When he first came to the opera house, Chris thought the place to be gorgeous, mysterious, and just a tad frightening. The other dancers treated him kindly, the stagehands were indifferent, and the stars didn't even seem to notice him. That was fine by him. Attention was never something that her craved like the air he breathed.

The place was even more mysterious than he would have guessed. Although he was a mere child of seven when he came here, the feeling had never gone away. There was always the feeling that somebody was watching him. When he was young, he had waved away the sensations, dismissing them as demons that lurked about. But now that he was nineteen, the feeling remained. The presence even spoke to him at times. It was like having a friend constantly watching over you, so he never told anybody. His guardian angel was what kept him going through the day. She would always be there, waiting patiently to sing him into the stupor of sleep.

" I will not tolerate this kind of mistreatment!" A shrill voice rang out through the theater. Everybody rolled his or her eyes, including Chris. The leading man was a spoiled, difficult fellow who never hesitated to make a scene. Now, during rehearsal, he was yelling at he costume makers for making his helmet too tight. " Please, sir Bouvire, we apologize for the mistake." a stout woman tried to coax Sir Bouvire out of his tantrum state. The man just then threw his hat to the ground and stormed dramatically from the stage. A multitude of brownnosers and desperados immediately scrambled after him. The chorus boys and girls started to chatter about the awful man. A blond ballerina stated, "His great fat head probably swelled from all the attention he was soaking up." Everybody giggled. Chris smiled shyly. He didn't like to draw attention to himself when he was wearing a skin-tight leotard.

With the crowd of Bouvire's advocates gone, everybody could see who was standing at the back of the theater. A woman and two men were talking quietly, not glancing at the stage. The two men were the managers, Andre and Firmin. Andre was a short, white-haired creature that carried around a cane, used to rap idle stagehands. Firmin towered over Andre, possessing a curly moustache and an air of unbearable pompousness. Both of them made a dynamic duo, one that was not very well liked. The woman had not been around the opera house before. Everybody eyed the girl curiously, especially the boys. She had great green eyes, so large that hey almost dominated her entire face. Her light golden hair was tied back into a neat bun and the frock she wore was neither extravagant nor shabby. Chris squinted at the young woman. She seemed so familiar. " Oh, my God." That was Riley. She had been his best friend as a child, like a sister to him. You could even go as far as to call them sweethearts. The triumvirate then left the theater, the dancers left to whisper. " Who is that girl?" was the question that flew around the theater most. Chris lowered his gaze even farther. She would not remember him.

Their instructor, Madame Giry came back onto the stage, waving her stick in the air. Her young daughter Meg followed close behind. He waved at Meg. She waved back. They were friends, so she was one of the few who he was not deathly shy around.

With that action coincided a strange occurrence. A cloud that was used for the performances fell to the stage with an earsplitting crash. It crushed Bouvire's hat, which sat helpless in its path. The chorus girls screamed while the boys gasped. A dark figure bolted from the catwalks, back into the shadows. As the cloud of sawdust cleared, they noticed that a red rose had been left. Chris scurried forth to retrieve it. That was odd. His mysterious singing tutor usually gave him one of these if he did well. Quite a strange pastime for angels, wreaking havoc on a rehearsal.

The conductor then sprinted back onto the stage, upsetting Madame Giry's bench. "Do any of you have chocolates somewhere? Sir Bouvire," he spat the name, "calls for chocolates. or else he will not perform." Madame Giry snorted as she stood up, brushing dust off her dress. " I think," She hissed, " Zat it is time to find a new star. Why don't you try Chris Daae over there?" Chris flinched at the sound of his own name. "M-me?" he stuttered looking to his fellow dancers for help. Meg just shrugged t him.

" Yes, he has been taking lessons from a great teacher." The conductor looked surprised. " But he is nothing more than a simple chorus boy!" Madame Giry shrugged in a "So what?" manner. The conductor sighed, waving his hand in defeat. " Alright, then, from the top." The dancers stepped back a few paces, leaving Chris out in the open. Gulping loudly, he stepped to the front of the stage. Taking a deep shuddering breath, he sang:

My summer's love My summer's sweetheart true My own angel from the west

She stole my heart

And with it ran away

And left me with no lover's rest

A stunned silence roared through the theater. All anybody could hear was the shouting of Sir Bouvire in the distance. Meg smiled, motioning Chris to go on. He smiled back, suddenly feeling a lot stronger.

And she was gone

Like a snow flake in the breeze

Never to return

I try to forget

To put it in the past

From my mistakes I try to learn

Although she was a mere summer's love

A girl of dream

She still stokes my heart to burn!

Everybody cheered. Madame Giry nodded her approval. The conductor stood dumbstruck. He had no idea that this kind of talent could lay within a mere chorus boy. "Bravo!" He shouted, "we have found our new star!" Meg smiled at Chris again. He felt as if shyness were nothing but a mere hindrance now. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he heard a female voice croon, "Brava, Brava, Bravissima" He closed his eyes. His angel of music had helped him triumph.