The mirror opened. Christopher's eyes widened. He stood up, knocking over the lamp on his bedside table. It flew to the ground, smashing into pieces, as well as sending the entire room into darkness. Except for the light shining from what was coming from the mirror. Christopher stumbled around like a blind man until he felt for his unlit candle. He grabbed a match from his pocket and lit the candle, providing a fragment of light for him. He carefully stepped to the mirror, seeing a darkly lit hallway.

He stood, paralyzed with shock and fear. Should he do this? Should he step inside of the mirror? Sure, he was curious of who this opera ghost really was, but he hadn't accounted for the dangerous outcomes that could occur. Then again, he was always a curious fellow. He extended his arm holding the candle out and peeked out his head to see the stairwell that led on forever. He let his whole body travel inside the mirror. When he was about to turn back, the mirror slammed shut, almost cracking the glass. He turned around to see that it was a two-way mirror. "Who was watching my father?" He whispered to himself. He turned back with determination to find the prankster that was tormenting him. He started to walk down the dark, creepy hallway. He shrunk back with fear when hearing a sound. Something brushed past his foot and put out his candle.

Out of pure fright, he dropped the candle and ran to the end of the hallway, trying to escape from the mysterious force that was following him. As he ran and ran, he tripped and fell face-first into a pool of water. He got up, struggling to breathe. "Dear god, water beneath the opera house?" He asked himself in disbelief. He touched the water and saw that it wasn't a little puddle. It was a lake. He got up, looking out at the glossy lake in front of him. Suddenly, a candle on the wall was lit by nothing. It revealed that directly adjacent to Christopher was a gondola with an oar. Perfect way of transportation. Christopher sighed, a little irritated by these games. He stepped inside the boat and started to travel across the lake.

As he rode, he saw light starting to entrap him. He heard sounds, pleasant ones. The sound of an organ playing an ominous tune. Granted, it set the atmosphere for this dungeon of hell. Christopher looked around to see candles everywhere, attached to the walls. The sound grew louder, he was getting closer to whatever was making the music. Suddenly, his boat was stopped by a small set of stairs. The playing stopped. Christopher gasped, looking around as if something were to jump out at him.

He cautiously stepped out of the gondola, casting the oar to the side. He stepped onto the stairs in front of him and climbed up them. He stood in a fully lit room. Music sheets were sprawled on the floor, a large organ was lined against the wall, and a music stand held music sheets all stacked together. Christopher figured that the organ on the wall was the culprit of the ominous sound he had heard not too long ago. Nobody was playing it. The person he was listening to was gone.

"I don't know who you are, but you better stop toying with me!" He yelled. "I will not have this half-baked opera ghost story be proven true!" He cried again. The wind brushed past him, and a figure emerged from the shadows. "D-Don't be..proven true!" Christopher yelled, shakily. He pushed his back up against the wall and waited for his inevitable demise due to this supernatural force. The figure lurked from behind the corner, slowly revealing itself. A black cape, dark boots, brown pants, and a white, long-sleeved blouse. Slick, raven-colored hair, a chapeau, and a black scarf that covered the neck of the figure. Its face, pale, yet beautiful, and a mask spread across her face that covered her forehead, nose, cheeks, but left her eyes uncovered and shining.

This was no ghost. The young woman looked at Christopher, her upturned, golden brown eyes staring into his. Christopher was taken aback by the physical appearance of this ghost. He was shocked that it wasn't a ghost at all, for it was a girl his own age. "You..you are the opera ghost?" He asked. The woman didn't reply. She stared down Christopher for what seemed like hours, until she finally pulled down her scarf and revealed her dark, red lips. Christopher wondered what this being was doing down here, who she was, and, of course, why she wasn't answering him. "Answer me." Christopher demanded, his voice still a bit unsteady.

The woman looked back at him. It was as if her fear washed away, for she smirked and exhaled, a small puff of frost coming from her mouth. "Beyond a doubt." Christopher's eyes widened. He started to walk towards her. "You are the being that has tormented the opera house for so long?" "I wouldn't say tormented." She stared down at the floor, soon adjusting her gaze to face Christopher. "You are the new manager, no?" Christopher nodded. "Yes, I am. Why did you open my mirror? Why did you lead me down here?" The woman looked at him, taking off her dark hat. "I needed you to come down here to listen to my rules." She chuckled to herself. "I also wanted to see what you would do when presented with the opportunity to discover something new." "Well, of course I would come down here, any sane person would come down here." Christopher answered, sarcastically. "I wanted to stop the lighting problems, the letters raining from the roof, and the ludicrous rumors!"

