1

I was utterly appalled at the way Monsieur Leroux depicted each person in his book-for they were real people, after all. I, myself, was one of the main "characters" in his work. Monsieur Leroux was indeed very animated in his writing. Unfortunately, most of it was a farce. Merely put there to keep the reader turning the next page. I am going to tell you what happened over the course of the time, because I'll never forget it. Not one second, because it was the most riveting, exhilarating time in my life.

I stood, gripping a bouquet of roses so tightly it hurt. I took a deep breath, but it did little to ease my frayed nerves. I refused to cry, no matter what happened. Madame Giry placed a hand on my back, nudging me forward ever so slightly. I reached out and placed the flowers on the coffin, walking back to Giry, who was the only mother figure I had ever really known. With the roses on the coffin, it began its descent into the ground. I couldn't stand to watch; that was my father! Why did he have to go? I still needed him, he couldn't have gone! But no, he was gone, and there was nothing I could do about it. The realization stung me more than anything in my 14 year-old life ever had.

My dress rustled as I crossed the street to the Opera house. I looked up at the entrance, its magnificent beauty never failing to awe me, even after almost eight years. I briefly remembered walking up to it the first time when I was thirteen and the opulence of it was staggering. Daddy stood and looked with me for a minute or two and then led me op to the doors. I'd been living there ever since. Daddy had gotten a job as a stage hand with a man named Joseph Buquet. Of course, he fully intended to still play his violin. He always refused a job that wouldn't allow him the time to play. And it worked out doubly, because I was just old enough to be a part of the chorus.

A slight movement caught my eye, and I turned my head to see what it was. Nothing. My eyebrows furrowed with curiosity, and I thought to further investigate, but I decided against it. I had to find Meg! I went up the first flight of stairs to her mother's dressing room. The door was open, so I peeked in. No one was there. She must be with the ballet corps. I scurried down to halls and to a right into a room that smelled like perfume, with a tinge of alcohol. I wrinkled my nose slightly; the two scents did not make a good combination. I quickly spotted Meg and waved to her.

Meg was on the taller side for an eighteen year-old girl, but slim and graceful from years of ballet. She had green eyes and soft looking blond hair that had a slight wave to it and bounced when she walked. Waving back, she came over to me. "What's so important that you came looking for me?" she asked, leading me out of the range of the other dancers eager ears. I looked at her, smiling lightly, as if it were nothing.

"You remember that young man I befriended several years ago? Raoul? I saw him in the square today," I said excitedly. There was good reason for excitement, I felt. Raoul was very good looking, with his sandy brown hair and dark eyes. He had a strong jaw that was defined and masculine looking, and broad shoulders that fit his height. Let alone the fact that he came from a noble family.

"Really?" Meg asked. "Oh, the way you described him Christine, he must be a dream!" I blushed.

"Well..," I began, letting the sentence trail off, then began again. "We were certainly close friends when I was younger. But then I came here with Daddy, and Raoul went off somewhere else. His family never exactly approved of our friendship."

Meg's forehead creased slightly. "Oh, that's too bad." I shrugged. It was almost eight years ago, and I hadn't talked to him since. The young dancer's eyes wandered to the clock, and she gasped. "Oh, Christine, I almost forgot! The new managers are having a meeting, and they're asking everyone in the Opera house to attend! We'll be late if we don't hurry," she said, taking my hand and dragging me down the halls and, eventually, onto the stage where everyone was crowded around the managers, straining to see and hear.

"… and as your new managers, we are happy to present the Opera house's new patron, the de Chagny family!" said Richard, a short, chubby man with graying hair. I felt my heart beat faster. De Chagny was Raoul's last name. If his family was sponsoring the Opera, there was a chance that I would be seeing him more often. Even as I was thinking that, Raoul stepped forward to say something.

"My brother and I are pleased to be supporting the Paris Opera house, and are looking forward to the upcoming show," he said. His brother, Philippe, nodded in confirmation. Phillippe, the Comte, wasn't the most charismatic chap, leaving the public speaking to his younger brother. Because Raoul was charming, charismatic, and good looking, he was an ideal choice to represent their family, especially since both their parents had died.

