STORY SUMMERY: A retelling of The Phantom of the Opera that combines elements from "Disney's Beauty and the Beast." Christine and her violinist father come to the Paris Opera House with hopes of making their musical dreams come true. However, all hopes are shattered after Christine's father is kidnapped by the infamous Phantom. She boldly enters the forbidden catacombs, willing to offer her life for her father's. Dark portrayal of Erik and a very villianous portrayal of Raoul (my "Gaston").

Disclaimers: I do not own either "Phantom of the Opera" or "Beauty and the Beast". This is purely a work of fiction, nothing more...so please, don't sue. Trust me, it's not worth it, I have nothing!

Rated M for language, violence, and strong sexual content in later chapters. Please, if you are under the appropriate age to read such content, do not go further.

Big Thank-you's to my partner in crime and own personal "English Phantom", David, who helped as a beta, idea-pitcher, and motivation coach. Also, tons of thank-yous to the readers who followed this story over on "Aria", and who greatly encouraged me to post on You guys are the best!

And without further ado...

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Chapter Summery: Christine and her father arrive at the Paris Opera House with hopes of making their musical dreams come true. Little do they know, that this beautiful temple to music holds a frightening secret...one that will change their lives forever.

Phantom's Beauty

Overture

The two figures dressed in simple peasant clothes gazed up at the massive cathedral, Notre Dame. One of the figures, a young woman, stared at the rose window in fascination, watching the sun hit the glass, causing a rainbow of colors to illumine the pavement below. The other figure, a man who was entering the winter of his life, smiled at the girl next to him. "Paris, Christine. We're in Paris."

"Paris…" the girl whispered, her eyes still focused on the beauty and majesty before her. They were actually there, in Paris, just as they had always dreamed.

The man sighed and put his arm around the girl's shoulders, gently guiding her away from the majestic cathedral. "Come," he said. "We must get to the Opera House, for that is a treasure in its own right as well."

Christine nodded her head, although she did not look away from the cathedral till they turned a corner. The two walked quickly amongst the busy Parisians of all social classes. From the wealthy who rode in carriages and wore furs and silks, to the beggars who were hobbling on wooden crutches. There was beauty and poverty everywhere, yet none of it tarnished the wonder that Christine saw in the city.

Finally, after a great deal of walking, the two reached the reason they had come to Paris in the first place. There it stood, the beautiful and majestic Opera House, a treasure in its own right, just as the old man had said. They gazed up at the architectural masterpiece, their breath escaping their throats as stone gargoyles stared back at them. Christine was lost in its wonder, but also felt a strange shiver run down her spine. Was it possible for buildings to have eyes? She knew it was a foolish notion, but still…it seemed almost as if it were staring back at her, searching her very soul.

"Christine?"

The girl woke from her trance with a slight jump. "Yes Papa?"

He gestured for her to follow him, as he was already several feet ahead of her. Christine blushed and quickly followed, helping him up the steps towards the front entrance. They had come to Paris with hopes to start a new life. Christine had been born and raised in the country; her father was a musician from Sweden who had come to France with the hope of playing in a great orchestra. However, before he could begin to pursue his dream, he met a beautiful French girl and the two fell madly in love. The girl, Christine's mother, was the daughter of a wealthy aristocrat and Christine's father had little money, barely enough to please the girl's snobbish parents, who naturally refused the union. The two ran away to the country, where they were married by a village priest. They kept themselves hidden, praying that the girl's family would not discover them and force them apart. It would seem however, that instead, the girl's parents cut her off from the family completely, never once attempting to correspond with her.

But despite this sadness, both of Christine's parents made their lives and home a happy one. Christine did not know a day when she wasn't loved. And while some would examine Christine's humble childhood and upbringing with disdain, Christine wouldn't have had it any other way. She regretted nothing about her family or childhood; she was a Daae, and that alone made her heart smile.

Yet at this very moment, as both she and her father passed through the grand doors of the Opera House, for the first time Christine began to feel somewhat embarrassed about who she was and where she came from. There were only a few people in the grand hall, but the ones who were there were elegantly dressed in suits and dresses of fine linen, silk, and lace. The ladies wore hats with tall plush feathers, and the gentlemen carried gloves and silver tipped walking sticks. It was the looks that both Christine and her father received that caused her skin to burn red; the looks of a person who was thinking, you don't belong here.

"Papa…" Christine whispered rather timidly. "Perhaps this isn't a good idea…"

Her father, who was lost in the awe of the room and unaware of any hostile looks, turned his gray head swiftly, looking at his daughter as if she had announced she hated music! Which was far from the truth, for he knew his daughter's greatest passion was music. "What are you saying?" he hissed softly, pulling her off to the side. "You thought coming to Paris was a wonderful idea, why are you so against the thought now?"

Christine bit her lip and looked around, trying to ignore the elegant men and women who regarded the two of them with disgust. "We just…I don't know if we can fit in here," she whispered, feeling her cheeks burn brightly, especially at the look her father gave her after she uttered the words.

