A little girl sits by the window, looking out at the falling snowflakes. They tumble to the ground, where they gather and unite to create a protective sheet. It is cold. There is condensation on the windowpane. The girl lifts a finger to the glass and draws a heart. Her brown curls are tied with a black ribbon. Her dress is black, too. Everything is black and white. There is no color. The colors she once knew had left her world.
She doesn't want to go. Why should she leave her black and white sanctuary for another? What was the church compared to the opera house? Why couldn't they hold the funeral here? This is where she belongs. This was where her father belonged. That is why she does not want to go.
Madame Giry tells her to put on her winter coat. She tells Meg to put on hers as well. She helps both of them fasten their buttons and tie their shoe laces. Madame Giry is kind. Strict, but kind. Especially now. Her voice is soft and gentle, spoken in perfect French. The girl is still learning to master this new language, so different from her mother tongue. Without her father around to help her, she fears she might not make it. Without her father, she fears many things.
The ceremony is short, but her feet are cold nonetheless. She places a red rose on the casket, whispers farewell and returns to Madame Giry who holds her hand in a steady grip. "Be brave, child," she says as they turn around and leave. "How?" she wants to ask. "How can I be brave?" But she doesn't. She simply looks over her shoulder one last time. Before it's too late.
The halls are dark and cold. There is no light to guide her. Her footsteps echo as she runs. She runs as fast as her tiny legs can carry her. She runs to get away. Runs to be alone. It's hard to breathe. The tears threaten to choke her. Still she does not stop. Nothing can stop her. Except maybe… a voice.
Slowing down is easy. Her legs are tired. She stops, tries to control her breath. Tries to listen for the voice, but all she hears is the pounding of her heart. She closes her eyes, takes deep breaths. There. She hears it. It resonates through her very soul. The sound is not of this world. Not like anything she's ever heard before. It's heavenly.
She follows it, note by note, step by step. Soon, she reaches a door. It stands ajar. Giving it a gentle push, it swings open with a soft creak. Moonlight shines through a window, bathing the floor in pearly white. A lone figure stands in the light. Tall and dark, wearing a long, sweeping cape. A man. He sings his last note, long and soft. His voice never wavers. Not once. The girl is entranced. When the last echo dies, she takes a step forward. "Hello," she says. The man turns and his face glows white in the moonlight. It's almost blinding. Quickly, he turns away and retreats to the shadows. "No, wait!" she calls and runs after him. "Please don't go!" She stops short of the line between the light and the shadows. "I feel so lonely." Hearing this mysterious voice made her realize that she did not want to be alone after all.
His back is turned to her. He stops and considers her words. Hearing her small voice pleading, asking him to stay was almost like hearing himself. He recognizes that longing. That yearning for unconditional love and comfort. The girl attempts to come closer, but he warns her off. "Don't come any closer, child!" His fear is mistaken for anger and she backs away, startled. He lowers his voice. He didn't mean to frighten the poor thing. "Stay where you are." She obeys without question. Then, she asks,
"Are you the angel of music?"
An angel? The question gives him pause. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. He brings a hand to his face, feels the mask beneath his fingertips. Touching the cool and hard surface sometimes made him believe he wasn't really a man, but a gargoyle. A stone cold, ugly creature. For a moment, he believes he can feel his skin beneath it. Smooth and warm. But he knows better. It couldn't be farther from the truth. His smile fades. No. He is not an angel. He is the Devil's child and nothing more.
She recalls her father's last words. 'När jag är i himmelen, mitt barn, ska jag skänka dig musikens ängel.' This had to be the angel. She could feel it. "Will you sing for me?" she asks. "Please?" Another voice calls from the outside.
"Christine! Christine, where are you?" The girl gasps.
"Madame Giry! She's looking for me."
"Then you must go to her," the angel says. She starts for the door, then stops and lingers for a moment.
"I will come back," she says to the angel. "I promise. Promise me you'll come back, too."
She has a broken accent, but he still understands. Christine. It was a beautiful name. For the first time, he dares to turn his head and glance over his shoulder. He has nothing to fear. The shadows keep him hidden. If anyone should be afraid, it is her. However, she shows no sign of fear where she stands in the glimmering light, innocence and purity personified. This girl, this child, was everything he was not. He was a monster. But he wasn't heartless.
"I promise."
This is my first POTO fanfic and I quite like how it turned out. In case you didn't already know, Christine is actually Swedish and as it happens, so am I, which makes me feel a little bit closer to her. I also studied French for six years, so I know the language a little bit. The title is the Swedish translation of "The Angel of Music" and the sentence I added in the fic is what Christine's father tells her before he dies: "When I'm in heaven, child, I will send you the Angel of Music." So yeah, a little Swedish for you guys to learn. ;)