"Catherine! Are you a dancer?" Madame Giry scolded me.

I nodded, "Yes, Madame."

"Good. Then can you come over to your place in the Dancers' lot?"

Blushing a crimson red, I scurried over to my spot. I have an active imagination. Perhaps too active. I'm always getting in trouble because of it. I have raven black hair, and, strangely, purple eyes. I think I'm skinny, but I can't be too sure. I'm nineteen years old, and I've been here since I was seven. My grandfather passed away when I turned six. I lived with my grandfather because my parents died before I turned three.

Carlotta snickered, "Nice one, imbecile."

"Shut up," I growl, trying as hard as I can to catch up with the other dancers. Carlotta is the most concieted Prima Donna in the world. She has vibrant red hair, hazel eyes, and she's really plump, like a balloon.

"Catherine," Madame Germoini bent down solemnly, "You know he shall not be pleased with this behavior."

"I know," I sigh. Here in the Opera House, we have a ghost. Well, at least we think he's a ghost. We call him that because he never shows himself directly. He's described as a man in evening clothes. He's said to wear a mask that covers his whole face.

"Well, at least you don't have to remember your lines," Meg sympathized. Meg is Madame Giry's daughter. She has blonde hair and she's a little pixie-like. She has as much curiosity as I do.

"Meg, ever since I've come here, it's always been dance, dance, dance! I've watched as the operas went by. I know the lines of Hannibal and Faust and II Muto by heart. I'm tired of waiting in the wings."

"Maybe you could ask my mother if you could at least be a chorus girl. I'm sure she wouldn't mind," Meg suggested.

I sighed, signaling her that the conversation was over.

"All right, girls. Practice is over. Back to your rooms," Madame Giry said as she thrust her cane onto the floor, dismissing us.

I scurried up to the stairs. My ballet dress was killing me. I had to get out of it.

"Wait! Scratch that; I forgot something," Madame Giry called.

We all groaned, but obediently walked back to the stage.

"Yes, there have been some rumors about the owner's imminent retirement... And they were all true."

"Ha!" Carlotta pointed to Piangi, the lead actor, triumphantly. Piangi groaned, then flipped her a gold coin and motioned for her to be quiet.

"Anyway, he shall be in Austrailia, and he has handed his duty over to Monsiuers Firmin and Andre. And the new patron shall be M. Roaul de Chagny."

Is it...? I thought. No, he moved to Persia years ago. It couldn't be him.

"Adiamo! I take my doggie. Bye-bye!" Carlotta swished her skirts.

"Oh, no... Not another tantrum!" I rubbed my temples.

"What do we do?" asked Andre.

"Grovel," Firmin nodded.

"Grovel," concluded Raoul.

"Bella diva!" complimented Andre.

"Goddess of song!" added Firmin. "Enchant us, Prima Donna!"

Carlotta hesitated. "Well," she giggled, "I do hate my hat, but if my manager commands,"

"If my diva commands," Andre nodded.

"Yes, I do," Carlotta swished up to the stage. She took out her little bottle of spray liquid and squirted it into her mouth. She thinks it helps her voice, but she still sounds like a croaking toad.

"Signora," the conductor nodded.

"Maestro," Carlotta aknowledged. And she began to sing "Think of Me". Believe me, if you were there, you would have cried. In pain, I mean. Even our new managers looked pained.

"Oh!" I cried, and ducked out of the way. A scroll of scenery was crashing down! Meg screamed and everyone except Carlotta scrambled out of the way. She was underneath the scenery, wailing like the brat she was.

"Signora!" cried the managers.

"He's there, the Phantom of the Opera!" sang Meg, and the rest of the dancers joined her. I stood there, hardly believing what had just seen.