Author's Note: Hey y'all! So, I've always liked Phantom of the Opera, and decided, 'hey, why not write a fanfic!' So here I am. This story takes place pre-canon events of both the book and the Broadway musical - slightly AU-ish. Please enjoy!

The Phantom liked to fantasize that the Opera House that he called his home, was also his kingdom. He had no birthright or people to call his own, but he pretended that he reigned over this small part of the world. The divas and orchestra were his court. The auditorium, when deserted at night, was his ballroom. The abandoned balcony tucked away from wandering eyes and people alike, was his throne.

He was perched in his special place as usual, quietly watching the activity below. On this particular day, the opera house was abuzz with apprehension. Stagehands scurried back and forth across the stage. Costume designers feverishly followed around the divas and sopranos, checking their dresses and make-up. The Maestro was in a frenzy, as he shouted orders left and right at everyone who dared crossed him. However, no one below had the slightest idea that they already had an audience - that being the Phantom.

Everyone in his court was excited, and rightfully so. It was their last rehearsal before the grand opening of the great opera tragedy, Antony and Cleopatra. Their excitement was nearly infectious, yet the Phantom could not shake dark musings from his head.

What is the point of a king without his subjects? Palace? This is just my prison. The Phantom mused, embittered.

His thoughts were interrupted by a shrill scream and a crash.

"Why - why you clumsy oaf!" A feminine voice shrieked from below. He cringed upon hearing her voice - he had no need to look, because anyone could recognize that strident tone anywhere - the Palais Garnier's prima donna, Carlotta.

The Phantom peered down, to see that people formed a circle around Carlotta. At her feet was a shattered porcelain mask, the face for Cleopatra. A young fellow was sprawled at the floor, as he desperately tried to scoop up the pieces. The Maestro stormed to the scene, and screamed at the poor man to scramble off stage, then flew to the prima donna's side.

"Oh Maestro, what are we to do now? That buffoon ruined my mask!" Carlotta's voice wailed. It practically grated against the Phantom's ears.

He cursed under his breath, and turned away from the scene. Like a shadow, the Phantom moved through the wooden beams and briskly navigated his way towards the backstage. It would be a shame if the production ended because of some costume mishap - leave it to him to salvage the show.

Little Aimée was bored, hot, and stuffy. She was stuffed into her itchy petticoats and frock, then whisked away to her Auntie Carlotta's workplace. If she had it her way, she would've loved to explore the Opera House. But no, her caretaker, Estelle, shoved her on a chair and left her with nothing but a doll to play with. Aimée traced the doll's face, and frowned at the texture. It wasn't even her favorite doll!

"Estelle? Estelle, I'm hungry." She called out.

Aimée paused and strained to hear if the older woman was rushing to her side. Nothing. She frowned when she heard nothing but heavy footsteps and shouts from front stage. She pouted and sulked deeper into her chair. Oh, how she was so bored! At least at home, she had toys and games to play. Now she had to sit still and pretty until Estelle returned.

The little girl fumed to herself for a few moments, too caught up in her ill tempered thoughts to pay attention to the sound of someone approaching her.

He was only a foot away from her, when Aimée caught the whiff of charcoal and freshly baked bread. Her eyes widened and she straightened up from her chair.

"Clement!" She squealed before jumping into his arms.

Her friend staggered backwards with a hearty laugh, and he scooped her into his skinny arms. Aimée screamed with joy, surprised from the force of being thrown into the air. He settled her back on the chair and tapped her on the nose.

"Hello, hello mon-chou! Why are you back here looking so gloomy, eh?"

Her bright smile dropped for a moment, replaced with an unfitting frown.

"Estelle and Auntie dragged me all the way here, with nothing for me to do! I'm so dreadfully bored!" She exclaimed. "And hungry, too." She hastily added, when her stomach grumbled all over again.

"Ah, such a shame, such a shame." Clement sucked his teeth and ruffled her hair. She giggled and batted his hands away.

"Now, don't tell anyone, but I stole a little something from the buffet table…" She felt him lean closer, from the way his forehead nearly bumped her nose. He stuffed something in her hands, and she testily sniffed it. Vanilla and peaches. Cake! No questions asked, Aimée began to stuff her face. She made a sound of delight when the sweet icing hit her tongue. Clement laughed. "Slow down there! You're acting like you haven't eaten in a full moon, eh?"

"Clement! Come out here! Your idiot brother has done it again!"

Aimée frowned at the sound of the thunderous voice. The Maestro. A very mean and loud man. Everytime he talked, he shouted, and it made her ears hurt. A very mean man indeed. Clement sighed, and muttered something Aimée couldn't quite make out.

"Ah, me for pity. The slavemaster calls again." The floorboards creaked as he got up. Mournfully, Aimée tugged at his shirt.

"Don't leave Clement," She begged through a mouthful of cake. "You can play with me instead!"

"Petite-chou, you know how it goes. I have to do my job."

She scowled at his answer, and crossed her arms. Clement sighed once again.

"Mm, it's not right for a rascal your age to be cooped up...tell you what, I have a task for you to do!"

She perked up at his proposal, and puffed up her chest.

"A task?"

"Indeed! I need you to bring these pair of shoes to the costume room."

Something is pushed into her hands. Aimée ran her hands over the new object - it was smooth and velvety, covered in some hard stones.

