A drunkard had stumbled his way into the alley, seeing her in her distraught state, and went over to her. She had finally looked and the man was approaching her. She wanted to scream but did nothing. She stood up abruptly and pushed her back against the wall.

"Please, sir, leave me be," she said in a tiny, shaken voice.

She analyzed him. He was a man of a higher power. His clothes were, for most parts, clean and new. A dark suit that was tailored just perfectly for this man, his shoes were somewhat polished, and his moustache neatly up kept.

He perused her still, even after her plea.

"Sir, please leave. I don't have anything to offer."

The man sneered, and grabbed her hair, "Of course you have something to offer. Every wench like you does."

She winced from the pain of her dark, matted hair being pulled. Josephine knew what he was wanting, and almost vomited. She was no wench; she couldn't sell herself for money. She had promised her mother not to stoop so low on her death bed. She had tried to push him away but he slapped her across the face and pulled her hair more. Blood was on her bottom lip; the impact from him had wounded her.

She cried, tears rolling, "Please, don't!"

The drunk had pulled up her skirt, and was trying to rip off her undergarments. She struggled and cried, and she was slapped again. The blow was harder than before and had made her dizzy. Soon he was unbuttoning his pants…

When he had finished with her, she fell to the ground sobbing, trying to push what happened out of her mind. She heard coins fall to the ground and he was gone. Soon she cried herself to sleep, curled in a fetal position.

Time had passed, and it was getting late. She had felt someone running their hands along her bruised cheek and her hair. She wanted to wake up, but couldn't rouse herself. Soon, Josephine was being lifted up and carried somewhere. She left strong arms underneath her, a sweet smell coming from this person, and the softness of his clothing. She felted comforted…maybe even safe, for some odd reason. She left herself drift off to sleep once more.

Later she left that she was being laid down on a soft bed, and being covered up. She was shivering from the cold and the trauma that had had happened to her. Again, the stranger touched her face gently.

"Thank you…" she quietly said to the stranger and was asleep once more.

She wasn't sure how long she had slept, but when she finally was conscious again, she was in a massive bed, with many pillows and a warm blanket. It was mainly dark, but for only a few candles that twinkled across the way. She sat up and winced. She was sore all over. The drunkard had definitely left his mark on her. No! She pushed the thoughts from her mind. It didn't happen. It was all a dream. I just had slept in the alleyway and someone has taken me in.

The Phantom had found the girl in the alley, bruised and distressed. He was not sure what had happened, but he felt for her. She was beautiful, even under the dirt and bruises. Her hair was a dark brown, curly yet matted. He dress she wore hugged the right places, showing she had an attractive body. She was small, yet dainty. He had thought maybe she could have been a wood nymph or a faery of sorts. This girl could be his new muse that he needed so badly. She obviously had no home to go to and needed to be taken care of. Whatever had happened to her, she was hurt and needed assistance. The Phantom knelt over her, and gently touched her bruise on her cheek, and then through her hair. What he could tell she had fair and smooth skin; so young and vibrant. He picked her up carefully, trying not to hurt her or wake her up. He was going to take her back to his catacomb home, and help her. He would enjoy the company of another beautiful young lady. Maybe even she could help him…

He had carefully walked through the streets with the girl in his arms. She was light and hardly a burden to him. His hat he wore was tipped down so no one could see his deformed face if he met someone. He walked to a bridge and carefully walked down the rocky edge to the culvert that was not so far way. He entered the culvert and turned down many corners that he had memorized by heart to find where he was living. After some time, he had arrived at his home. He laid the tiny girl on his bed, covering her up, and lit some candles to inspect her wounds more. She had roused herself somewhat and cuddled more into the bed.

"Thank you…" he had barely heard, and was shocked to hear her speak. He wanted to flee so he did not see his face yet, but she went back to sleep. The Phantom went off to the darkness and came back with a basin and cloth of cold water. He patted her cheeks and whipped the dry blood from her chin and lips. Poor thing…he thought. He placed the basin and cloth on the floor by the bed and watched her for many long moments. She looked almost at ease, and he wondered why. Soon, he fell asleep in the chair by the bed.

AN: Hey, sorry it has been so long since I've last wrote anything at all. I know this is not the best but at least i have an idea what i want to do with this now. Enjoy!