"The rumors, ah. I almost forgot how everyone mentions me. They tell stories of me. I often hear the ballet dancers saying they've even seen me roaming about the opera house." Christopher curled his fists out of frustration and irritation. "Stop toying with me and let me leave this wasteland." He said, firmly. The woman frowned, walking towards Christopher. He remained standing in his position, despite the fact she was walking to him which frightened him a little. "Why are you down here?" His voice was softer. The woman was a bit surprised. "I do not entrust this information to people I have just met. I just wanted to make sure you got my letter containing my rules." Christopher laughed. "Ah, yes! 20,000 francs a month for rent? Who is paying for the bills, me or you?" "Who can effect the lighting and the other faculties of the opera house?" The woman shot back.

"Fair enough. Would you consider lowering your price?" The woman scoffed. "You came down here to bargain with me?" "Well, I actually came down here involuntarily!" Christopher huffed and threw up his arms in the air. Honestly, he was starting to tire of this dance. He just wanted to go back to managing the opera house like usual, without any of this funny business. The woman crossed her arms, almost sensing Christopher's uneasiness. "If you agree on the rules and will loyally abide by them, then perhaps I may lower my price..to 15,000 francs a month." "Deal!" Christopher was grateful and took anything he could. The woman nodded and looked towards the direction in which Christopher first came. "Now, leave and never come back."

"Gladly." Christopher sighed and started in the direction back to his dressing room. "Wait." He spoke up, right before he was about to get back onto the gondola. The masked woman turned back to him, her ebony hair slinging around and falling against her chest. Christopher turned around. "May I ask you one thing?" "You may." "Why would you have me come down here? My father never came down here, did he?" "No. I wasn't around when your father was manager." She quickly said. Christopher tilted his head. "But then, who was living down here?" He asked in a hushed tone. The woman looked around. "Why, the phantom of the opera, of course. After all, this was his home long before it became an opera house." The woman remarked. Christopher looked around, admiring the architecture of the building. Even though it looked like the room was located in a sewer, there was something beautiful about it. The brightly lit candles, the sparkling lights, the sheet music sprawled across the floor, the violin. Everything seemed imperfectly perfect in its own way. "Well..one more question." Christopher dared to ask. The woman huffed. "Then you will leave."

"Fine. Why are you down here?" He asked. After all, Christopher was a bit confused. Sure, the old phantom was down here, but why did she have to take residence in this hellish place? Didn't she have a home in Paris, let alone in France? Obviously not, if she was living down here. The woman turned to him, her eyes wide. If faces could be read like a book, her story would be one of shock and fear. "And what do you benefit from asking me that particular question?" Her voice was raised. Christopher knew he had stepped on some sort of emotional land-mine. "Forgive me, Mademoiselle, I really didn't mean any harm!" The woman sighed and looked at him. "Very well. If there is nothing else..?" The woman gestured at the boat, hinting for Christopher to now take his leave. He took the strong hint and nodded. "Alright. But before I leave, since we are working closely together in this opera house," Christopher smiled like the gentleman he was. "May I have your name?"

The woman's red lips quivered for a second, as if she was forming the sounds necessary in order to speak her name. Why should she give him her name? After all, they had only met. What if he went around spreading the true name of the opera ghost? What if he even brought people down here to her? Suddenly, she thought that this was all a bad idea. She looked back at the young man's smiling face. With that one look, something in her heart just lit up. Suddenly, she felt more at ease. She felt that this man was a kind soul. Perhaps if she gave him her name and asked him never to recite it to others, he would keep the secret of her identity. "Fine, but first..yours." After all, a name for a name. "My name is Christopher Dubois. It's a pleasure to meet you..?" Christopher awaited her name. The woman decided to take a risk. "Erica. You may call me Erica." She debated on allowing him this next opportunity, but decided to let him. "You may visit me down here when you'd like. You may not tell anyone else of my whereabouts, that I am not a ghost, and my real name. Keep things the way they were." Christopher nodded. "Understood."

He turned to leave, but once again turned back. "Erica?" She looked up at him. "Even more questions?" She sighed. "Why do you wear a mask?" Erica's eyes widened. "That will never be discussed!" She yelled, angrily. Christopher's eyes widened. "I apologize." Erica sighed. "Forgiven. Now leave me." Christopher smiled. "Thank you, for working this out with me. You're not as bad as they say, Erica. Please, together, let's take care of this beautiful opera house." Erica's eyes looked into Christopher's. She nodded. "Of course, Monsieur." Christopher smiled. "I will visit you soon." He walked back to the gondola and started to row away. Erica got up and watched him leave. "Until we meet again.." She reached up and touched her mask. "..Christopher."