I bit my lip slightly, hoping to catch Raoul's eye, but not really sure what I would do if I did. I could see him scanning the assembled group. I kept my eyes on him, despite Meg's excited chattering. He didn't see me, and I felt a twinge of disappointment. Meg was talking to me, and I finally focused my attention on her.

"Oh, having the de Chagny sponsoring the Opera will be just splendid! Oh, and that young man who spoke was so handsome!" Meg continued to talk all the way back to the dancers' room. I waited until she finished talking, just outside the dormitory. "Christine, you haven't said a word the whole time! Aren't you excited?"

I couldn't help but laugh. "Meg, you've been talking the whole way back! How could I?" I smiled at her good naturedly, and she looked slightly embarrassed, but recovered quickly.

"Well?"

"Meg," I said, still laughing. "That young man was Raoul!" Meg's face went wide then, and she gasped. I laughed again. I think Meg was actually speechless for a split second.

"Christine, you should have interrupted me for something like that!" she hit me playfully. I smiled again, still chuckling. I waved goodbye to Meg, and headed off to the chorus girls' dormitory. Rehearsal was about to start and I still had to get into costume.

I always looked forward to rehearsal. Well, anything really that had to do with music. It reminded me of my father, but not only that. It always brought me alive, and made my skin tingle. I loved to sing. I never really thought that I would make it past the chorus, but that was enough for me, just so long as I had an opportunity to sing, I was content.

Rehearsal went smoothly. We had just finished the choruses most complex number, of which there was much fuss over. The chorus master, George, pulled me aside for a brief moment into the far wing of stage right. "Christine," he said in an undertone. "I want to pull you out of the chorus."

"Why?" I said, nearly in tears. "Have I done something wrong?"

"No, quite the opposite, Christine," he said. "I think you're ready for a small part." My heart pounded. "I'll have you sing a little later, I'm sure you're familiar with the part of Siebel, no?" I nodded conformation. Faust was a well known play, and Siebel was a familiar part to every chorus girl at the opera. It wasn't too complicated, but it was entertaining. George continued. "Since you'll no longer be a part of the chorus, you'll be awarded your own dressing room." He handed me the key. "It's the farthest one on the right. You may arrange it to suit your needs, and after rehearsal, move all your things into it… Your voice has regained its sparkle, Christine."

I nodded, smiling widely. My own room! And my debut! Nothing could have brought me down from that cloud of happiness at that moment. Wait until Angel found out. He would be ecstatic! Especially since he was hoping to have me debut in this particular production.

After rehearsal I put away my things in my dressing room, which was easy enough to find. I set my bags down and looked around the small area. There was a bed in one corner, along with a vanity and a long vertical mirror that was built into the wall. It fit me. It didn't matter that wasn't the biggest or the most grand. It was mine. After I set my things on my bed I went down to one of the underground cellars. It was three stories down. The cellar that I frequented was small and was without any windows, so it had to be lit entirely by candles. There was a small shelf on one wall that held a picture of my father, also surrounded by candles.

Each candle was already lit. Angel must have been expecting me, like he knew I would come. Of course, it seemed like Angel knew exactly what was happening in the Opera house at every moment of every day. I wondered how he did that. Maybe he really was an Angel. But no, he himself had said that he was only a man on their first meeting.

I lit each candle one by one, just weeks after Daddy's passing. My tears nearly snuffed one of the candles out, and I attempted to hold them back, but they just kept coming. I sat on the stone floor, gazing up at my father's picture, sniffling. "Oh, Daddy, why?" I asked forlornly. There was a shift in the atmosphere, and I was suddenly wary of being down in the cellar.

"What's the matter?" a soft voice asked, seeming to come from within the walls. "Why are you crying?" The voice was amazing, and even that was short-selling it. It was almost like a physical caress, yet it couldn't have been much older than I was. Maybe 17, 18?

"My father just died," I said, feeling the tears well up in my eyes again. "And I miss him so!" I put my face in my hands, wanting to hide my tears from the unseen man. There was a pause.

"I'm sorry for your loss," he said. There was another long pause, and I had wondered if he had gone. "Are you living here at the Opera house?"I nodded.