Yet before he had the opportunity to say anything, a man in a maroon uniform and a bushy black beard appeared before the two of them. "May I help you?" the man asked, although anyone could tell by the tone in his voice that helping a person was the last thing he wanted to do.

Christine's father smiled and gave a short bow. "Monsieur, I have come with hopes that there may be an opening in your company's orchestra. I am a violinist, and while I do not like to boast, I have been told by many, including nobility, that I play exceptionally. In fact, I studied music at the conservatory-"

"Yes, yes, yes, that is all very well," the uniformed man muttered, waving his hand to stop Christine's father from babbling. "And who is this?" the man asked, pointing a figure at Christine who timidly hid behind her father.

"Oh, my daughter, a fine singer if I may add. She-"

"We don't need singers," the man grumbled. "We have too many singers as it is, if you ask me. But…there may be a place for you monsieur," the man then motioned behind him to a door that led off down a dark corridor. "The managers are watching a rehearsal for next week's opera. They would be the ones you would truly wish to speak to. I do not know if they will hire you, the season has already been planned, but…one of our violinists has…gone missing..."

Christine's brow furrowed at this news. Missing? What did that mean? "I would not wish to take another man's place-" Christine's father began, but the man in the maroon uniform quickly cut him off.

"Just go through that door, but be very quiet, La Carlotta is rehearsing."

Both Christine and her father exchanged looks at the name, and then bowed their heads to the uniformed man. "Is La Carlotta a great singer?" Christine quickly asked before the man turned away from them.

The man grimaced. "Some…would think so…"

Her father quickly pulled Christine to his side and hurried through the door the man had indicated. It was a long dark corridor and the further they went, the louder the singing became. Christine felt velvet rub against her arms. She realized that she was surrounded by black curtains, and up ahead she could see bright lights, indicating the stage. The singing grew louder and louder still, reminding Christine of a time her father had taken her to the seashore and there were seagulls squawking on the cliffs above. Her father stopped, and the two gazed through a sliver in the curtains at the beautifully illuminated stage.

So this was what it was like, she thought. She was encased in a world of black velvet, the smell of cigarettes filling the air as stage hands quickly lowered and lifted elaborate scenes by thick ropes and heavy sandbags. And a few feet in front of her, the stage, bathed in golden light, where dancers twirled and singers lifted their voices to the heavens; it was a dazzling picture of rhythmic chaos.

"Those must be the managers," her father whispered, pointing to two men who were dressed in fine suits and exchanging notes with one another while examining the stage. "Wait here," he said, before quickly moving off to the side in hopes to have an audience with the gentlemen.

Christine barely heard a word; she was lost in the spectacle before her. While gazing out through the curtains was nothing compared to sitting in a box, or so she assumed as she had never been in one, it was as if she were gazing at a piece of the world that only God could see. Indeed, this view of the stage felt very sacred.

"Hey!" she jumped at the sound of a gruff voice. A stage hand grabbed her by her shoulders and whirled her around to face him. "What are you doing back here! No one is allowed back here!"

Christine was terrified, especially when she smelled the alcohol on the man's breath. His hands were large and dirty and the way he squeezed her shoulders hurt. He then seemed to look at her differently, and a toothy grin spread across his face. "You best come with me little one…" he slurred.

"N-n-no thank you…" Christine whimpered, wriggling her shoulders out of his grip.

"Come on, Joseph Bouquet won't hurt you…" he reached for her again, but Christine quickly moved out of the way, causing the stage hand to run into a prop, which made him lose his balance, and before he fell completely, he grabbed hold of a piece of scenery and the whole thing came crashing down.

There were several screams by ballet dancers, but none compared to the cry by the prima donna who was nearly knocked over by the crashing piece of scenery. "Cara! Cara my darling!" a rather rotund man reached for the shaken singer who was fanning herself as if to keep from fainting. However, the second the stout little man reached her side, she pushed him away and seemed perfectly fine.

"WHAT IN GOD'S NAME IS THIS!" the woman screamed, pointing at the crushed scenery. Everyone else was at a loss for words, including the two managers who were simply staring in horror at the stage. Christine turned a deep shade of red, knowing she was in full view for everyone to see. Her father shared the same expression of horror as he locked eyes with hers. "YOU!" Christine jumped as she realized the grand woman was addressing her. "WHO THE HELL ARE YOU AND WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!"

Christine was scared speechless. What could she say? A simple sorry wouldn't necessarily do much good at this point. "WHO ARE YOU!" the woman demanded.

Everyone was surprised, including Christine, when the voice that spoke came from the old man standing next to the managers. "A thousand apologies madam, it was an accident, my daughter didn't mean-"

"YOUR DAUGHTER?" Both Christine and her father regretted the words the second they left his lips. "AND WHO THE HELL ARE YOU!" she demanded.

"Senora, please, do not stress your lovely voice-"

"SHUT UP!" Carlotta barked at the manager who attempted to ease her.

"Monsieur Daae," he gave a deep bow. "And this is my daughter Christine, we have come with hopes that I may find a place in your orchestra, as I was just discussing with these gentlemen. My daughter has a passion for singing and we were hoping that she may also find work in the chorus." It amazed Christine with how calm her father spoke, despite this woman who looked ready to rip one's throat out.

