• Chapter One- First Meetings

    A young woman was in her dressing room. She was wearing a long blue dress and she seemed to have just come here to the newly re-opened Opera Populaire. This woman's name was Olivia, Olivia de Chagny the only daughter of Raoul's older brother Philippe de Chagny. This woman was around the age of 24 years old and it has been 3 months after the incident with Christine and the Phantom. Olivia wasn't afraid of coming here though Raoul had tried to tell her not to come here but she had anyway because of one thing she loved to dance. It was her favorite thing to do and she was quite good at it, but she could also sing somewhat but never allowed herself too. Besides Olivia didn't want to be like her aunt-in-law, Christine, plus singing to her didn't bring out the full beauty of a performance like dancing did that is why Olivia chose it over singing. She had auditioned to be in the ballet just last week and had gotten a letter saying she had made it; of course Raoul knew nothing of this but not to worry Olivia had left a note explaining what she had done.

    Light fingers brushed gently over ropes as a figure skulked about the catwalks, checking to make sure everything was in order. A low voice sang softly, winding notes caressing the ears of all who could hear.

    The Opera Ghost is singing again, the scene-changers would think, and shiver.

    Following the rebuilding of the opera house Erik had rebuilt his own house and returned, and now seemed more ghostlike than ever. He had built a new mask, one that appeared to be crying. This was more hostile and frightening than his previous, expressionless mask. Folding his collar up he stalked down backstage, then along to the dressing rooms. His black wig was slicked back on his domed forehead, his mismatched, soulful eyes peering out and glowing slightly yellow in the darkness. He wore his full dress-clothes - cravat, vest, blazer, cloak, and highly-polished dress shoes.

    He had heard about a new dancer. He made a point of speaking to every new performer or stagehand, making them see things his way. Sometimes the performers were willing to be on his side; sometimes they took persuading.

    He swept up to the dressing-room door, narrowing his eyes to make himself look more threatening. One elegant, leather-gloved hand curled as he checked his cologne. Ever since Christine's mention of his 'smell of death' he had used it, trying to tinge himself away from morbid smell to the scent of a real man. Satisfied he was immaculate; he knocked loudly on the dressing-room door. "Olivia de Chagny," he muttered to himself, and snorted. They didn't know when to leave well enough alone, that family.

    "Let me think Madam said to twirl this way and yet it just...” Olivia mumbled as she watched herself twirl on her toes. She wasn't wearing her ballet slippers because she didn't need to right now she was just looking. Her long dark blonde hair was tied up in a lose ponytail and her eyes were blue just like her father's and her uncle's.

    Suddenly she heard a knock on her door, and soon she walked over to it. Slowly she began turning the handle and opening the door to see who was knocking on her door at this time.

    He nearly burst with impatience, waiting for the girl to open her door. She seemed to be taking quite a long time.

    "Is that how you always receive important visitors?" he growled softly, sweeping by her and settling on the nearest chair. He crossed one leg over the other, his hands clasped on his knees. "I understand you are our newest dancer. You must be pretty damn good to deserve your own dressing room." He gave a faint smile, one that just barely showed through the mouth-hole of his mask. "I'm fairly sure you must know who I am, but I'll introduce myself anyway. I am the owner of this opera house. I make sure everything runs smoothly and as planned. If there is a problem, I fix it. I am the Opera Ghost ... as you must know. I am here to see where your loyalties lay, my dear." He whispered those last words almost sensually, hoping she would be easy to win to his side.

    "Well it is late, Monsieur. So I wasn't sure who it was. I'm sorry if I had any idea who you were I would have opened the door much faster," she replied when he swept passed her. After closing her door once more and turning to face her visitor as he spoke once more a gasp came out of her mouth when she saw his crying like mask making her body freeze where it stood. This was the Opera Ghost! The one, who kidnapped Christine, almost killed her uncle, and killed her father!

    "Maybe I am that good of a dancer," she said with a shrug staring at him now with piercing blue eyes just like her father's and Raoul's. How could she even think of her loyalties lying with anyone especially to the man who killed her own father?

    "Loyalties?! You're wondering where my loyalties lie? Well, if you want to know my loyalties lie I'll tell you there' not with you that is for sure, Monsieur. What you've done to me is still embedded in my mind. I am not sure whether or not you deserve my forgiveness yet or not," she said angrily that he was talking about loyalties to her.

    He raised his eyebrows behind the mask, despite knowing she could not see them. He began to examine the fingers of his gloves. There was a scratch on one palm from a rope. Pity - he'd have to repair it. Disinterested in all she had to say he shrugged.

    Swiping a hand across his mask he shook his head and sighed, then shrugged again. "So I assume you are not quite ready to pledge your loyalties to me," he said calmly. "I assure you, miss, it will be much easier to have a career here if you do so." Standing, he moved to her side rapidly and hovered over her, frighteningly close - close enough to neutralize the scent of the cologne. He wanted to see her reaction to his smell.