"Yes. Daddy was working here before he died. With M. Buquet," I replied, my curiosity now growing despite my grief. I looked around the room for the source of the voice, but to my young mind, there was nowhere the voice could have come from. My curiosity gave me courage, and I asked him. "Are you an angel?" Another pause.

"No, I am only a mortal," he said. I suddenly felt very stupid in thinking so, and with that, felt I should explain.

"I just thought that maybe your were the angel Daddy used to tell me about," I said. "He used to tell me about the angel of music. The angel of music visits every great musician at least once in his or her lifetime, giving them a great talent. Just before Daddy died, he said he would send me the angel of music. I just thought that maybe you were he."

"I see," was all he said. "What is your name?"

"Christine," I replied. "Who are you?"

"You may call me Angel," he said. I nodded. He didn't say anything more after that, and neither did I. I suppose after a time, he left. But the next time I visited my little alcove, there was a small stool in front of Daddy's picture.

I sat down on my little stool that angel had given me. "Angel?" I said asked, seeing if he was there.

"I am here," he said. "Congratulations on your part in Faust, Christine." His voice still sent shivers down my spine, it was so heavenly.

"Thank you, Angel," I said, smiling excitedly. "Although, I don't have a vocal instructor any longer because I'm not in the chorus," I said, biting my lip lightly.

"Christine, your birthday is coming up, yes?" Angel asked, and I nodded confirmation. "In about a week or so, if memory serves." I nodded again, not understanding where he was going with this. "Come here again tomorrow, Christine, and I'll have a surprise for you. An early birthday present, as it were."

My brow furrowed for a second, but then I smiled. "Really? Angel, that's too thoughtful," I said sincerely. Angel always seemed to be thinking of me. I did what I could for him, but he insisted the only thing he wanted from me was to sing. Of course I complied. Why wouldn't I? I loved to sing, and Angel loved to listen. The one time I had asked about him, his birthday specifically, he had gotten rather brusque and harsh, saying it wasn't important and not to ask again. I thought it rather odd, but didn't say anything more.

The next day arrived, and the time came when I was to meet Angel in my alcove. I scurried down there, taking care to make sure that I wasn't followed, as per Angel's instructions. No one ever had followed me down there before, and I didn't see why Angel showed concern about it this time, but Angel always had a reason for everything, and I trusted him.

Stepping into my alcove, I immediately saw a small table with a poetite box and a key upon it. Curious, I stepped toward it. There was a blast of cold air behind me. "Angel?" I called out.

No answer.

I turned around to see if someone was there. Seeing no one, I stepped toward the table, touching the box lightly, loathe to open it until Angel arrived. Attempting to distract myself from the box, I turned my attention to the key. It was small, silver, and wonderfully detailed. I picked it up, admiring it, and noticing that there was a chain attached to it, as if it were meant to be worn around the neck.

"Put it around your neck, Christine, and open the box," a voice directly behind me whispered. I whipped around; clutching the key, but no one was there. I came to the only conclusion I could- Angel had arrived. I obediently put the chain around my neck, and I could feel the cold metal of the key against my upper chest. I turned toward the table once more and lifted the lid off the box, looking intently at what was inside. Chocolates, intricately carved into roses. I smiled.

"Thank you, Angel," I murmured. I now noticed a piece of paper that was folded into quarters and slightly tucked under the box. Curious, I pulled it out and unfolded it. The script was elegant and bold, flowing from one letter to the next easily.

Christine,

Happy birthday. The key is to a door which will be made known to you tonight. The chocolates are because I know you love them. And as for the matter of a vocal instructor, I will be taking that role for now and helping you with your part of Siebel, as well as future roles. I look forward to our time together, but you must tell no one about our meetings.

Angel

I was ecstatic. There was no other word to describe my elation at that instant. I didn't care that I couldn't tell anyone. Angel was going to be my teacher, and I knew instinctively that he was better than any teacher I could ever ask for. He had sang with me only once before, because I had picked a well known duet. His singing voice was even more heavenly than his speaking voice, and it had held me to the spot, and I had sung as never before. I hoped that his teaching would help me to sing like that always.