Erika pulled down the brim of her hat, squinting in the bright light of the sun. The Parisian streets were lit with sunlight and were far less foreboding than the night before. Men in suits and ladies in dresses populated the streets and gave life and noise to the landscape. A few traps rattled over the cobblestones behind the young woman as she walked away from the curb.

       Do all cab drivers charge so much? Erika wondered angrily. Then again, it is better than everyone staring at me.

       Her head bent low, Erika walked towards the sunlit opera house ahead of her. It was far more lively than it had been the night before, a fact that was not lost on the young woman. She frowned and adjusted the bag that hung from her shoulder.

       Before long, Erika reached the steps of the Paris Opera House and walked inside. The gigantic, beautiful entry hall with grand marble staircase caused her to pause momentarily. Her eyes roved hungrily over the flowing staircase, the balconies, arches and bronze statues at the foot of the marble banisters. She sighed and turned to the right.

       I would love to have designed something as grand as this, Erika thought as she began walking again. Perhaps I will get my chance wherever I end up next...

       She let her gaze wander around the wide, marble and gold hallway she traveled down. It's floors were patterned with earth-colored stone, it's doorways were framed with marble pillars with golden capitals and its golden ceilings were vaulted.

       Actors, stagehands, and all manner of other people passed, a few staring at her in confusion. Focusing her gaze away from them, Erika walked up to a wooden door with a golden plaque that read, 'Manager's Office.' She breathed a sigh of relief as she opened it.

       Inside, a small, well-furnished room seemed to greet her. The walls were painted a tan color with simple wood paneling covering the bottom half. A large wooden desk with two chairs behind it stood near the back of the room. A clock hung on the wall behind it. In the left corner closest to the door, a small piano sat idle, its cover open as though someone had meant to play a song. Three men stood just in front of the desk and turned to look at her as she entered.

      "Ah, just in time, Mademoiselle," one of the men said brightly. His thin frame seemed to tower slightly over the others, but his face was like that of a kindly grandfather. His thick brown hair, streaked with grey in some places, was sticking up slightly as he turned back to his companions.

      "Good Monsieurs, this is Erika," he continued as he beckoned the young woman into the office. Erika obeyed with a raised eyebrow. She glanced curiously at the two other men and cleared her throat.

      "Yes?" the first man asked.

      "What is going on here, M.Valjean?" she asked, somewhat indignantly.

      "Oh," Valjean said with a nervous laugh. "I thought you had been told!" He gestured to the two strangers. "These two gentlemen are taking my place as manager, as I have decided to retire from the position."

       Erika nodded, her eyes staring directly at the two men without saying a word.

       "This," Valjean continued, gesturing to the first stranger, "is M.Firmin Richards." Firm in was of average height with shrewd features, his brown eyes matching his hair color almost to the shade. He dipped his head in her direction, but said nothing.

       "And this is M. Armand Moncharmin." Armand was a little shorter than Firmin. His blue eyes smiled along with his mouth and he seemed quite amiable. He nodded to her as well and smiled kindly, though he shifted nervously under her gaze.

       "Good Monsieurs," Valjean said, turning to the duo, "this is Erika. She has been writing music for us for about seven years now. Oftentimes, she will spend a few days listening in on voice parts and then disappear for a few weeks to write her masterpiece. You really will not see much of her."

       "Is that all?" Firmin asked sharply.

      "Yes, that is all," Valjean replied with a nervous laugh. An awkward silence ensued.

       It is now or never, Erika thought. She opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off abruptly as the office door banged open.

       "M. Valjean!" Christopher cried as he entered. His eyes widened and his face paled as soon as he caught sight of the strange group. "I-I..."

       "What happened?" Valjean asked, his smile becoming strained.

       Christopher was silent for a moment, then seemed to collect himself. "It's Piangi," he replied, his gaze shifting to the floor. "He's quit."

       "What!?" Firmin yelled. M. Valjean let out another nervous laugh.

       "Well, good Monsieurs and Mademoiselle, I must be going so that I am not late for the train," the former manager said. Walking quickly towards the desk, he reached behind it and pulled out two small suitcases. He then shot for the door.

       "Stop," Firmin said, grabbing for Valjean's arm. "You cannot leave us without a male lead!"

       "Oh, I am certain you will think of something," Valjean replied, dodging Firmin's grab. He threw open the door and made a hasty exit.