    Like a lover he put his lips against her ear, whispering softly. "I don't care for forgiveness," he told her, purposefully sighing as he spoke so his breath brushed her ear. His eyes narrowed. "What I do care for is service ... I want to know that you will do as I say." Smiling now, he put his hand close to her neck, almost touching but not quite. "Is that clear, my dear? Or do you need persuading?"

    He knew he could not bring himself to touch her. Her piercing blue eyes and the passion of her emotion reminded him of Christine. However, she did not have to know that.

    She backed away from him but either way she knew she couldn't get away from him especially when her back hit the down stopping her in her path. She held her breath as he stood close to her. The stench of death coming off of him made her nose crinkle in distaste. When he spoke to her in her ear she felt a shiver run down her spine.

    She couldn't escape him, and plus he was right she needed this job, and loved it so far. Why should she give it up because she's too stubborn and prideful to give him her service? Also his hands being deadly close to her neck seem to bring her to attention also. "Fine, I'll do what you say, Monsieur," she replied in a quiet voice showing that she was frightened though her face and eyes might not show her fear that often her voice did; that's what betrayed her a lot of times too of her true emotions was her voice.

    "Ah, good choice, my beauty." He backed away slowly, his intense yellow eyes hard and steely as he stared at her. "Without doubt you are on my side then; come what may, yes?" From his pocket he produced a small piece of parchment, upon which - in, of course, crimson ink - was a contract. It was written plainly, in stark contrast to the flourishing signature at the bottom that simply read: ERIK

    Again he dug into his pocket and produced sealing wax, which he heated in a small spoon-like apparatus over one of her candles. "I advise you to read that before signing," he drawled, "If only to get yourself into the habit. Did you read your contract when you first signed up for this job, my dear? Hardly anyone does. I add a clause, myself, in very fine print; it's wonderful, really. Oh, yes, and once you've signed that I'll give you another copy, which you should keep."

    Out came the skull seal and he twirled it in his fingers, whirling to watch her.

    "Yes I did read the contract when I signed up for this job. Maybe not the whole thing but most of the important parts," she replied as she walked over to her desk and took out a bottle of ink and a pen.

    She uncorked the ink and dipped the pen in it. She had taken the contract from him after he had put the skull seal on there. She read everything in this contract though down to the last line, actually she read it twice over before she signed her name underneath the one that said Erik.

    When done signing and reading it one last time she walked back over to him and handed it back to him. "Here you go Monsieur Erik. I have read it three times over and signed it," she said saying his name for the first time since she had just learned it but kept the 'Monsieur' in her speech, "And you can say that I am on your side."

    "Marvelous!" he cried softly, all false thrills. "Here's your own copy, signed by me as well." Slipping it from his pocket he handed it to her then started for the door. After a moment he turned back.

    "I find it curious," he intoned softly, "that you did not comment on my part of the bargain. Do you not find it curious at all that I am at your disposal day or night for vocal training? Do you not find it curious that I am prepared to give up my own time to help you achieve your highest goals? Or do you simply not care?" he added, giving a faint, melancholy smile. Nobody bothered to comment anymore; it had all sort of blown over after the first few "What does this mean?” People had simply given it up as a falsity, as an untruth, a flat-out lie. Still, he kept it in every contract.

    "Oliviaaa," he hissed softly. "You hate me, do you not? Is this why you do not comment? Or is it fear?" he added, and then appeared to think. "Tell me. Tell me, my dear, just what it is.

    "No it is not out of fear, and you might be right though about on thing. I do hate you, Erik," Olivia said, "And I could really careless if you helped me or not at this moment of time."

    She really didn't care if she hurt him by saying that. It was the truth and he wanted it didn't he? She then walked back over to her desk, and slipped the contract into the same drawer as the ink bottle and pen. After that she looked up at the mirror that was connected to it not looking at Erik, and why should she? She now had no reason to besides he was about to leave was he not?

    Giving a faint smile Erik tailed after her, putting his hands slightly above her shoulders so he brushed them with the leather of his gloves. All human contact made him feel physically ill - since he had touched Christine, felt loved and safe, he could no longer look into a woman's eyes for long. He had to always look away or feign staring at them. It was so hard for him ...

    "Tell me why," he encouraged her, wanting to hear what strength of his had fueled the weakness of hate. He wanted to hear stories of his strength, of the former glory he was no longer capable of achieving. Sure, he could kill indirectly; but now when he felt the noose tighten about a person's neck he wanted nothing more than to crawl into a corner and die himself. It was Christine, he told himself firmly, wincing behind the mask.

