Full Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera in any way, shape or form and receive no payment for creating this except the pleasure of writing it. No offense or copyright infringement is intended. I own the OCs, but nothing recognizable from canon belongs to me.

Special thanks to Lady Catkin for all of her support.

Changeling

Chapter 1

Nice girls didn't have babies before they were married.

Heart bashing against her chest like a lunatic against a wall, the girl dragged herself to the side of the dark street, a hand pressed to her stomach as panic bombarded her. In the dim glow from the streetlights, she tipped her head back and drank in the sharp, cold night air. The twinges had started when she was in the baker's shop, but like an idiot she'd dismissed them as cramps - or women's troubles. Women's troubles! She could almost laugh given the slight but definite curve of her belly, the bump she'd tried so desperately to conceal.

Drowning in her terror, she took another deep breath and set her sights on the bridge close by. Three. Two. One. Her feet flew over the cobbles, stumbling down the street, down the steps, under the bridge to the docks. Her knees turned to water beneath her, dropping her in the dirt. By some miracle she managed to crawl towards a wall, whimpering as a ghostly hand squeezed her insides, tighter and tighter until she thought she might burst. Had she been in any other condition, she never would have set foot in the docks. If nothing else, the place was filthy; beer bottles laid smashed, peppering the dirt with tiny daggers; the water cackled as it danced, just covering the noises of the empty street above; and as for the smell! But it was quiet, secluded, safe, so it would do.

Finding the strength to sit up, she placed her palms on the dirt and dragged herself back until the cold wall touched her skin. If she felt the needles of glass sinking into her hands, she didn't cry out. Now what? Before she could find an answer, she felt yet another twinge of pain. Muffled sobs rippling in the air, she forced her knees apart and obeyed the urge to push, biting down hard on her wrist to stop herself from screaming. The pain! Was it meant to hurt so much? Women had been giving birth for centuries- it couldn't be this difficult, surely. Digging her bitten nails into the palms of her hands, she moved her hand, took a gasp of air and bit down on her lower lip until blood slipped over her tongue. Lost and horribly alone, she somehow managed a push, then another, then another final push, and with a hot, slippery rush, it was over, at least for a few minutes before something else pushed its way through- just a silvery blue lump, glistening grey in the darkness, thank God, not another baby.

Before she had a spare moment to breathe, a tiny voice made her bend forward. Between her feet, a tiny, squirming creature wriggled about, squealing its poor little lungs out. A thick, grisly red ribbon trailed between the two, a link of love tying child to mother, mother to child. To anyone else, the new-born might have looked little different to a doll in the darkness, but the fascinated girl drank in each feature, each movement. Was he her baby? Cautiously lifting the small, squirming infant onto her lap, something pierced the girl's skin, an intense emotion too fantastic for words. Her pain, her fear, her worry- gone, eclipsed by love for this beautiful baby. Her baby.

Comfortable that she wouldn't be seen, she fumbled with the strings of her corset. After all, it didn't take a great physician to know that she couldn't have whatever that slimy mass was dangling off her baby, she realised, snapping a length of ribbon off and tying it around the fleshy rope between them, pulling until it snapped. Once that was out of the way, she hesitated, fear pinning her to the spot as she stared at the little boy before lifting him to her breast. When her body finally began to behave like a mother's body, the baby latched on. At least one of them knew what to do. Once he refused to take any more milk, she wiped the thick red and yellow slime off his features, taking in the perfect cupid's bow, those chubby cheeks, the ten tiny fingers in tight little fists. A little boy. Her darling, precious little boy.

And already she'd let him down, she realised, remembering how she'd ended up in this mess. As much as she'd have liked to think it was the drink, her condition was caused by a few measly words:

'If you loved me, you would.'

How many other girls had fallen for that lie? she wondered. Funny. She'd always thought she was such a sensible girl- too sensible to fall from grace- but because the stars were out and her head was full of rum and because she wanted it to be true, she believed him. She realised the next day that he hadn't loved her- loved her for those few minutes of fumbling in the dark, maybe, but not real love. Nothing like she loved this baby.

Would he grow up to hate her? After all, this was her fault: no one had pinned her down, no one had held a knife to her throat, and she knew this could happen. Barely a minute after that rush of love, shame oozed into her veins.

How was she going to look after him? A little prince deserved a palace- she'd be lucky to scrape a few francs together for a hovel. Even worse, she knew that he'd never be respectable. At best, someone might let him shine their shoes for a living. At worst... well, that wouldn't happen. But she'd made that life for him; she'd doomed him to being looked down on through no fault of his own. You stupid, stupid girl, she wanted to shout. How hadn't she thought ahead? How many times had she heard the other girls giggling about how someone or other went off with a boy and came back with a bastard?

Bastard. The word was hot oil bubbling on her skin. What sort of person thought of that word when they saw a baby? How could anyone see a sweet little creature like her child and see anything other than a gift from God?

Well to Hell with prying eyes and to hell with herself, if needs be. Her baby would be safe, she decided, clutching him to her like the most important thing in the world as she lost the battle with exhaustion.