A French playwright is seeking to Opera Populairé hoping they will act out her play. From the darkness the phantom watched this stranger's long-term ambition unfold before his eyes… Recovery is the easy part, taking the first step will be crucial: Written in blood, sealed with a rose.

Reviews are greatly appreciated; flames are accepted.

Disclaimer: I do not own the razzle, dazzle of the Phantom of the Opera. Enjoy the story!

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Chapter 1: "Blood splatters within a page…"

Crashes could be heard down the damp maze that led to the lair of Erik's despair. The sound of paper fluttered through the air, finally ending with a cry of fury. Erik plopped down on a near by chair. Christine is gone… She's gone Erik! He looked down to his scarlet colored hand, blood laced and trailed down his arm. He stared endlessly at his hand before swinging his arm at the candleholders near him. Hot wax sprayed in all directions, landing gracefully onto his fresh wound. He didn't yelled out neither in pain nor in fury. He just watched the wax harden over on his blood. Erik stood up from his seat and smeared all of the content on his hand on the closes thing to him. He didn't care if it was his music, or his childhood toy. Christine is gone… There's not point of living life now. He can't live without her music, her angelic voice. The phantom looked up at the broken mirror as he walked passed it, the distortion lies underneath the white mask on the right side of his face, "The true distortion lies in my soul…" he repeated Christine's words, "What do she know? She knows nothing of my soul! Foolish girl…" His voice trailed off. He looked at his hand; the hot, boiling, fresh blood didn't stop oozing out from the cuts on his hand. Anger flared within him again, he smashed his hand against the mirror. Sprinkle of glass flew around him. It was like tiny little stars twinkling against the dark cold night…

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"A withering rose, a beauty that was lost, crushed through the cold bleak winters. Blown away with just simply with a puff of the breeze, it is no more… it is gone… it has faded…" The rapid clicking of the keys stopped momentarily before starting again, "The end…" the figure leaned back against the old wooden chair, closing her eyes to take in the feeling of achievement. She let out a sigh of content. The cool winter winds blew in through the opened window, pushing her soft colored brown locks to the heights of the stars, "I'm finished," She managed to squeak.

Her eyes flew opened with a tremendous amount of speed, "I'm finished!" She yelled out before snatching the paper from the typewriter and ran out of the old attic. The writer sprinted down the old, dust-covered steps and into the elegant living space of the old manor. Colorful paintings filled the bleached colored walls of the house. Expensive porcelain vases arranged on the fireplace mantle, and several of the maple tables. The maids hollered after her to stop running, she didn't heed on their warnings and kept running towards her father's study, "Father! Father!" She yelled into the opened space.

"Young Mademoiselle De Lorme!" They yelled after her.

Loud clicks filled the room as her boots came in contact with the freshly polished floors, "Father, where are you?" With her attention to the pillars that passes before her eyes hoping that its large form may hide her father's figure, she ran straight into a large door. Her arms swinging all over the place, her paper flew out of her hand.

"Célestine?" an elderly gentleman opened the door that she ran into.

Célestine groaned in pain as the feeling of blood rushed to her head. "I'm going to rip that door off its hinges personally…" She mumbled lowly to herself.

"Are you alright dear?" He said as he pulled her daughters up to her feet.

"No, it feels like my whole mouth is going to fall off…" she mumbled to herself again.

"What was that?" He said as he adjusted his optical.

She plastered a smile over her pained expression, "No, no nothing father. B-but, my play… My play is finally complete!"

He picked up her paper off the floor, and scanned it over quickly, "Wonderful honey," he grabbed her cheek fondly and pecked it, "I'm so proud of you!"

Her eyes glowered with pride, "I'm planning to head over to the Opera Populairé to see if they are willing to take my play."

Monsieur De Lorme tore his eyes from the paper and stared deep into her daughter's, almost like he was trying to burn it from its sockets, "O-Opera Populairé?" He sputtered out.

"Yes, that's one of the most popular theaters in France father! I must take my play there so the world can adore it!" She said smiling happily at her frighten father.

"Is that the same place that have caught on fire a year back?" He asked her hastily.

"I'm not sure? I guess… B-but, they must open it once again! The French people are hungry for beautiful operas!"

He ignored her comments, "Is that the same place where there's talk of an opera ghost lingering around in the catacombs beneath the opera house?"

"I haven't heard of that before…"

"I will not allow you to step foot in a place like that!"

