A/N: Oh my goodness, has it been a while or what, muse of mine? I mean, two years? Really? Ah well, I can't completely complain. You're delivering inspiration now, and for that I'm grateful. Maybe this time you'll stick around so I can finish all those uncompleted ones, hmm?

Anyway, greetings, dear readers! I just want you to know that this is my first multi-chapter fan fic in which there is no Christine. Well, that's not entirely true, as you'll see in later chapters, but this is sort of an AU in which Christine's father does not die and therefore she does not go to the opera house to live. Was this difficult to write? You betcha, as all the clips and videos I relied on in the past for inspiration had to do with Erik's feelings toward her.

However, I made it through and am now counting on all of you for your wonderful helpful feedback! I'll be able to post several chapters at a time or maybe even the whole story today, so enjoy and please review! I plan on including this in my latest 'Phantom Heart Series' book(see the edits in my profile bio) and definitely need fresh eyes and help smoothing out some of the rough and choppy bits. So without further ado, I bring you 'Somebody's Work of Art'! As always, I don't own Phantom of the Opera or any of its characters!

Sophia placed her one satchel on the bed and sighed. This was home now. She slowly walked around, taking it all in. Despite her new position, the Opera Populaire did not skimp on décor and furnishings, even in this stuffy attic room. To be sure, the room was small and only held the necessities—a bed, a washing table, a storage trunk and small wardrobe for clothes, a single chair in the corner, and a privy- but Sophia was certain it would be a palace here compared to her old country cottage. Her eyes welled up at the memory.

Her parents had perished in a fire when she was but five years old. Her great aunt Geraldine had taken her in then, but what began as an act of compassion quickly turned into borderline slavery as soon as Sophia was old enough. All the household chores became her responsibility, added to the burden of guilt. "I'm your only relative," Aunt Geraldine would say, "and I took you in. The least you can do is help out your old aunty!" So she did, from the age of eight all the way to two months ago, shortly after her twenty-fifth birthday. Aunt Geraldine had been ill...too ill to even mutter a happy birthday (the only gift Sophia ever received to mark the occasion)… Sophia had gone upstairs with a bowl of soup for her supper...and she was gone. A paper was found in her bedside drawer stating that the remainder of money owed to the credit lender would be paid by selling Sophia's services to the opera house. In addition, every penny of her first year's wages would be sent to him, and then she would be free to do as she pleased.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Paulette, the opera house cook, entering the room. "Are you finding this room comfortable enough, dear?"
"Yes, thank you..." Sophia brushed away her tears. "What would you like me to do first?" At that, Paulette gave her the warmest smile she'd seen since before her mother died.

"Oh, you don't start until tomorrow, dear...Right now, you just settle in and rest. Staff supper is at half past four in the kitchen, but I can bring it up to you if you'd prefer..."

"No!...Thank you..I'll...I'll be down..." Sophia smiled a bit back. She'd been a servant for so long; she couldn't bear the thought of making anyone serve her.

"Very well..I'll see you then..." Paulette's smile grew wider before she went back downstairs.

Sophia awoke with a start, the dreamt up image of Monsieur Lauder still fresh in her mind. Thankfully, the songbirds perched on the stable rooftop below her served as a peaceful distraction. With a sigh, she stood up. Only when she'd replaced the blue floral comforter did she realize—she didn't recall sliding in between the sheets. No...she had collapsed on top of the bed, the exhaustion from her journey and raw emotions doing her in. Then...how..? She glanced around, her eyes falling on a covered tray. Paulette… She shook her head but couldn't help but smile.

As if on cue, the cook poked her head in. "Oh, you're up! Wonderful...We were all so worried about you when you didn't come down last night..."

"I'm sorry...I don't know what came over me..."

"Oh, there's no need to apologize! I'm sure it was needed..."

"Still...Thank you for bringing me supper and tucking me in..."
"What, dear?" A puzzled expression fell across the older woman's face. "I brought you supper, yes, but when I found you asleep, I took the tray back down to keep the food warm in the oven...I figured you needed your rest..."The cook followed Sophia's gaze, spotting the covered tray. Blinking, she crossed the room and uncovered the dish. "Why, this is what I prepared for breakfast just before turning in last night..!" Her tone was one of total confusion, not in the least accusing. She seemed to reach a silent conclusion, but did not voice it. Instead, her pleasant smile returned. "Never mind...you just take your time and enjoy it. I'll be in the kitchen whenever you're ready to start." She turned to leave.

"Madame..." Sophia stepped forward.

"Please..just Paulette..."

"Paulette...I hope you...I'd never sneak and steal..."

"Oh, I didn't think that at all!" She reassured her with a touch on the shoulder. "It's just one of those little mysteries we have here every now and then. You'll get used to it." Smiling more, she descended the stairs. Still puzzled, Sophia chose a pastry and took a bite. Immediately, she was brought back to her childhood, when it seemed like her mother's kitchen had always smelt of something sweet baking. Though she'd never been old enough to deal with recipes then, she made a mental note to get this one.

There's someone new. I heard her crying in the night. They didn't tell her of me. Good. She has far too much already to trouble her. Fear should not be one of them.

Sophia's first self-given task between breakfast and her actual job was to unpack. It would not take her long; besides a few work outfits and one Sunday dress, all she owned was a hairbrush and the two things recovered from the fire. The men had brought them over about a week after Sophia moved in with Aunt Geraldine, who immediately stored them away 'until she's old enough to appreciate such things'. Ever so conveniently, the items had been forgotten about, locked away in her great aunt's room until after her death. Monsieur Lauder had eyed them covetously, suggesting they go toward paying off her debt. "Never!" Sophia had glared. "They're all I have left of them!"

"Very well..." The creditor had smirked. Shuddering at the memory just as she had shuddered then, Sophia traced the lettering of her father's Bible. If there was one thing she was grateful for in all the years she was with Aunt Geraldine, it was the fact that her aunt was adamant about her great-niece learning how to read and write. She remembered her father poring over these pages every morning and evening, and now, she'd finally be able to read it for herself.

From her mother, she'd inherited a single locket with a sapphire in the middle. Inside, there were faded, tiny photographs of both her parents on their wedding day; something no amount of money could ever buy. It was as if they knew that she'd one day be sitting here, missing them and begging for all those lost years back. Now, she could see them whenever she wished. A single teardrop landed on the images, and she quickly dabbed it away, closing the locket. "Oh, Mama..." She sniffled. "Papa, I won't let your memory fade...I promise..." Tucking her treasures away in the storage chest, she shakily got to her feet. She had to go to work. She was determined not to sleep another day away. Crossing the room to the washing table, she splashed some cool water onto her face. Reaching for a towel, she noticed a small handkerchief in the corner of the table, folded all neatly. Has this always been here..? She slowly picked it up, looking around. A soft spring breeze was blowing through the window, tickling the curtains. She peered out, hoping for some sort of sign. Little mysteries...Paulette said they always have little mysteries happen… Had anyone investigated? Perhaps at first, surely...but from Paulette's casual tone, these mysteries must not be anything to worry about. Besides, someone seemed to be looking after her. A stranger of course, but a stranger who cared. How long has it been? Feeling the tears threaten to start all over again, she quickly closed the window, taking a deep breath. The mystery could wait. She had work to do.