"Your Auntie was complaining how these shoes were so tight, and I was supposed to return them -"

"CLEMENT! Get your bony ass out here, so the gods help me!"

"- but, the Maestro calls. Can you deliver them for me, Aimée?"

Happily, she nodded. She would do anything if it meant not sitting around and doing nothing.

There was a costume room, filled with fine garments, gowns, and suits as far as the eye can see. Despite the exquisite array of costumes, the room was in a state of disarray. Porcelain masks and powdered wigs laid strewn across the floor. Mirrors were covered with dresses and fabrics. There were a few mannequins covered in a network of petticoats and unfinished dresses.

Most importantly, it was empty - and so, the Phantom made his move.

He stepped out of the darkness, from one of his many secret passages. His sharp eyes scoured the room for any masks matching the Cleopatra costume. He was sure there was one somewhere - albeit a slightly different color scheme, but at this point the prima donna had to take what she could get. With this goal in mind, the Phantom began to rummage through some chests. He mindlessly discarded capes, heels, and props to the side. One mask caught his eye - a pallid mask, made from fine white leather.

The Phantom stopped, mesmerized by this face he picked up. How wonderful would it be, to just slip into a mask and walk among men! It's a fool's dream, but a dream, nevertheless. He shook his head, and pocketed this new treasure. When he reached the bottom of the chest, he resumed his search through another pile.

Perhaps he was too dedicated to his cause, or became careless from years of living in the shadows. He was so caught up in his search for the Cleopatra mask, he failed to notice the door opening behind him.

He managed to unbox a round velvet box, and made a sound of triumph - a Cleopatra mask! It was chipped away at some places, but it was nothing that a paint job couldn't cover up. The Phantom swiftly tucked the mask under his arm, and rose to take his leave - but froze at the sound of off-key humming.

Instincts kicked in. The Phantom darted off behind a rack of suits and jackets. Feverishly, he prayed to himself that the intruder won't question his presence - people walked in and out of the costumes room all of the time. Why should he be the exception? Rational thought fell on deaf ears. His heart pounded so hard, he feared the intruder might as well heard him from his hiding spot. He crouched to the floor and peeked through the clothes.

The intruder was nothing but a child. She wore a light blue petticoat, with copper buttons lined up at her chest. From where he was hiding, he could not see her face, but he can make out her shining black hair which fell short at her shoulders. The child sang a merry tune under her breath, as she wandered the room.

"Avait bon caquet, Jean de la Lune, Jean de la Lune!"

From how oblivious the child was acting, hope surged back in the Phantom's veins. Perhaps the intruder had not seen him after all - by god, he was safe! He quietly took a deep breath. He just had to wait, and then he shall be safe again. A simple task. This thought put him at ease, and so, he settled down and waited for the child to complete her task.

As he observed her some more, he found something a bit odd about the little girl. She held a cane in her hand, and used it to tap and poke around the place. Often, she either bumped or tripped over things. The child relished in rubbing her hands on everything - she was lovingly caressing a silk gown right now, in fact. A strange child indeed. He only hoped she would just hurry up and leave.

The child dropped the dress, and turned around. Under the lukewarm light, he saw her round face much clearer now. Rosy cheeks and an absent minded smile - fitting characteristics for a little girl. Her eyes though, were most peculiar. The Phantom could not identify the color, but from his position, he can see that her eyes weren't particularly...fixed on anything. Many times, he was sure her gaze swept over him, but she made no reaction to his appearance.

How bizarre indeed. The Phantom noted, intrigued by this small creature.

He watched her stumble through the costume room, close on her way out - but she walked right into a table. This table was stacked with relics and forgotten props alike - swords, shields, hourglasses, and trinkets. However, someone had thoughtlessly placed a marble bust right on the edge of the table. The sudden movement disturbed the bust, and it tittered over the edge, plummeting straight for the child's head.

Or, it would've plummeted on her head, if it weren't for the Phantom's reflexes.

Like a panther, he shot out of his hiding place, and yanked the little girl out of harm's way. The marble bust crashed against the floor and split into two. He exhaled, relieved to have averted a crisis.

The weight of his mistake instantly crashed upon him.

The little girl was looking up at him with an open mouth. Her expression was dazed. He expected something along the lines of screaming or crying. Either she was one very brave or very stupid child. Fear seized his heart, and he scrambled to get away.

"Don't look at me!" He hoarsely pleaded, and backed away from her.

He did his best to shield his face, pathetically covering his monstrous face with the pallid mask he found earlier. It's far too late. She's seen you! She's seen you! Hopefully he reacted fast enough to preserve her innocence - but his secret, his kingdom, his deformity was exposed. He squeezed his eyes shut and prepared for the worse.

A few seconds past - and nothing came. Suddenly, the child laughed and spoke:

"Thank you for saving me, good mister!"

Appalled, the Phantom peeked through the mask. The child was still standing there, listlessly looking at his direction. There was no horrified expression, no tears, no fear on her cherub face. Rather, there was a dreamy smile - a smile at him. She continued to speak to him of all people.

"I can't see you though - really, I can't see anything!"

Author's Note: Mmh, the Phantom is just a ball of anxiety, and rightfully so. I hope you guys like my OC, Aimee! She's such a darling, isn't she? Reviews are much appreciated!