A/N- So, I watched Phantom of the Opera recently. (It took me, like, three nights to get all the way through. I loved the movie, don't get me wrong, but it was opera music at, like, midnight. Sue me for falling asleep.)

Anyway, inspiration struck, this story was born. :D Hope you all enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera.

I laughed joyously, running through the streets ahead of my parents. I skillfully dodged all of the other people on the crowded road, going about their business. I swung around the corner, and stopped abruptly, resting against the side of the building. I grinned widely at the sight of the Opera Populaire, and sighed. Father always brought Mother and I to the opera on the first weekend of the month. I loved watching the performers, and hearing their music, but most of all I loved looking for the famed Phantom of the Opera.

He hasn't made an appearance since the Disaster, almost ten years ago. Some think that he's dead, or that he never existed, and it was a crude joke gone wrong. But they weren't the ones that were there that night.

I was only five, so I wouldn't remember, nor was I there to experience it. But, I had listened to the stories of those that were, those that had survived with barely their lives, and of the man that they had seen, the being with a scarred face. They told the stories as though he was a villain, a demon working for the Devil himself. I saw him differently, though. As a lost soul, misunderstood and misguided, tortured by the cruelties of our world, not an evil murderer, better dead and gone.

My parents soon came round the corner as well, smiling warmly at me. I grinned widely back, and linked arms with them, standing in the middle, as the three of us walked into the Operahouse.

We took our seats, and I waited with bated breath for the opera to start. Most children my age would be terribly bored at an event such as this, but I adored it. Then again, I was raised in a family that truly appreciated the arts, so it would be expected of me to.

The curtains were drawn, and the Prima Donna, Lady Carlotta, began singing. I was never a fan of her voice- it was too screechy for my taste- but I had also heard things much worse. I vaguely remember, when I was very little, another woman singing, Lady Christine. Her voice was nothing short of angelic, and still wound its way through my dreams. She had left the Opera Populaire after the Disaster, though, with her beloved, Raoul, or so said my parents.

My eyes carefully scanned the top seats, hoping to spot the dark figure with the mask. Slightly disappointed- though not deterred- when I didn't see him, I instead watched the faces of those watching the opera. That was another favorite pastime of mine, people-watching. You could learn almost everything about a person, by simply watching them.

For instance, I spotted Lady Eulalie, and knew that she had come to escape an argument with her husband. Though they loved each other deeply, they had the occasional falling-out, and her reprieve was often found through the opera. Another man. I noticed, had just left his family, in order to explore the new world. I could tell, because he was trying to keep his awed gaze on the stage, though it kept drifting around the theatre, and he was also fairly young.

My attention was soon recaptured by the opera, and so it stayed, until the very end, when everyone clapped enthusiastically, the actors bowed, the curtains closed, and everyone began to depart.

My parents and I stood, leaving as well. When we returned home, Mother prepared a simple meal, as per our monthly routine, and we ate together, as a family. My parents always included me in their conversations, treating my opinions as they would an adult's. They believed that the young held a wisdom of their own, separate of that you gain as an adult. After supper, we sat around the fireplace, and Mother and I listened as Father read aloud.

Soon, it was time for me to go to bed. I went to my room, put on my nightclothes, and climbed under the covers. As I closed my eyes, I hoped that my life would remain this peaceful and convivial forever.

But, of course, that was a childish thing to hope for.

A/N- I would just like to say that this was one of the shortest chapters I have written, but I couldn't extend it any further, and it was kinda just set-up. So, I decided to make it the prologue, because I was too lazy to actually figure out how to extend it.

Anyway, I just realized that I forgot to tell you all her name. It's Adrienne. I don't have a last name for her (if any of you think of one, leave it in a review, or PM me)

In case you're wondering, she has waist-length brown hair, green eyes, tan skin, and a lean figure. If you didn't pick up on the subtle math, she's fifteen, and this is ten years after the majority of the plot of the movie (not the part in the future, where Christine is dead, and Erik and Raoul are old)

That was the first time I've introduced a character in an Author's Note. It was also the only chapter I have ever written with no dialogue. Which feels really weird, by the way. But you all don't care. Nor do you have to. For the most part, these A/N's are mostly going to be random drabbles of whatever is on my mind when I'm writing, so you can pretty much just ignore them. Though, occasionally, I do have important info in them, but I'll let you all know in big letters when that happens.

Okay, I'm done. Fave, follow, review, and PM me!