"And why not?" Célestine placed her hands on her hips to show her rebellion.

"I will not have my daughter running around a place, that's—that's haunted with ghosts!" He waved his arms around.

"It is not haunted with ghost! There's not such thing as an opera ghost!" She raised the volume of her voice in annoyance.

"Do not defy my commands young lady." He waved his finger in front of her face.

"I'm going to take my play to that theater! You will not, and can not stop me!" She said turning herself away from her papa.

"Don't you dare defy my commands young lady, and aren't you forgetting something?"

She stopped in her steps, before turning back to snatch her paper from her father's hands, "Thank you father…" she walked slowly away.

"Your punishment will be harsh if you do…" He said shortly with a huff before turning back to his studies.

When she was behind a large pillar, Célestine broke off into a fast sprint, up the stairs, to the last room on the right. She ran quickly towards her bedroom, "Leona!" She whispered loudly for her maid.

A woman in a maid uniform sprinted in unison with her boss's daughter, "Yes mademoiselle?"

"Oh Leona, quit the formal talk. You know I hate that!" Céles ran into her closet.

"What's going? Why are you in such a hurry?" she said approaching the woman softly.

"Ready a carriage for me. I'm heading to Paris…" She said as she ran out with an outfit.

"What!" Leona pulled a hand over her mouth.

"Shhh, not so loud Leona. I don't want father to hear."

"B-but, Paris?!"

"I'm heading to Opera Populairé… I'm going to show them my play! I hope they'll act it out so the whole city can see!" Céles waltzed behind her dress change barrier. Her pulled off her oxford blouse, and threw it overhead.

"Opera Populairé?! Are you mad Célestine!? That's the place where the creepy opera ghost resides!" Leona said as she caught the shirt.

"Oh that's rubbish!" Célestine yelled as she pulled on a corset, "Do you mind?" she point towards her back.

Leona walked forward and pulled tightly on the string, "Célestine, the opera ghost kidnapped a singer, who used to reside there before. Oh what's her name, Christine Daaé?"

Céles let out a sharp gasp, "Leona! Easy on the strings!"

"Sorry…" She continued to pull on the strings.

"About Miss. Daaé…that's rubbish. Did she not come back, and wed a gentlemen?"

Leona tied the strings together, "Yes, I guess… But that's not the point!"

"Then, what's the point? She came back and all. There's no opera ghost. End of discussion…" Céles walked behind the barrier. There was a short pause between them as the playwright walked out dressed, and ready.

She wore a cleaned, and bleached collared blouse with a dark colored ascot at the top of the collar. The ascot was tucked loosely into her vest. She buttoned her long tailed blazer, and tied the satin ribbon behind her into a large bow.

"Go! Please, go ready me a carriage. Hesitate to tell my father, or anyone who questions your actions!"

"Aye ma'am…" Leona ran out of the room without a second thought.

Céles listened to Leona's fading doorsteps before turning her attention to her vanity table. She pulled her hair in a sloppy bun. She gave a nod of approval as she stared into her reflection. Continuing over to her jewelry box that she have adored ever since the day she have received it.

Two figures, a man, and a woman, perched inside the box—playing violins, both of their faces were masked. She smiled fondly at the porcelain figures before reaching in to grab a one eyed optical.

It hung limply on a silver chain ending with a diamond treble clef. Poor eyesight runs in the De Lorme family, Célestine was a victim to it. But sadly, this trait only had cursed her right eye. She shoved the optical deep into her coat pocket for later use.

"An opera ghost?" Hah! That's trash. The stuff the French make up to amuse themselves." She locked her door before proceeding down the hall, placing the small hat atop her head, "Foolish minds! They're so naïve!" click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click, her boots made rhythmic clicks as she skipped down the stairs. She adjusted the large bag in her hand enabling herself to put on her gloves, "A ghost kidnapped a singer, and possibly have fallen in love with her! Rubbish! Rubbish! Rubbish!" Célestine whispered harshly as she pulled on her other glove. The nearby maids and butlers listened to her as she talked to herself.

First it was Leona, who ran, slipped, and fell butt first towards the wet floor. Not giving any thought, she practically crawled before she can pull herself off the floor. Now, the youngest of the De Lorme, talking to herself and speak of ghosts… Today is truly going to be a long day…

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This is the first chapter, ::sighs:: I'm terribly sorry if you didn't see much of the phantom in this chapter… He's coming! Reviews are greatly appreciated.