Hello to all! I hope you enjoy this story! It's a short chapter, as all of my chapters will be. Now, without further ado, Broken Strings And Shattered Dreams.

September 1889

The sky was dark and cloudy and rain flooded the streets of Paris, France. But a figure in a dark cloak, hat and white mask didn't think a thing about it. He didn't flinch at the loud thunder or the flashes of lightning in the sky. He soon came upon a huge building. The Palais Garnier or otherwise known as the Paris Opera House. Around to the side there was a grate with the screws halfway undone. The figure held a basket close against his chest, as his cloak billowed in the wind. Kneeling down to finish unscrewing the four screws, he suddenly heard an interesting sound. It was a howl. He looked around. He stepped to where the busy streets were. No one seemed to hear the loud howling. So the figure went to discover where the howling was coming from. There was no one there in the alley-like area, but the man himself. He went around to where empty, broken and dirty crates and baskets were littered, along with trash and empty whiskey bottles. He lifted each and every crate up and to his shock and horror, under the lowest crate was a bundle of rags. Gently removing the top rag, the man gasped and dropped the cloth. Whatever was under the rags was howling and moving. He lifted the rag and to his utter horror, there was a baby. The baby was pale and skinny. When the rag was lifted from the baby's face, the young one stopped crying. Lifting the baby out, the man studied the infant. He or she had to have been there for at least a couple hours or so. There was no note or any message from anyone. Not knowing what to do, the man paced with the baby in his arms. He was so preoccupied, that he didn't noticed the way that the baby started to gurgle happily. All of a sudden the man heard shouting. It came nearer as he quickly dove to where the grate was. He undid the screws and slid inside with the baby, before pulling the grate back in place. He walked away with the bundle of rags in his arms. When he reached the lake, he placed the baby gently in the gondola and took the stick to cross to the other side of the lake. When he tied to boat up, he picked up the baby and his basket, and headed down the maze of tunnels and secret doors until he came to his living quarters. It was nothing much. Three rooms was what his home consisted of. The first room was his bedroom where there was a small black coffin, the second room was the kitchen and the main room contained a table, two chairs, his precious organ and some random dressers everywhere. Candelabras with their soft glow made this man's home complete.

The first thing that the man did was dump everything in his basket out and then he set the baby in the place of his parcels in the basket, before disappearing to find some milk. He didn't take the baby for the fear of drawing attention to himself. When he reached the kitchen in the opera house, he immediately went in search of milk. He found that and a bottle and disappeared once again. He returned to see the baby gurgling in the basket. The man stoked the fire in the fireplace and popped off the cap of the milk. With his hands he dumped a good amount of the cold milk into one of the two pots hanging above the first, and with his skillful foot, he scooted the baby nearer to the fire so the baby could warm up and rocked the infant back and forth. When he dipped his bony finger into the milk, he nodded with satisfaction and poured it into the bottle. He then took off his cloak and hung it up, before picking the baby up and feeding the infant the warm milk. Not long after, the baby was asleep. Though the man knew nothing about babies or how to take care of them, the man learned along the way. He soon discovered it was a baby girl. She was a small little one, with soft green eyes and little wisps of brown hair. Her skin was pink and soft, and her hands and feet were tiny and delicate. The man fed, bathed, changed and rocked the baby every day for about six months.