Okie Dokie. This is a little side project that I've been working on for some time, and I decided to finally post the first chapter of it, get some reactions, and decide whether or not to continue it.

So this is a story based on the Phantom of the Opera that basically tells the story of Christine's life from when she was around seven up to her first encounter with "The Angel of Music"

Just for the record, this is based off of the movie and Broadway, not the book, so if I have something in here that is inaccurate with the book, I apologize.

Enjoy!

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(This section takes place in the Prologue.)

"I have something to say." Five unaware, yet curious faces turned hesitantly toward Madame Giry, an old lady who was clearly near her death.

"This secret has burdened me for all of my life. It has weighed my shoulders down with the force that has required me to keep it secret. But now, I believe it is time to tell."

She paused, closing her eyes, the very image of defeat. She knew that she had to tell now, or the chance would never come again.

"You all remember Christine Daee. She was a very promising talent, even before she was orphaned. Her father died at a young age, a mystery that was never fully explained. But I know. I have known. And now it is time…"

"Daddy!"

Brown eyes like pools of shining light illuminated the face of the young girl dashing down the stairs. In her mind, the stairs took forever to reach the bottom of. She couldn't wait to reach the warm embrace of the man who had carried her through these seven years, who had been both friend and father. It seemed to her that her feet stayed on the same step while she was running, that she would never reach him. But from his point of view, it took only a matter of seconds to hold the girl who had taken the name of his confidant, his wife, Christine. In truth, his daughter was the spitting image of his spouse, he knew that now as he looked over her dark auburn hair, but somehow, in his heart, she couldn't replace the woman he had loved and cherished with all of his soul. And, technically, it was at this child's mercy that she had died. He smiled. No. He couldn't blame his little angel for that. She was only a baby at the time, and Christine had been weak. He could still feel her hand in his as she slipped away from this world. He could image her face as she told him "Take care of her….take care…" But no time to think of that now.

"Say, angel, how about a cup of tea?" he inquired down onto the mass of curls covering Christine's head. Her reply came murmured into her father's chest, she still not wanting to leave his loving embrace.

"Tea it is then." He beckoned toward Millicent, the nanny. She took care of poor Christine while he was out, franchising with some of the world's finest orchestral companies. She was a tactful woman who didn't particularly like children, but did her job well, and with great accuracy. But she had no love for Christine. He wished with all of his heart that he didn't have to leave her, but he needed the money that came from his business ventures. Christine hated being left alone, thus the same scene we are now observing happens every day. And, as always, when Millicent called for the tea, he had to stand up with Christine attached to his leg like a monkey, and shuffle to the parlor with her riding on him. Then he plopped into his favorite blue chair, and propped Christine up in his lap, and pulled the small dining table toward him, which currently supported a tray adorned with cherries, holding a teapot, cream and sugar containers, and two delicate tea cups. He added two lumps of sugar to his tea, and prepared to add cream to hers-the only way she liked it. The same way his Christine had. Or so he thought.

"Daddy?" Her misty eyes were upon him.

"Yes dumpling?" His hand, holding the cream pitcher, hovered above her teacup.

"I want sugar in mine today." Her face pinched up at the thought of it, clearly the idea did not appeal to her as much as she wanted him to believe it did.

He chuckled. "And why ever not?"

Her eyes were shining brighter than two moons.

"Because.' Here she paused, looking at the tea. Then she turned back to her father. "I want mine to be like yours.'

His eyes welled up with tears.

That was his angel.

(Two months later….)

It was hot.

So unbearably hot that all anyone could do was hole up on porches and decks and fan themselves with palm branches. Except, of course, for Christine She took to prancing around in a yellow checked sundress and splashing in puddles left by a midnight shower. She was soon joined by a lean boy of nine years, clad in an immaculate suit, with clearly no regard for its cleanliness. His mop of yellowish-blond hair bounced on his head as he danced around merrily with Christine. This was Raoul. He had met Christine nearly a year ago. They saw each other and became immediate friends, as only children do. Ever since, Raoul had been Christine's companion. They would sit in the attic for hours, ears pressed to the floor, listening to Christine's father practice his violin, and come up with stories to fit the emotional music. Raoul also had a pet name for Christine, "Lotte" he called her. Many, many days had he come up tot eh door shouting, "Lotte! Little Lotte! Come down and play!" And Christine would fly down the stairs, grab his hand and fly out the door. They would sit in the lawn for hours, just talking, sometimes leaping up and twirling around, the others hands held tight, twirling faster and faster until they finally let go and fell into exhausted, contented lumps in the yard. Then they would continue conversing. It did her father's heart well to see Christine with a friend. She had been too attached to her father to be social, and had been taught at home by her nanny. And now she had Raoul. Clearly friends from the start. Soul mates, one might say.

Today, this hot, humid, summer day, was one of those days when that friendship was apparent to all who saw them. Christine and Raoul was the picture of contentedness. But, like all good things, it had to end.

"I guess I'd better get home." Raoul bowed slightly from the waist, then began to wave to Christine, then thought better of it, and ran over to hug her, giving her a quick peck on the cheek. Then, with a sheepish look toward her father, he scuttled off down the road.

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Okie then….Tell me what you think! Please tell me if you think I should continue this or not…anyway…review?