A/N: My apologies… I haven't had all the time I needed to really sit down and write. Well, yet again, I rewrite the prologue… I know I know… Where's the rest of the story… I rushed it so I decided to really sit down and take the time to develop the plot… look over it better and really get into the heads of the characters. With some great help from Marie Erickson… I think I can have something going here. Enjoy!

Prologue:

Madame Giry impatiently called for the dancers. The dressing rooms were busy and people rushed to do makeup, hair, and costumes. Some dancers were tightening their shoes and touching up some makeup, some of the chorus members were warming up their voices with scales. As for Elizabeth she was in a panic, quickly adding some darker eye shadow to her eyes and brushing her cheeks with a ruby red powder. Her nightly dark hair was pulled back and a blood red rose settled in the side of the bundle of hair. She stood up in front of her mirror for a final check and hardly recognized herself. Her proactive black dress was low cut. It held tight around her body and accented the dancer's curves. Except where it stopped at the hips and flowed, the slit of the dress starting at her hips and reaching to the bottom.

"Elizabeth!" Madame Giry sharply called. She quickly came out of her trance by the strict woman's voice. She rushed out of the room at the end of the rest of the dancers. She stood in the wing waiting for her cue, and she got a glance across the stage of the young Prima Donna Christine. She caught her eye and smiled… feeling as though she had to reassure her of something… for Christine seemed afraid. Afraid? Why would this suddenly successful young singer fear anything? Then Elizabeth considered the stories she over hears the brats chattering about, the strange stories of the Opera Ghost, who haunted the Opera Populaire. She had no reason to believe them… but with the look in Christine's eyes tonight… Elizabeth could believe that there was something, and she felt pity for her.

Suddenly Elizabeth felt a shove from behind… she had missed her cue and was being reminded by her partner, Jacque. Elizabeth entered the stage and followed her routine as practiced but with passion, for she loved to dance. But when dancing on stage, it was more than just passion and the routine… is was your heart and soul.

Then, she heard a voice that was soft and intriguing. She wanted to stop dancing just to listen to the melodic voice of the masked man. She looked up and saw the figure dressed in black and walking towards Christine, singing his beautiful song that could not be matched by even the perfect tuned pitches of the instruments in the orchestra. She saw as the masked man sang, not for the audience, but for Christine, who his eyes never left. Under the bridge where the man and Christine sang together and longed for each other the dancers mimicked the movements of the couple. Elizabeth noticed how the man twirled Christine with such care, as to not to break his precious glass menagerie, as her partner spun herself into his chest with such haste and roughness. The man's hands slowly ran up Christine's body as Elizabeth's partner maliciously rubbed his hands up hers. Elizabeth longed to be her friend in the arms of the masked man who handled her ever so gently.

Elizabeth could hear the whispers offstage, the whispers of the Opera Ghost. As the music reached it's end the Opera Ghost extended it. Dancers looked up, as did people offstage as saw Christine's hand slowly and cautiously move her hand towards the mask of the Opera Ghost.

It all happened to quickly. The dancers below the bridge could not fully see the unmasked face of the Opera Ghost, but the screams and gasps from the audience was enough to send shivers down their spines. The pain and anger betrayed Phantom slashed a rope and grabbed the instilled Christine around the waist. They fell through the bridge into a black hole. No one really paid much attention to their disappearance as the grand chandelier began to tear it's way down towards the crowd. People rushed around, chaos erupted into the once elegant and prim opera house. The chandelier reached the stage with a horrid crash. The nearest chairs began to burn in a flash spreading the fire further into the audience.

Screams echoed in Elizabeth's ear as she rushed away from the nearing flames. The heat of the embers and heavy smoke were engulfing the opera house. Elizabeth rushed away from the stage, noticing Madame Giry pull away the Viscomte, Raoul de Changy, Christine's fiancé. Elizabeth thought at first of the safest way to get out of the opera house, but then the image of Christine and her fear entranced eyes flashed in her head. Elizabeth had to help, in any way should could, the only kind person to her when she first arrived at the Opera Populaire. Elizabeth noticed Meg Giry at the head of a mob, and pursued them knowing they must know a way to reach Christine.

Elizabeth followed them deep into the cellars of the opera house. They reached a lake that was knee deep for the men, and they began to cross it. Elizabeth regretted the fact that she still wore the proactive dress that brought no warmth to her in the cold and damp cellars. They reached a shore, and found a well-furnished lair, which could only be home of the Phantom himself. The thing was, that was all they found, and empty lair with no signs of Christine, the Viscomte, or even the Phantom. The mob searched the lair finding nothing useful to the whereabouts of the missing people. Elizabeth glanced over to Meg who stood alone holding something white in her hand. Elizabeth approached her, "Anything?" Meg glanced over her shoulder, her eyes showing she was trying to hold back tears. "No, nothing… nothing" Her voice fell into a whisper and whimper. Elizabeth tried to comfort her, but Meg took a deep breath of renewed anger and threw the white mask in her hand. "Let's leave." And she turned away, brushing away a fallen tear with her sleeve. Elizabeth watched the mob come together and begin to leave. She began to follow, but the white mask caught the corner of her eye.

She bent down to pick it up, and noticed the shattered glass; she furrowed her eyes and followed the trail of the broken class. With the white mask still in her hand, she stepped around the glass and followed it with her eyes. It led to a deep red curtain. She walked over to where the glass led her, hearing the crunch of glass echo in the now empty lair. She looked back only to find that everyone had left, and she was alone. She pulled the curtain back with her hand, revealing a dark tunnel. This must be where they went through. Determined, Elizabeth gathered up the fragile courage she had and stepped over the frame, with fear in her heart.