       "But the performance is tonight!" Firmin shouted, his fists clenched. The new manager stood in the doorway and let out a string of curses.

       Armand was at his colleague's side almost immediately. "There must be an understudy," he said quietly, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder.

       Firmin turned his head and glared at Armand. "He is exactly like the Prima Donna," he hissed. "There is no understudy!"

       Erika glanced at Christopher. His eyes were aimed at the floor, but his face was scrunched in a thoughtful frown.

       Say it, Christopher, she thought. Show them what you can do. You know this music! But he remained silent.

       "We will just have to cancel," Firmin said, throwing his hands in the air.

        Taking a deep breath, Erika called out, "Good Monsieurs."

        Both of the managers looked at her. Christopher looked up.

        "What?" Firmin asked, his gaze still hard.

        Erika glanced at Christopher out of the corner of her eye, then looked Firmin square in the eye. "Christopher Daaé could perform," she said, gesturing towards the young man with her hand.

        "No, we cannot risk it tonight," Firmin replied almost immediately.

        "Firmin, let him try," Armand said, his eyes brightening. "We will need a replacement after all."

        Firmin opened his mouth, then shut it. He fixed his gaze on Christopher. "Alright," he muttered.

        Christopher swallowed and shifted his weight a little. Taking a breath, he began to sing. "My heart...cannot contain my love..."

        As he sang, Erika squeezed her eyes shut. I know he can sing better than this... she thought. She opened her eyes quickly and glanced at the piano. A small smile appeared on her face.

        Erika crept almost silently to the piano, her skirt rustling a bit as did. She sat down on the bench and glanced at the three men by the desk. Firmin was giving Armand a scathing glare and Armand was giving poor Christopher a strained smile.

        When the singer paused, Erika began to play the accompaniment. Christopher gave a start. However, he soon relaxed and began to sing once more. "Your voice is like that of an angel, one that I cannot ignore," he sang, his tenor voice now gliding over the notes.

        Armand's smile relaxed and his eyes seemed to light up once more as he listened. Firmin raised an eyebrow, his mouth still in a firm line.

        "My hope is-"

        "Enough," Firmin interrupted. Christopher and Erika cut off abruptly. Both of them stared at the managers.

        "Monsieur...Daaé, is it not?" Firmin asked. Christopher nodded, his face once again pale. "You will be our leading man for the evening," the manager stated. "Not that our Prima Donna will let you do much..."

        Christopher's mouth dropped open, but he quickly recovered himself. "Thank you," he whispered, a weak smile forming on his face.

        "Firmin," Armand said.

        "What?"

        "What about the other position?"

        "We cannot replace Carlotta!"

        "No, I mean the position-" Armand began.

        "Ah, yes," Firmin interrupted. He turned to Erika. "You are Mademoiselle..."

        "Erika," she said, rising from the piano bench. "I have no last name."

        "Right. Well we have a position we need to fill."

        She opened her mouth quickly.

        "We have no need for any more 'custom' operas that you seem quite fond of writing," Firmin continued. "What we do need, however, is an accompanist for our chorus girls."

         Erika stared at him for a moment. Steady pay is what I need, she thought quickly. But the troupe could find me easily in Paris...

        "Well, will you take the job?" Firmin asked, his eyes looking at the clock above the desk. Erika glanced at Christopher and her heart began to race.

        Suddenly, she found a response tumbling out of her mouth: "Yes, Monsieur."

        "Excellent," Firmin replied. "Now run along. I assume you know the way?"

        "Yes," Erika said quietly. She strode quickly to the door, her head bowed slightly. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Christopher give her a shy smile. Her heart continued to race as she fled the room.

        Once she was out in the hall, Erika frowned. "Of all the things you could do," she muttered to herself, "you had to give them a reason to notice you! All you had to do was move on and find work elsewhere, but no! Your foolish heart had to get in the way of everything!"

        As she walked towards the rehearsal room, Erika sighed. "I suppose love really does make people do funny things," she murmured. She quickly rolled her eyes as she passed by a painting. "Not that I love him."

        Her heart was still fluttering slightly. She glared down at her chest. "Stop that, you blasted organ," she hissed. Right on cue, it slowed to its normal pace.

        Erika soon arrived at the door of the rehearsal room. She took a deep breath and turned the knob, letting herself into the room. At least I can trust Madame Giry...