"Dang it," the girl muttered as she stuffed a hoodie and a water bottle into her bag. "Horrible. Ungraceful. Untalented."

"Are you alright?" Came a soft voice from behind the dressing room door.

"Come in, Mari," Catherine sighed, angrily zipping her bag shut. "I blew it."

"You blew what?" Mari asked, opening the door.

"The performance, Mariah. I blew it."

"You're overreacting," Mariah laughed. In her best Meg impression, she sang, "Really, you were perfect. I only wish-"

"You can stop there. I was awful, a complete mess," Catherine scoffed, cutting her friend off bluntly.

Mariah eagerly placed a comforting hand on Catherine's shoulder. "Cathy, I mean it. You were fantastic. Just like Emmy Rossum herself."

"Emmy Rossum? More like Sierra Boggess," Catherine muttered.

Mari looked at her friend with confusion. "But you don't like the way Sierra portrays Christine Daaé. I believe your exact words were "worst Christine ever.'"

Catherine sighed at her friend's obliviousness. "Exactly."

"Well, I happen to like Sierra, for your information. And I think that you were as good as both Christines combined."

Catherine chucked both of her ballet shoes at her friend. "Mariah Gerry, I appreciate the compliment, but face it. I sucked. That was the worst performance of my life."

"Really?" Mari smirked, reaching her hand toward a red rose with a note attached that was resting gently on the vanity. "Then, why, Catherine Daei, do you already have a letter from one of your adoring fans?"

Catherine took the letter from her friend and read the contents:

Miss Daei,

The angels wept tonight. I do not speak of your performance as Miss Christine Daaé, though equally satisfactory. I speak of your solo behind stage right. Don't we all want to dance with somebody? Thank you for your gift. I have not smiled in that manner for quite some time. I am pleased.

Your Obedient Servant

"Is this some sick joke?" Cath asked, waving the letter in front of her friend's face. "You put this there, didn't you?"

"Of course not. I'm in the dark."

"Mademoiselle, don't argue. If you didn't write this, who did?"

Mariah thought for a moment. "I suppose the Palais Garnier has an Opera Ghost of it's own," she chuckled.

"I will finally get to meet my Erik!" Catherine exclaimed with a laugh.

Mari sat down on the small sofa, and grabbed a box of heart-shaped, European chocolates that had been placed on the cushion next to her. "Well, then, he would fit your type. Dark, handsome, and slightly insane," Mariah noted, popping a candy in her mouth.

"Was that a shot at my boyfriend?" Catherine asked indignantly.

"Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn't," came the reply. "And if you haven't noticed, your boyfriend is blonde."

Catherine sat next to her friend and gave her a little shove. "You hardly know Caleb. Who are you to judge him?"

"I've known him longer than you have and I know that he can't sing to save his life," Mariah laughed, moving to the door. "Well, I'm going to change. Meet me at the coffee shop in twenty minutes. An hour if I run into the cute guy that plays Joseph Buquet."

"Jeremy Baker?" Catherine questioned with a look of disgust.

"Yeah, that's him."

Catherine picked up a pointe shoe and chucked it at her friend again, but Mariah was too quick. She shut the door, and the slipper hit it, falling to the floor below.

"See you later," Mari called from behind the door before she walked away.

Cath walked over to the vanity and picked up the note again. It was a harmless prank, evidently meant to cause her alarm.

You see, her mother had used to sing her Whitney Houston, when she was younger. It had become a bit of a pre-performance ritual. Singing that music reminded Cath of the mother that she missed so terribly. Not many people knew, just Mariah and Caleb.

"Caleb," the girl sighed. "He had to have written this."

Gathering her things, Catherine locked her dressing room door and exited the theater, into the bustling streets of Paris, France.

When she reached the coffee shop, Mariah was nowhere in sight.

"She ran into Jeremy again," Catherine thought. She sat down at their normal table and waited. After ten minutes, she pulled a book out of her bag and began to read.

"There you go with the books again," A familiar voice.

Catherine looked up and exclaimed, "Caleb!" She jumped into her boyfriend's arms and kissed him on the cheek. "I got your note."

"What note? I didn't leave you a note."

"Yes, you did. On my vanity," Catherine said, pulling the paper and rose out of her bag and presenting it to the man.

"This isn't from me," Caleb replied as he read the contents of the small letter. "I swear, this isn't my handwriting."

"If you didn't write it, then who did?" Catherine asked in confusion. She had been sure that Caleb was the one to write her the note, but he was denying it. She could tell by the look in his eyes that his words were genuine.

"It appears the Garnier has an Opera Ghost."