"Is that so?" Carlotta growled, her voice not as loud, yet even more menacing.

"Indeed!" cried one of the managers, quickly stepping in. He was a tall man, middle aged, with a dark mustache. "Monsieur Daae may help us as Monsieur Robert has been missing for quite some time. We are in need of a violinist to fill the man's place."

"Yes, quite so!" remarked the other manager, a slightly older gentleman with a balding head. "After all senora, was it not you who mentioned yesterday that it was impossible for you to find your notes due to the missing violin?"

Carlotta's eyes turned into slits as she gazed upon the managers. "I do not need musical help of any sort, my talents are gifts from God!" she spat. "And as for that man and this…this…little…country bumpkin!" she retorted, looking upon Christine with fury, "I will not perform on this stage knowing that a little stupid clumsy-"

There was a loud groan and suddenly a figure rose from a heap of black curtains, belching as he came to his feet. "Joseph Bouquet!" the mangers said at once.

The stage hand turned to look at the people on the stage, all of whom were staring at him with surprise. "W-w-what?" he hiccupped.

"The man is drunk!" one of the mangers cried.

"And it was he who caused the accident!" the other shouted.

"Shame on you!" they both yelled.

Joseph Bouquet simply looked confused.

The rotund man who had shown great concern for Carlotta earlier stepped forward and slapped Joseph Bouquet hard across the face. "You nearly killed my beloved Cara!" he accused. "You drunken lout! Apologize to her at once and then leave this place immediately!"

Carlotta rolled her eyes. "Do shut up Ubaldo," she groaned.

However the mangers were quick to agree with Ubaldo Piangi, the Opera's leading tenor. "Indeed! You're fired Bouquet!"

Joseph Bouquet's only response was another disgusting belch.

"So you see madam?" Christine's father quickly intervened. "It was all a mistake; my daughter had nothing to do with this accident."

Carlotta hated to be proven wrong, and she hated it even more when she couldn't have her way. "If we must have a new violinist, then so be it, but I will NOT have that girl share the same stage as me!"

"Of course not!" both managers quickly appeased. Carlotta gave one final glare to the petrified girl, then turned on her heel and exited the stage with Piangi right behind her.

Everyone let out a long weary sigh of relief. "Daae?" addressed Firmin. "You must understand this is a trial period. We don't normally hire men right off the street, there are plenty of people out there who can play a violin for a few coins. But we are desperate right now for someone to fill Monsieur Robert's place."

"I understand," he whispered.

"If Monsieur Robert does not return, and if you do as well as is expected, you may stay and take his place in the orchestra," Andre, the taller of the two managers, added.

Christine's father gave another low bow. "Thank you monsieurs. And…my daughter?"

"Yes, your daughter," both managers grumbled, looking at Christine who was desperately trying to help some of the stage hands and dancers with fixing the fallen set. "We are in no need of singers, our chorus is quite full and the season is already scheduled. But…" Firmin glanced at the girl. "We may find some place for her in the costume department or something like that."

"Oh! Thank you monsieurs! Thank you so-"

"Yes, yes," Firmin muttered with a wave of his hand. "Seek Madame Giry, the ballet mistress; she will help get the two of you settled. Come Andre, we must talk, I'm afraid there's been another note…"

Andre rolled his eyes to heaven. "Not another one! What are his demands this time?"

"The usual," Firmin muttered, "and then of course, some others as well."

The two managers stalked off, grumbling and complaining all the way. Christine then came to her father's side, looking hopeful for him. "So? Will they let you play?"

He smiled at her and nodded his head, although his smile quickly changed. "I'm afraid I couldn't get you a place in the chorus, I'm so sorry-"

"Oh Papa, please, don't apologize, I do not need to be in the chorus, it matters more that you can play as you've always dreamed."

"But my child, you have dreamed of singing on the stage, have you not?"

Christine shook her head, although it was flat faced lie and her father knew it. She did have dreams of singing on the stage, but there were more important things, such as getting food on the table. And right now, there best chances were for her father.

He sighed and put his arm around his daughter's shoulders. "Come, we must find this Madame Giry, she is to help us find lodging." Christine nodded and followed her father, although before she did, she felt an odd eerie feeling…as if she were being watched again. She looked up to the boxes but saw nothing. Her imagination running wild again, she mused. Yet she couldn't help but wonder if such a place, as old and majestic as this, could be haunted? Her mother read gothic romances and mystery tales to her as a child, causing Christine to stay awake at night afraid of what the darkness would bring, but also filling her with excitement at the turn of every page. It was foolish, she knew, but this place seemed to resemble so many of those tales. The thought of ghosts was rather exciting, and perhaps even a little romantic

Her father called her name, and she quickly turned and hurried after him, yet gazing one last time at the auditorium. Paris…they were truly here! And they were in the Paris Opera House, and she was standing on its stage! She sighed dreamily, imagining what it would be like to perform. But her sigh turned to one of sadness. That was all it could be…a dream.