Hello all,

So please take a look at my profile. I was originally known as BloodRoseAngel91, however, because of this site's determination to not let me log back into that account, I'm back after several years and trying to rekindle my passion for writing. Currently, I'm in the process of reworking this fanfic, which was originally called Two Angels in the Night. There are a few changes, for example, I've decided to keep Christine as an opera singer instead of a pop singer, since that's what I have more experience in.Please don't try to bash me about plagiarism. I'm not plagiarizing... Just trying to finish something that I started a long, long time ago.

See you at the bottom!

Ever yours,

Soprano in Shadow

It's not everyday when you look at someone and not know that they're an assassin. Christine Daae- also known as Cat to her friends was one of them. Though she only had one real friend in the world. She couldn't risk having a large assortment of friends because of her two lives. An operatic diva by day. A killer by night. She was two different people, with two different worlds in her sight. So who would suspect that one of the country's greatest singers was also a cold-blooded assassin. But she was also in love, with a man she had never met. And so began her day, or should we say, her reign in darkness...

The man smiled sickeningly at her in the bar, inside Christine felt like throwing up but Cat knew what to do.

"My shift's done in ten. What d'ya say we go over to my flat?" Christine whispered in his ear as she handed him a drink. He nodded eagerly not knowing who this woman was. But Christine knew all about him: Peter Russauv- one of the world's most prominent weapons dealer. He traded broken weapons for deadly ones that he had created himself. But where he was a genius at machinery, he was an idiot when it came to women and seduction.

Christine sighed as she wiped dry a beer glass and glanced at the clock. She had just been employed for three days, and already her time as a bartender had come to an end. 4 minutes to go. She glanced at her appearance in the wall length mirror behind the bar, and studied her blonde hair and blue eyes and smiled. One that did not quite reach her eyes.

No one had even assumed that she, a young lyric soprano, was a highly trained assassin imported from England years ago after her training was complete. No one normal could ever know. She would never be able to lead a normal life. But then again, with her past, who would want to?

Smiling again at the man, she mentally reminded herself to find her clear eyes contacts and to wash out the temporary hair dye. After tomorrow, she would be going on another tour to sing and hunt down her prey. A dull ache settled in her throat as she looked past the blubbering drunk Russian and settled on a couple flirting in a dark corner.

Never again.

She had firmly told herself a long time ago to not put herself in a relationship with a man, it helped her to keep her icy stature. 5... 4...3...2...1... let the show begin.

"Andre, I'm done for the night." Untying the apron, she tossed it under the counter, and replaced it with a long black coat. "Oh, and by the way, I quit." Christine added coolly as she clasped her prey's hand leaving the bar and entering the night, giggling.

Leading him down a narrow alleyway, she allowed him to push her against a crumbled down building as he began kissing her neck, muttering incoherent syllables. Closing her eyes, she willed herself to resist the urge to push him away, her hands clenched against the brick wall.

His lips moving upward brought her back to the moment, as he tried to make contact with her lips, in a drunken haze of affection, but quickly she pushed him away. In her nineteen years of living, a guy hadn't kissed her since… him, and kissless she'd certainly remain.

A short whimper erupted from his throat, as she playfully kept him at arms length, inwardly trying to avoid making a face at his rancid breath. "Now, now, now Russauv," Christine cooed, "don't spoil my fun."

Grasping his hand in her own, she led him farther down the alley, and at once Peter was suspicious. "Baby, no—", he began to protest, but was cut short by Christine's finger against his lips.

"Don't worry, babe, my flat's at the end of this alley." She said playfully. "It's just a shortcut, darling. And then we'll be all alone." Giggling she continued leading him farther into the alley as she leaned up against his arm. "Want me to tell you a secret?"

Peter nodded dumbly as he stepped closer to her. She pushed him away from her and turned sharply, pulling out a dagger in the process.

"You won't ever see it." she said calmly, and plunged it into his chest. He slumped to the ground and a minute later, Christine checked for a pulse. Nothing.

With a cold smirk she began ripping material off of his shirt to stop the blood from leaving tracks, when a voice hit her ear.

"It seems mademoiselle, that we were sent for the same man." A rich baritone voice swung through the air, as a man in black slacks and a long sleeved shirt approached her. When he came closer, she saw the black half mask he wore covering his eyes.

"But the real questions is: are we on the same side?" He drew out a long blade, grasping it by the hilt, which was encircled by a web of silver.

Crouching, Christine's eyes narrowed as she reached behind her back pulling out a pair of daisho from within her long jacket, silently thanking the Organization for creating such a subtle outerwear design.

Grasping each in hand, she began to attack furiously as he calmly blocked each blade's movement of his own. He seemed bored, as though he was playing with her was hardly worth the effort.

"Who are you?" she managed to ask as she side- stepped his blade as it whistled through the chilly wind.

"My friends call me by my name. But my enemies know me as The Phantom. And yours?"

"The Angel of Music flutters her wings against the calm wind, but in a second she becomes the Angel of Death: quick and silent."

He chuckled at her response as he jumped away from her angry pair of blades and responded with a mocking bow. "What an adorable little phrase." Her blade sailed through the spot he had just inhabited, as he stepped out of her way. "Well it's lovely to meet you Angel, but you bore me. I propose a match: two out of three hits. Winner claims the spoils." He said motioning to the dead body.

Christine shook her head as she moved in front of her victim, as if making her claim.

"It was my assignment and I killed him. I have every right to claim his death for my 'people'." Christine snapped referring to the Organization.

The masked man smirked at her childish views. "Ah, but I never said I would let you return with him alive. Nice outfit by the way."

Rolling her eyes, Christine couldn't help but think to berate Andre for picking out her attire for the kill. She had insisted that the leather leggings, knee high boots and midriff-showing tank would be too much, but yet again, he had decided not to listen.

She paused for a moment, before making her move ripping part of his sleeve open, where she could see a blood rose tattooed on his shoulder.

She stood there shocked, staring at the same tattoo that she had on her right shoulder. Right then, her pursuer took his moment and slashed her stomach, as blood dripped out of the injury, startling her from her observation.

Wincing as she moved away from the threat of his blade, she chuckled as she began circling him.

"I might as well know your name. I'll find out anyway when I get back to the Organization." She took off her long duster, and he stared at her quizzically. Was she trying to seduce him? As she turned around he saw that next to the right strap of her black (and rather short, might he add) tank top was the exact same rose, except in dark silver.

"How did you come to get this assignment?" He asked bewildered. Why would two agents be needed for one kill?

She shrugged. "Andre and Firmin are my contacts. They let me know when I have a new "client." Otherwise I'm busy with a daytime job. Your name?"

"Erik." That was all he could manage. Here he was dueling an impressive assassin who was on his own side, and that's all he could say. No wonder he was considered such a recluse.

"Well a pleasure to meet you Erik, but I must take my leave." She picked up the body and shrugged it over her shoulder.

In a second he was in front of her standing closely. Too close for her own comfort. "But you have yet to tell me your own name," he purred, his warm breath brushing against her own face. "I'd consider that rude, especially after having the pleasure of crossing blades with such a spitfire." She growled at the smirk that was on his face.

"Why? For all I know, you may be my next assignment." She jumped up onto the recycling bin and disappeared into an abandoned building, leaving behind one of the daisho. He picked it up, the silver blade a contrast to his black gloves. Embossed on both sides of the tip of the blade was a rose.

He smiled. Oh this would be such fun, indeed.