Chapter One

Alice’s chest heaved as she leaned up against the ally wall. Whistles and pounding feet echoed ever nearer to her hiding spot. She looked down forlornly in to her hand, a loaf of bread, still hot from the oven, nestled there. How far were these people willing to go to capture a hungry urchin?

Her eyes frantically darted across the scene, trying to find a hiding spot. A grin spread across her dirtied features. There. She knew from experience that even the police were too superstitious to enter the charred Opera Populaire.

She scrambled through the ashing timbers, deep in to the bowls of the ruined opera house, and split off a little bit of bread, holding its warmth in her mouth. She hadn’t eaten much for the better half of the last month. She would make this bread last, no matter how ravenous she was now…she would need the nourishment later. She wrapped the bread her apron and set it under a slightly fallen timber. She got up, stretched her back, and looked around as her eyes adjusted.

It had been twenty years since the fire—twenty years since the Christine Daae, the debuting soprano had fled and married with her lover, Raoul, the Viscount de Chagny. Twenty years since anyone had seen hide or hair of the mysterious Phantom.

Alice was not one for superstition and gossip. She didn’t know much about the Phantom or his opera… so did not heed the seemingly fantastic stories that they birthed. To her, the Opera house was but another refuge for the law. She allowed herself a small smile and spun around, her tattered skirts twirling. The structure was burnt; yes, but not unstable… she might have to make this place her…permanent…home.

As she settled down in a nest of old costumes to sleep, she was blissfully unaware of the two, dark eyes watching her from above. She had shelter, food, and warmth, and content for the first time in a great while.

… … … …

So, what do you think? Like it? Hate it? There will be no romance between Alice and Erik, never fear. At least, I hope there won’t be.