    She saw him appear behind her in the mirror so she didn't need to turn around. "You took away my father, Philippe de Chagny. You killed him when he went after Raoul," she said in a quiet voice.

    Her mother had died when she was young and even though her father was rarely home he was the one who was always there for her; now he was gone thanks to the man who stood behind her.

    Suddenly there was a knock on the door and an envelope slid under the door a man's voice saying, "It's urgent miss the Vicomte wanted you to have it as soon as possible and at whatever time."

    "Thank you," Olivia said, as the man's footsteps trailed away from the door, shaking her head as she went over to pick up the letter from Raoul. It better not say anything about me being too young, she thought angrily hating the fact Raoul treated her like a little kid even though she was the same age as him.

    "I hear you've been listening to the Vicomte, then," Erik said calmly. "Though I have murdered, my dear - make that understood right now, that I have murdered - I did not murder your father, the Comte de Chagny. I was not even at the lake at the time; it was purely an accident, I assure you. I was with your uncle and his - I was busy with your uncle at the time."

    He felt his hands shaking slightly. He had not spoken her name since the time she left. It was too painful to remember Christine, to remember what she had done to him, and what he had done to her. Too hard to remember the color of her eyes, the smell of her skin, the sound of her gentle voice when she spoke his name. Trying to quell the shaking he peered over her shoulder, attempting to read the letter himself.

    "Oh how nice," she said after reading the letter which expressed Raoul's anger for her sudden disappearance and reading her own letter that she left telling where she had gone and why. Also it explained how childish this was to go run off like this when she had a nice home, and stuff she can have whenever she wanted.

    After re-reading the letter she balled it up and threw it in her trash can.
    After that she turned to Erik remembering what he said before she had read the letter. "Wait...But, Raoul said you did murder my father. Why would he lie?" she said looking at Erik now getting slightly confused.

    Shrugging, he watched her toss the letter and chuckled to himself inside. When would the de Chagny family learn they couldn't control everything? Raoul had nearly gotten himself killed trying - had as good as signed his brother's death warrant - and had Erik just faded back into the shadows? No! Well, for a while, but he'd come back. It gave him immense satisfaction to see this girl rejecting his words so.

    "Because he knew I'd never reject his lie, for one thing," Erik told her. "He knew my reputation was one of a murderer and a torturer and still is, quite rightly. For another thing, I assume he truly believe that, and still does. However, I can swear to you on my solemn oath that I did not lay a hand on Philippe until he was -" He paused, then put it more gently so as not to seem crude. "After he had passed away."

    "Oh," she said looking down, "Now I'm not sure what to believe I'm getting two different sides of it now." She though took a step closer to Erik. "Out of curiosity why did you decide to pick me to sign that contract of yours? Is it because I'm a de Chagny? Or does everyone have to sign one exactly like that?"

    "Believe what you want," he said simply. "I don't mind if you don't believe me; I mind that your loyalties lie with me should an issue arise within the opera house, and I mind that you can take direction if your steps are not correct ..."

    He paused, then raised his eyebrows behind the mask. His tongue flicked out and ran over his bottom lip before he spoke. "Well, I advise everyone to sign a contract. However, the contents may be different. On yours, and on a few select others, I have placed my own pledge to be available, night and day, for your musical or theatrical guidance. I decided that if you were important enough for your own dressing room you would be important enough for this treatment. All major singers are contracted thusly, save for the main soprano." Thank God Carlotta had left! The new soprano, however, did not interest him; to him she would never measure against Christine.

    "I see..." she said before turning away. She was not going to be a singer. Even if he begged her to sing she wouldn't. Dancing was her style nothing more and nothing less. Why should she be like Christine? The one everyone loved, besides Olivia came from a well to do family she technically didn't need to work or be a dancer but she decided to be anyway. Olivia seemed to be deep in thought but she remained silent not really wanting to speak at the moment.

    "It is late," he said abruptly, his voice dark, growly and emotionless all of a sudden. He whisked about, collecting his sealing wax, his heating utensil, his seal, and swept to the door, cape whisking about his ankles. "I shall leave you to sleep, Olivia de Chagny. If you need me there is a switch located behind your mirror." He gave a slight smile. "Simply flip it and I shall come to you as quickly as in within my power. Keep your contract safe."

    With that he left, slamming the door moodily behind him. Her silence had irritated and goaded him into anger but he tried to hold it down, gulping air wildly.

    "Fine leave," she said after he slammed the door. She soon yawned and got dressed for bed. Once dressed she laid down in her bed the only candle that was one was the one by her nightstand. She had a book in her hand that she was writing in. Actually it was a Diary. She was writing about what had just happened to her. Thankfully this was her privacy where she can let out her true thoughts and feelings out in. Once done she closed it and after setting it on her nightstand blew the candle out; her room now swallowed in darkness.