It was dark in the corner of the small, rustic house, and a young girl lay troubled on her bed. It was just moments before midnight, and her father was dying in the next room.
Tears spilled from eyes bluer than the spring Scandinavian sky, and splashed against cotton sheets. There was nothing she could do but pray for his suffering to end.
Gustave Daae, a once upon-a-time famous violinist, had lost his wife in childbirth. Now all he had to leave behind in the world was his 6 year old daughter, Christine.
Ahh, Christine. She was the light of his life, and her whole world revolved around him.
There had been a time when they were happy. It seemed so very long ago...
The child's angry fists pounded silently against the straw mattress. Angry because she had never felt more helpless in her entire life. Silent, because she didn't dare disturb the physicians less-than hopeful vigil. It wasn't fair! It wasn't FAIR!
The heat of her temper suddenly doused by despair, Christine shivered, pulling the bedding tighter around her thin frame. There was still snow on the ground outside, and the nights were notably chilly. Goosebumps traveled down pale arms, following the path of an intangible breeze.
She felt as though her heart had been torn from her chest, ripped to bits and then thrown into the sea, where she could never recover all the pieces.
It was then that she felt the vivid presence. Heard the gentle voice.
It's song, a sound sweeter than honey, assuaged her senses, flooding her with a hope unbridled by all the dark and dismal fears of men. Never before had the girl felt so warm. Loved. Protected.
She was free! Free from the pain that had filled her just moments before. Free from the anger and tears and helplessness. Now it was simply her and the voice as it deftly lulled her from wakefulness, into the deepest, most peaceful slumber she'd had in months...
At the window, a cloaked figure stood solid behind the glass, piercing yellow eyes fixed on the child's weary body. As a liquid melody poured from his own hurting heart, Erik almost smiled.
She deserved some comfort. It was the very least that he could do.
After all, he was the Angel of Music.
finis