Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters. They belong to that of Gaston Leroux, Lloyd Webber, and Susan Kay.

Note: This story is mostly based on Leroux's novel with bits from Lloyd Webber's musical. However, I added some changes, which I hope you find to your liking. I will edit my story until I am satisfied so I would appreciate feedback. Finally, thanks to erik'sangel527 for comments.

Ch. 1

He laid there in the darkness deep down below the Paris Opera House, lulling halfway between the conscious world and the unconscious. There was nothing. All he could hear was the sound of his own shallow breathing. Sleep was a luxury for him, something that came only rarely. Usually he was up all night composing his opera. It was only then during those few precious hours of slumber that he was at peace. There was no sorrow or pain he had to deal with. It was only him, longing for that eternal sleep.

This was as close to death as he could possibly be.

This night, however, sleep managed to elude him. Something was nagging at his brain and he could not withstand its power. Slowly, Erik climbed out of his coffin, once again entering the conscious world.

"Christine Daae!"

Christine jumped at the sound of Mme. Giry's voice. "Sorry, Mme. Giry."

She had been daydreaming again.

"Christine, is everything all right?" Meg, her best friend, asked.

"Girls!" Mme. Giry's staff pounded on the stage floor. "Come, practice is meant for dancing, not talking."

Meg still looked at Christine for an answer as she jumped in step with the other girls. Of course nothing was all right. Everything was awful! It had been six years since her father's death and here she was, still a chorus girl. His aspirations for her were somewhat different…

Christine followed Meg, and gave a slight nod as a reply to her question. She tried as best as she could dancing in time with the rest of the group, but her heart was not into it.

What am I still doing here? Christine thought as she went through the motions. Oh, Papa…

Practice continued for another hour, but it seemed like an eternity to her. It was the same thing day after day.

"Christine, what is wrong?" Meg asked after practice was through. "Please tell me."

She looked around. Everyone had left, they were alone on stage.

"I-" the words stuck in her throat as tears began to swell in her eyes. "Oh, Meg!"

Meg had become accustomed to Christine's fits. As long as Meg had known her she always seemed like she was disconnected from everyone and everything. She knew Meg was tired of her acting this way and wished she would move on, but she didn't tell Christine because she was her friend.

"I know, Christine," Meg said as she embraced her. "Everything is going to be all right."

Christine pulled away. "No, it won't, Meg!"

She suddenly felt lost on this stage. Meg watched as she wandered around for a moment dazed.

Meg sighed, "I know you have had a hard life, Christine, and I know how hard it is to move on-"

"No, you don't!" Christine shouted.

The tears began to flow.

"You don't know how hard it is for me to wake up every single day and know that there is nobody there for me! That I am completely alone in this world!"

She saw Meg bow her head and began to fumble with her skirt, a habit of hers when she felt upset.

"But you have me," Meg replied quietly.

"I know and I am so happy that we're friends, but…I want what you have."

"Meg gave her a confused look.

"I mean with your mother…Mme. Giry."

Meg laughed.

"At least you have a mother, Meg."

Mme. Giry was hardly a real mother to Meg. Their relationship was more like teacher and student rather than mother and daughter. Mme. Giry always pushed her to do the best she could, and when she failed to do so, there was a price to pay. Meg confessed to Christine that she did not understand why her mother acted so. She was not the best dancer in the history of the Paris Opera and it seemed no amount of practice would make her so. But, to the surprise (and jealousy of the other girls) she was given the title of principal dancer by M. Poligny.

"What about your Angel?"

Now it was Christine's turn to laugh.

"Meg that was a story my father once told me. I know now there is no such thing."

"How do you know that? Have you ever bothered to find out?"

"Meg, I was at the conservatory for four years and my Angel never came. If he did exist he would have come then."

"Well, maybe he will come now," Meg said, in one last effort to uplift her friend.

Christine did not reply. For the longest time she had believed in an Angel of Music who would come to her when she sang and make her a great opera singer. However, he never came and so one day she just stopped believing.

"Christine," Meg stepped close to her. "Come on. What's the harm?"

Christine looked out at the empty seats. Perhaps Meg was right, maybe the Angel of Music would come now.

She opened her mouth and began to sing.